Page 38 of Tourist Season

The caw-caw-caw of the raven sounds from the branches of the oak tree.

I chuckle against her neck, relishing the way she shudders as I keep her trapped against my ribs.

“Are you sure? Because it sounds like your bird has come for cookies. He wouldn’t be ready to say something about ‘murder,’ would he? ”

“Let me down .” Harper whacks my shin with the blunt edge of the ax.

She’s not delicate about it either, but I guess I should take a little comfort knowing that she chose not to use the sharp side.

Small victories , the unhelpfully optimistic voice chimes in my head as I curse.

I manage to limp us past the corner of the stone wall before I set her down, her macabre stage coming into view.

A huge man with a thin smattering of ginger hair over a sweaty scalp is lying on his stomach, his ankles and wrists tied to metal stakes that are driven into the earth at sharp angles like tent poles.

He’s facing our direction, a dirty cloth stuffed into his mouth and tied at the back of his head.

His thick slab of a back is covered in small bleeding wounds that trail rivulets of crimson over his shuddering ribs, leaking into the grass.

The scent of piss and boozy sweat lingers on the breeze.

A garden tool with a long, silver handle leading to a roller of blood-covered steel spikes lies a short distance away.

An even more menacing gas-powered machine that looks like a push mower is also nearby, though I can see from here that the hollow tines at the front are still clean.

With a slow blink, I turn to face Harper, who impatiently waits for me to catch up, one fist planted firmly on her cocked hip, the ax dangling from her other hand like a threat.

“What … is that?” I ask, not taking my eyes from Harper as I nod toward the scene beside us.

“A spike lawn aerator.”

“No. That .”

“A hollow tine lawn aerator.”

I sigh and drag a hand down my face as a devious little glint fires up in her silver eyes.

“ That guy ,” I say, pointing to the man who thrashes and whines on the grass. “That whole … situation over there.”

Harper gestures to her shirt. “I’m crafting-a-corpse, what does it look like? I’m killing this asshole.”

I look at the guy, then back to Harper, then back to the guy again.

The raven drops down to the grass, walking at a safe distance around the man as though he’s sizing up his future buffet options.

When I turn my attention back to Harper, she’s chewing on her bottom lip, her brows raised as though she’s waiting for all my next questions so that she can hurry this along. “Why …?” I finally ask.

She shrugs, swinging the ax like a ticking clock.

“Pushing over a pregnant nurse was a good start. Threatening hospital staff. Acting like a complete asshole. I’m sure there’s a laundry list of other stupid shit he’s done in his miserable life.

” She leans to the side so she can get a better look at him. “Isn’t that right, dickhead?”

The guy shakes his head against the lawn and begs around his gag.

“Sure. That’s super believable.” Harper straightens, rolling her eyes before leveling me with a no-nonsense glare.

“Look. I don’t have time to trawl through his entire backstory.

But, if it helps—and I must say, I’m genuinely shocked that you of all people would care—I can guarantee he’s a total piece of shit and a waste of the planet’s finite resources.

He’ll be put to much better use here ,” she declares as she thuds the top of the ax onto the ground.

The guy’s sniveling pleas grow desperate. He garbles a string of denials, his eyes pinned on me as he begs for help. But he’s looking for hope where it can’t be found. I have numerous mounting concerns about this moment, but every one of them centers on Harper. On her well-being.

As his panic escalates, I look over at her.

She doesn’t return my gaze. All her attention is homed in on that man.

There’s more than just hatred, or anger, or determination in her face.

There’s a very particular brand of fury.

One I’ve seen in my own eyes. The kind that only blooms when the world peels back and you see the abyss of grief and loss and anguish that lurks beneath it.

You might claw your way out, riddled with scars.

You might hide your deepest, unhealing wounds just to make it through each day.

You might survive it. But that’s the worst part.

Because you can’t unsee it. You always know hell is there.

It’s a creature lurking in the night, ready to rip another piece from you.

You can live in fear of the next bite, or you can bite back.

And Harper Starling is ready for a meal.

