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“I know.”
She was a grade A idiot for drinking so much.
Joy patted the sofa. “I’ll bring you a cushion and blanket.”
Gabi caught Joy’s hand as she rose, a selfish compulsion she couldn’t fight.
“Thank you,” she said, her ragged emotions betrayed when her thumb swept along the pulse point in Joy’s wrist.
Joy nodded quickly. She looked flustered. Gabi shoulddefinitelynot like that. Not at all. But she did. She didn’t let go for a long moment.
She knew how this could play out—she’d tighten her grip, pull Joy back down so she tumbled into Gabi’s lap, and she’d kiss her until they were both gasping for air.
But her eyes snagged on the messenger bag she’d dumped on the table; she remembered the case files within and released Joy’s hand.
Professional. Friends. Crime-solving and nothing else.
Ugh, Gabi was so fucked.
“A cushion would be good. Thanks, Joy.”
When Joy nodded and scurried out of the room, Gabi let her head fall back against the sofa, a groan in her throat.
The silver lining was she couldn’t make this any more awkward while she slept.
The morning, however, would be a different matter.
TWENTY-THREE
JOY
Joy walked past the elegant peaks of the elven community, the mini-town of tents in all manner of shapes, sizes, materials, and colours. She was late to work, thanks to an emergency errand for Mor Margaret in the Apothecary. Joy listened for the rise and fall of elven songs. It was a haunting, high melody that loosened something in Joy’s bones like a healer’s touch. Beauty. She desperately needed it today.
The community was silent today, like the universe was trying to tell Joy something.
She still took the long way around the beach to the nature reserve. She might have been in a rush, but she couldn’t walk past the spot where she’d found Freya.
Joy’s mind kept lingering on Gabi and the way she’d looked last night, her eyes a little glazed from the witch biscuits and wine. The memory was just enough to help Joy convince herself the beach was safe.
How many years had she walked this same stretch of sand, and inhaled its brine and storm-air scent? How many of those days had been nightmarish?One, she told herself,just one, just an aberrant thing.
When she reached the reserve, she stomped her feet on the stone ramp to knock the sand off her boots, repeating her mantra.Just one day, just one day.
But she was graced for more tragedy and trauma, and she wasn’t surprised when a strangled cry cut through the air. It sounded like an animal being killed—
A shadow shoved out of the reserve building and past Joy before she could run away. Bony elbows and angles slammed into Joy’s front, knocking the air out of her lungs as she tumbled off the ramp and into the sand.
The person kept running. It wasn’t the killer, just an exceptionally rude jogger.
“Don’t apologise,” Joy growled under her breath, outraged and offended, “it’sfine.”
She grunted as she pushed to her feet, sand now stuck to both clothes and skin. Awesome. This wasjustwhat she needed after being an hour late to work. She was supposed to start at twelve, but it had taken her half an hour to find her keys—snaffled in a bundled up cardigan she fully blamed Maisie for—and another half to help Mor Margaret. She didn’t need some careless prick in a hoodie shoving her into the sand.
Or robbing the reserve.
Joy’s breath quickened with dread, and her heart sank as she realised she could be sacked for this. She fumbled for her keys, set them to the lock, and realised the door was open. Ofcourseit was—the prick had come from inside.
Something dripped onto Joy’s boots and for a second, she just stared at that speck of red, and then gaped as another drop fell. Her eyebrows furrowed, Joy looked down at herself, her coat, her sleeves.
