Blood and Lavender

A walk through the town

Mira’s POV

The question was very specific and pointed. Aunt Carol wasn't even looking at me when she asked, but I could see the tension in her back, how her shoulders had gone stiff under her flannel shirt.

I thought about those golden eyes, the way they seemed to glow in the dark car, how they caught the porch light and reflected it like an animal's.

"I don't know," I lied. "It was dark. I didn't really notice."

She turned and smiled, almost convincing, but I knew she didn't believe me because there was something behind her eyes, something she wasn't saying.

"Probably just one of the college kids from Hartwell. They think our back roads are scenic or something. So they come here sometimes to take pictures for content to post on their Instagrams." She shook her head. "You should be careful, honey. Don't take rides from strangers. I know it was raining and you were stuck, but things are different out here. You can't trust everyone the way you could in the city."

"I won't," I said. "It was just... the bus left, and it was raining, and my phone said there were no taxis. I didn't know what else to do."

That last part was mostly true. I hadn't known what else to do. But something in me had also wanted to get in that car, to be near him, to find out who he was and why his eyes were that impossible color.

Aunt Carol nodded, satisfied, and went back to humming. But I saw her glance toward the woods, at the dark line of trees bordering her property.

Like she was looking for something, or someone.

I spent the morning unpacking. Not that there was much, just two suitcases and a backpack; that was my whole life now. Mom's stuff was still in storage back in Portland, waiting for me to decide what to keep and what to let go. I wasn't ready for those decisions yet. Maybe I never would be. Just the thought of going through her clothes, her books, and her thrift-store jewelry collection made my chest feel like it was caving in.

So I unpacked what I had, folded my jeans into the old cedar-scented dresser, hung my sweaters in the closet beside a box of Christmas decorations, and placed my few books on the nightstand, a worn copy of Jane Eyre that Mom gave me on my sixteenth birthday, a collection of Mary Oliver poems, and a mystery novel I'd picked up at a gas station and never finished.

The room started to feel a little bit like mine. Not completely, but a little.

By noon, I was going crazy with boredom. The guest room was nice but it wasn't home. The house was warm, but full of someone else's memories, photos of strangers, knick-knacks from vacations I'd never taken, a whole life that didn’t belong to me.

I needed to get out, to breathe air that didn't smell like lavender and grief, to see something beyond these four walls.

"I'm going into town to look around," I told Aunt Carol. She was at the kitchen table doing a crossword, a cup of coffee cooling at her elbow. "Get to know the town a little. Maybe find that diner you mentioned."

"Main Street Diner. Can't miss it. It's the only one." She looked up from her puzzle. "Tell Mabel I said hello. She'll probably give you free pie if you mention my name."

"Free pie sounds good."

"And Mira?" Her voice turned serious. "Stay on the main roads. Don't wander into the woods. There are trails out there, but they're easy to get lost on if you don't know them."

There was something in her tone, a warning she wasn't quite saying aloud, the same warning I'd heard when she asked about his eyes.

"Okay," I said. "No woods. Got it."

Walking into town was completely different in daylight. Miller Road curved gently through neighborhoods of old houses with big porches and overgrown gardens. Kids played in sprinklers on patchy lawns, and a woman in gardening gloves waved at me from her driveway like she knew me. Two old men sat on a porch, playing chess under the bright sun, their white hair glowing. The whole scene was so normal it almost hurt.

But I couldn't stop scanning ahead, looking for a dark car, listening for a smooth engine, watching for a flash of golden eyes.

It’s stupid. He won’t just appear because you're thinking about him.

But I couldn't help it. Every passing dark car made my heart skip, every tall, dark-haired man made me glance twice. I was acting like a girl with a crush….my crush, and I barely knew his name.

His name was Elias, that’s what he said.

But what kind of name was that, anyway? Old-fashioned, elegant—it sounded like it belonged in another century, to someone not quite of this world.

Main Street looked exactly like you'd expect from a town called Fletcher's Grove. Quaint storefronts with hand-painted signs, hanging flower baskets overflowing with petunias and ivy, a hardware store that looked like it had been there since nails first came into use, its window full of dusty tools and a sleeping cat. A small grocery with crates of produce outside, and a bookstore with a "Closed" sign that looked permanent.

And on the corner, the Main Street Diner, chrome trim, red vinyl booths visible through the big glass windows, and a neon sign that probably lit up at night. The kind of place that’s been serving the same coffee and pie for fifty years and saw no reason to change.