I can feel the rage surging from Harper, charging the air around us until she can’t contain it. Jaw clenched, she drops the ax to the grass, marching past me to the spike aerator. She picks it up and stops at the man’s side.

“Did you know that the nurse you pushed over has been receiving IVF treatment for longer than I’ve been in Cape Carnage?

” she snarls to the man as she raises the device to bring it down on his back with a sickening thwack.

The spikes lodge into his flesh, his scream leaking around his gag.

But Harper is merciless. She closes her grip around the metal handle and guides the roller from the base of his spine to his shoulder, laying down a fresh row of punctures that weep rivers of crimson.

“Seven years. Seven fucking years of injections and tests and God knows whatever else she and her husband had to endure to make that baby. And you nearly took it away, you fucking piece of shit.” Her voice is nothing like I’ve ever heard from her.

She struggles to keep it steady beneath her fury and the threat of tears, and somehow, that hint of vulnerability makes her even more terrifying.

“You’re just another shitty tourist who thinks he can waltz into my town and hurt whoever he wants.

As long as you’re ‘having a good time,’ nothing else matters, right?

So tell me, Mr. McMillan, are you having a good time yet? ”

Harper lifts the tool off the man and stares down at him for a long moment, her back and shoulders heaving with deep breaths as she seems to force herself into a calmer state.

I’m considering approaching her when she runs her forearm across her eyes, tilts her head side to side, then turns and tosses the aerator on the ground.

Blowing a puff of air into her sweaty bangs, she flashes me a brittle smile and walks calmly back in my direction, leaving the injured man to sob and shake alone.

“So,” she says, bending to retrieve her ax.

When she straightens, she fixes her hair with a bloody glove, a slight tremor shaking her fingers.

She squares her shoulders, tipping her chin up.

“As you can see, I’m having a very busy day, but I can assure you I’ll be at the river tonight.

You can run along now to do … whatever it is you do here in Cape Carnage. ”

I open my mouth to say something, but not a single word lands on my tongue.

I’m not exactly sure what to make of this situation.

I assess the scene. First there’s Harper, who looks fucking adorable with her cropped shirt that just barely covers the bottoms of her breasts and those baggy overalls, feral but focused determination bright in her eyes.

Then there’s the guy, set up like he’s cosplaying a medieval torture scene at a Renaissance fair that’s taken its commitment to authenticity a little too far.

My eyes land next on the raven, who boldly hops close enough to snag a flap of loose skin off the man’s mangled back as he lets out an agonized cry.

Dear God.

I knew Harper was game for some fucked-up shit given the situation with Arthur, but I have clearly underestimated her.

And while the fact that she’s into a little torture and murder should give me more reason to return to the idea of seeking vengeance against her, it’s having the opposite effect.

It takes every last shred of my resolve not to grab her and press her to me.

To reassure her that the darkness she nurtures is safe with me.

But I can tell she’s not ready. It’s in the way her brows knit as she watches every minuscule movement and facial expression I make.

“You know Sam has been flying drones over your property. He could see you,” I warn as my heart kicks into a new gear at the thought of him being anywhere nearby.

Harper is resolute when she says, “He and his drone operator are busy elsewhere. I made sure of that. It’s fine.”

The man on the ground falls into silence and though I hold on to a momentary hope that he might have died of a heart attack, he’s still breathing, his face now turned away from us.

In the privacy afforded by his absent gaze, I take a step toward Harper.

She doesn’t budge, and I take another step, pushing my luck at getting a little closer.

“What’s going on? Why are you doing this? ”

“Did you miss the part where I told you he’s a waste of skin?” She scours my face with brutal scrutiny, her steely eyes narrowing. “Have you been dipping into Maya’s supply of mushroom-laced blood again?”

“You’re taking a big risk here,” I say, dismissing her joke. “You don’t take big risks.”

She snorts and waves a hand in my direction, nearly grazing my chest. “You want to kill me and you help me dig up dead bodies at night. So, I beg to differ.”

“You take calculated risks. This seems different.”