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She hesitated, then said, “I dreamed I was walking out in a forest and I came to a stream. I saw the Washing Woman, Elphyra. She was washing a bloody sheet.” Her voice fell and she let out a soft cry.
I caught my breath. “No…did she speak?”
The Washing Woman—or the Washer at the Ford—was one of the bean nighe, a death spirit. There were several of them and one had been attached to my father’s clan for centuries. She could appear in dreams, as well as in the flesh. And it was always when someone in the clan was about to die.
“Did she tell you who’s been marked?” Even as I said it, I knew the answer. The Washer never gave names unless it was the person who saw her, and then she would point to them.
My mother was always the one the Washer came to—at least she was since she had married my father. The Washer chose who she visited carefully, and my mother had been singled out. But then again, her family and my father’s family were from the same general area, and they were members of the same clan, so it wasn’t surprising.
“No. And you know the Washer usually doesn’t appear when the death is natural.”
I almost told her about the letter I’d received from my great-grandmother—my father’s grandmother—but I decided to wait. I needed time to think. “Well, tell Ciara and Owen to be careful.”
“I will. But please, anything can happen—you know that better than anybody. Be careful, darling. When the bean nighe appears, she can summon anyone.”
“Don’t worry about me, please. I like it here, and I think—in time—I’ll be happy again. I need time to process everything, and I couldn’t do it if I was back there. I’m good—I may not be happy, but I’m content.”
“Well, then, I guess I’ll let you get back to your planting. Call me in a few days?”
“I promise,” I said. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
And with that, I hung up and went back to watching the water.
CHAPTERTWO
A speedboat circledthe bay near the opposite shore. Nearly forty miles long and over one and a half miles wide, Dabob Bay was also a tidal wetlands system, still in the process of being restored to a pristine condition with invasive and non-endemic species slowly being weeded out.
I glanced at my phone. It was four forty-five, time to head back to Bree’s shop. I retraced my steps to the stairs and the parking lot. Along the way, I mulled over the phone call.
At least I had told my mother the truth. Moving to Starlight Hollowhadbeen good for me, so far. I still had post-traumatic stress disorder, but getting away from Port Townsend had helped. Though Port Townsend was forty-five minutes up the coastline, the mood of Starlight Hollow seemed a million miles away.
The wind had become gusty as I parked in a shady spot in front of Bree’s shop and slipped out of the car. She was sitting at her desk, alone, as I pushed through the front door.
“Back on time,” I said.
“Give me five and I’ll be ready to go,” Bree said. “Where do you want to eat?”
I grinned. “Where do you think?” While I liked a number of different cuisines, my favorite always came back to one restaurant.
She rolled her eyes. “All right, fine. Roland’s Steakhouse again. At least they have a variety.”
“They make the best clam chowder around. And fried shrimp,” I added.
“I love you, but I have to tell you—you have the appetite of a trucker from the Midwest. Meat and potatoes. Are you sure you don’t want to try something different?” Bree slipped her backpack over her shoulder. “I’m ready.”
I waited as she set the alarm and locked the door. “I may not be adventurous with food, but sometimes basic is a good thing.”
We split up, taking our separate cars to the steakhouse, which was on the south side of town—nearer my home. Bree lived on the north side.
Roland’s Steakhouse was rustic, but their food was fantastic. Roland had never met a steak he couldn’t grill. I leaned against my car, waiting for Bree, and she pulled in a couple minutes after I had. We went in the restaurant together and were seated within five minutes. The restaurant’s busy time was during lunch, and after six.
“I’ll have a café mocha,” I said. I didn’t want to drink since I was driving. In fact, I seldom drank more than a few sips anymore.
“Coffee for me. Cream, no sugar.” Bree leaned back in the booth and let out a sigh. “Business has picked up. I think I’m in for a busy summer. I may have to hire a part-time receptionist. I booked four trips today—and last week, I booked twelve. The calendar’s filling up.”
“How much does business fall during the off months?” I asked.
“Some, but there are always a few resilient folks who want to hike Hurricane Ridge in the snow. I try to limit it to two trips a week, but I may have to open up another day.” She paused, opening her menu. “So, how goes it?”
