Blood and Lavender

Second Meeting 1

Mira’s POV

I pushed through the door and was hit by a wall of smells, coffee, fried food, something sweet baking in the back, the faint undertone of bacon grease that never quite went away. The place was half-full, mostly older folks nursing cups of coffee and reading newspapers. A couple of men in work boots sat at the counter, talking about fishing. A woman with a toddler shared a booth near the window, cutting pancakes into tiny pieces.

A woman behind the counter with bright red hair and an even brighter smile waved me over. She was probably in her sixties, with laugh lines around her eyes and a warmth that felt genuine.

"You must be Carol's niece. Mira, right?"

"News travels fast."

"Honey, in this town, news travels before it even happens. I knew you were coming three days before you got here." She laughed, a big warm sound. "I'm Mabel. Sit anywhere you like. First cup of coffee's on the house for Carol's family."

I took a stool at the counter. The vinyl was cracked in places but comfortable. Mabel poured coffee into a thick white mug and slid it toward me.

"Carol said to tell you hello," I said.

"Did she now? That woman. Saved my husband's life back in '09 when his appendix burst. Drove him to the hospital herself in that rattletrap Honda of hers. Sixty miles an hour down these back roads. I thought we were all going to die before we got there." Mabel shook her head fondly. "Best nurse this town ever had. We were all sorry when she retired."

I nodded along, letting the words wash over me. It was nice, actually. Being somewhere where people knew each other. Where history mattered. Where someone's aunt driving a sick man to the hospital was a story worth telling. Portland had never felt like that, too big, too anonymous. Mom and I had been invisible there.

"Can I get you something to eat, honey? Pie's fresh this morning. Apple crumb."

"Sure. That sounds good."

Mabel disappeared into the back and returned with a plate holding a slice of pie that was roughly the size of my head. The crust was golden and flaky. The apples were spilling out of the sides. It smelled like cinnamon and butter and everything good in the world.

I took a bite. It was possibly the best pie I'd ever eaten.

"Can I ask you something?" I said, when Mabel came back to refill my coffee.

"Shoot."

"Are there any... I don't know how to put this. Unusual families around here? Old families? People who keep to themselves?"

Mabel's friendly expression flickered. Just for a moment. Then it was back, brighter than ever, but I'd seen it. That same hesitation I'd seen in Aunt Carol.

"Unusual how?"

"I don't know. Just... different. Maybe they've been here a long time. Maybe people don't talk about them much."

She leaned against the counter, lowering her voice even though the nearest customer was several stools away. "You're asking about the old manor, aren't you. Up on Blackthorn Hill."

I had no idea what she was talking about. But something told me to nod.

Mabel glanced around the diner like she was checking for eavesdroppers. "The Devereaux family. Been here longer than anyone can remember. Longer than the town, some say. Live in that big stone house at the end of Blackthorn Road. Private folks. Don't come to town much."

Devereaux. The name sent a shiver down my spine. It sounded like Elias. It sounded like old money and older secrets.

"What are they like?"

"Never met them myself. Not many have. They send someone down for supplies once a month—the brother, usually. Marcus. Pays in cash, never stays to chat. Takes what he needs and leaves." She shrugged. "Some folks say they're strange. Some folks say they've got secrets. Some say they're not quite... human."

She laughed at that last part, like it was a joke. But her laugh sounded forced.

"Me, I say everyone's got secrets," she continued. "Doesn't mean they're bad people. The Devereaux family has never caused trouble in this town. As far as I know, they've kept the peace for generations. That's more than some folks can say."

"Elias," I said. "Is that one of them? Elias Devereaux?"

The name hit the air like a stone dropped in still water. At the end of the counter, an old man in a flannel shirt went very still, his coffee cup frozen halfway to his lips. Two booths down, a woman stopped stirring her coffee. The sound of her spoon against the ceramic had been steady, rhythmic. Now it was gone.

Mabel's face did something complicated. Her smile faded. Her eyes went sharp and searching.

"Where'd you hear that name?"

"I met someone last night. He gave me a ride home when I missed the bus. He said his name was Elias."

The silence in the diner was deafening.

Then Mabel laughed, it was loud and sudden. "Oh honey, you must have been dreaming. Or maybe some local boy was playing a joke. Teenagers, you know. They get bored. Probably thought it would be funny to pretend to be one of the Devereaux boys."

"But he…

"Nobody's seen Elias Devereaux in years. Decades, even. The family keeps to themselves, like I said. They don't socialize. They don't come to town." She was already turning away, grabbing the coffee pot, heading for another customer. "More pie? We've got cherry too."

I looked around the diner. The old man in flannel was studying his newspaper with too much concentration, his eyes not moving across the page. The woman with the coffee was staring out the window, her knuckles white around her cup. At a table near the back, two women who'd been chatting had gone completely still.

They weren’t scared of me, they were scared of the name. Elias Devereaux.

I left a ten on the counter, more than the pie was worth, but I didn't want to wait for my change so I walked out into the afternoon sun. Main Street looked the same as before. Quaint and quiet and aggressively normal. But now I could feel something underneath. A tension. A watchfulness.

Like the whole town was holding its breath.

Like everyone knew something I didn't.

I started walking back toward Miller Road, my mind racing. Mabel had said nobody had seen Elias in decades. But he'd looked young. Mid-twenties at most. So either Mabel was wrong, or I'd met someone else, or...

Or something was very, very strange about Elias Devereaux.

I thought about his golden eyes. The way they seemed to glow in the dark. The way his car had disappeared into the night without a sound. The way he knew exactly where Miller Road was without being told.

The way I hadn't been afraid of him, even though every instinct should have been screaming at me to run.

What are you, Elias?

I was so lost in thought that I almost didn't notice the car until it was pulling up beside me.

Dark. Expensive. Familiar.

My heart stopped.

The window rolled down with that same soft electronic hum. And there he was, pale skin, dark hair, golden eyes that caught the afternoon light and turned it into something molten and dangerous. He was even more beautiful in daylight, if that was possible. The sun made his skin look like marble. His dark hair had reddish undertones I hadn't noticed before.

“Get in,” Elias said.

It wasn’t a question or even a request, it was a command, simple, firm, and final.

And like last night, I did what he said. I obeyed.