Page 25

My laugh sounds harsher than I intended. “That’s one way to put it.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” she says quickly. “It’s none of my business.”

“You’re right, it’s not.” I stand, putting some distance between us. “But considering we’re all now bound together by a dead body, I guess somehonesty is in order.” I turn to face her. “We were together. Now we’re not. Except sometimes we are, when we both get stupid enough to forget why we shouldn’t be.”

“Like tonight,” she says softly.

“Like tonight,” I agree. “Look, it’s complicated. This island is small. Everyone has history with everyone else. Especially when you grow up on the wrong side of it.”

“Were you both...? I mean, did you grow up together?”

I shake my head. “Not exactly. I’m island-born. From the Eastside. Damiano’s mom was from here, but his dad was Italian. Seasonal chef for the summer people. They lived half the year here, half in Italy, until his dad left. Then it was just him and his mom in Cottage Row.”

“And you met...”

“Working. I was delivering fish to the big houses. He was gardening.” I shrug. “Started talking. Found out we both hated the same people.”

She smiles faintly. “Bonding over mutual hatred.”

“Something like that.” I don’t tell her about the other things we discovered we had in common. The darkness that recognized itself in each other. The way we both learned to survive on an island that eats its young.

A knock at the door makes us both jump. Three quick taps, then two slow ones. I recognize thepattern—Damiano’s, from years ago when we used to meet in secret.

“It’s him,” I say, moving to the door.

When I open it, Damiano stands there, looking exhausted. His clothes are dirty, with dark stains.

“It’s done,” he says simply, stepping inside.

I close the door behind him, throw the deadbolt. “Everyone gone?”

He nods. “Told them Briar wasn’t feeling well. That her condition was acting up. Most people were drunk enough not to question it.” He looks past me to where Briar sits by the fire. “You okay?”

Her nod is unconvincing.

“The body?” I ask quietly.

“Buried in the center of the maze. Under the west corner of the gazebo.” He runs a hand through his hair, which has come partly loose from its tie. “It’s shallow for now. I had to work fast. We’ll need to go back tomorrow and do it right, dig deeper when there aren’t so many people around. I’ll plant specific things over it, too—things that grow quickly and help with... decomposition.”

The matter-of-fact way he says it should be disturbing, but instead I find it reassuring. Damiano has always been thorough.

“His phone?” I ask.

“Destroyed. Buried separately.”

He nods, then moves toward Briar, crouching in front of her like I did earlier. “I brought something for you.” He withdraws a small paper package fromhis pocket. “Herbs. For shock and pain. It will help you sleep.”

She takes it, her fingers brushing his. “Thank you.”

Looking at them both—Damiano with his dirt-smudged clothes and Briar with her bruised neck and borrowed clothes—I’m struck by how surreal this all is. Twenty-four hours ago, we were strangers. Now we’re bound together by blood and secrets.

Damiano glances down at himself, grimacing at the dark stains on his clothes and the dirt caked under his fingernails. “I need to clean up.”

“You know where everything is,” I say, my tone neutral despite the memories my words evoke. “There should be enough hot water left for a quick rinse. I’ll grab you some clothes.”

He nods gratefully, the exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. “Thanks.”

“It’s late.” I glance at the clock on the wall. Nearly 3 AM. “We all need sleep if we’re going to pull this off tomorrow.”