The park was beyond adorable, bounded by a gated wrought-iron fence. Every third post was a thick stone pillar topped with a chimera--fantastical hounds and birds and mythical mixtures. Many of them were shiny with wear, as if local children had each adopted their own, rubbing it for luck when they came to play.
Inside there were benches and a tiny burbling fountain, the fountainhead another chimera. The water came not out of its mouth, but from both ears, which made me smile. The park wasn't big enough for a full-blown playground, but there were swings, two for older kids and one basket type for little ones. The basket swayed gently, as if recently vacated, and I imagined a child in it, shrieking with delight, chubby arms and legs pumping.
"High, Daddy. Go high!"
A man's laugh. "I think that's high enough."
"High! Go high!"
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"Okay. But hold on tight. If I bring you home with skinned knees again, Mommy will kill me. Are you holding on, Eden?"
I tore my gaze from the swing and hurried across the park to the rear gate. My fingers trembled as I unlatched it. It swung open with a squeal loud enough to make me jump. I turned to close it properly. As I did, I noticed patterns of stones in the garden. I bent over one. White stones arranged against black soil.
I jerked up, blinking. A deep breath, then I looked down again. It didn't look anything like the patterns from my dream. Just a child at play, arranging stones in the dirt.
I gave one last look at the swing, still twisting slightly in the breeze. I clutched the bag with Grace's scone, still warm, the comforting smell wafting out. I turned from the park and headed down the pathway toward Rowan.
As I hurried along, the sky grayed so fast I looked up in alarm. Rain? I shook my head. Wishful thinking, as if having my weather omen come true would somehow prove I was perfectly sane. Because "storm-prediction-by-cat" was sane.
Yet when the sun disappeared, it seemed to suck the spring warmth from the air. I shivered and pulled my jacket tighter. As I did, I caught sight of a shadow on the wall beside me. I looked over sharply. No shadow.
How could there be a shadow when the sun was gone? Damn, I really was losing it.
Yet I couldn't shake that sense of something creeping along behind me. Finally I spun. There was something there--a black shape crouched on the fence of the now-distant park. A chill crept up my spine and I squinted. The shape lengthened, stretching until it became the black cat, languidly arching its back, then settling in on the fence post to watch me.
The urge to run tingled down my legs. Instead, I forced myself back toward the cat. It just sat there, watching me.
"If you're looking for handouts, this"--I waggled Grace's bag--"is not kitty food."
The cat yawned and stretched again before settling back on its perch. Something passed overhead and the cat sprang up so fast I stumbled back. It gave me a scornful glare, then looked up into the sky. I followed its gaze to see what looked like a crow, soaring high overhead.
"A little out of your reach," I said to the cat.
It ignored me, tail puffed, yellow eyes following the distant bird.
Crow, crow, get out of my sight
Or else I'll eat thy liver and lights
"Great," I muttered. "Just great." I shook my finger at the cat. "You guys really are bad luck."
The clouds overhead shifted, sunlight coming through again. As I headed back to the pathway, I glanced over my shoulder once, but the cat hadn't moved. It just kept staring at that crow, as if hoping it would come lower. If it did, the cat would be in for a surprise. The bird was probably as big as it was.
When I was about halfway down the path, I could make out the Victorian house across the road, the one with the psychic in residence. Again, I saw a face in a window. And two black circles. Binoculars. They pulled back and I smiled to myself. Psychic, my ass. In a town this small, all you needed to pull off that gig was the gift of nosiness.
A cloud moved across the sun again and I looked up. Maybe it would rain after all. That might establish me as a psychic. Look out, lady--
A throat-clearing. And as my gaze dropped from the sky, I realized it wasn't a cloud blocking the sun at all. There was a man barely a yard away.
"Ms. Taylor-Jones?"
The first thing I saw was his suit. It was a good one. Excellent, in fact. Worth more than some of the cars parked along the road behind him. I thought, James has hired someone to find me.
There was a reason the guy seemed to block the sun. He had to be at least six foot four with shoulders so wide I had to bump up my estimate of the suit's worth. Nothing off the rack would fit him.
Whoever sprang for a fancy suit, hoping to make him look less intimidating, had wasted his money. One look and you knew exactly what he was--a high-class thug. Property of a very wealthy man. This wasn't the sort of person James would send. Not unless he wanted me running the other way.