Sahara missed everything about her old apartment, especially the air conditioning. Still, she refused to acknowledge the sweat accu- mulating in every crack and crease as she belted Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.” After blaring it on a perpetual loop for weeks, the repetition began to seem . . . thou-doth-protest-too-much-y.
She didn’t want to be the type of person to take back a cheater. Loneliness, however, threatened to drive her to stupidity. Her pride might become a metaphorical hand she chewed off to free herself from its impossible grip. Thus, her new theme song. Minimum goal: resist his charms until he lost interest. She needed to believe she could do better.
“Come on, girl,” she said to Desdemona, her border collie-retriever mix and only true friend. Time for the last walk of the day.
Though late-ish and dark, the east side, working-class neighborhood of Greater Wick wasn’t dangerous, just a skosh on the derelict side. Perfectly fine. Almost all the streetlights worked, and shadowyfigures near corners rarely showed before midnight. Anyway,it was what she could afford.
She didn’t have a bartending shift tonight, and her walks with Desdemona had been so short lately that Sahara decided to head toward the nicer part of town for a longer outing.
Desdemona trotted forward, her pent-up energy obvious. Sahara’s strides lengthened, and she goosed Desdemona’s back end so she would jump around and play in place for a few moments before they continued their journey.
Her phone started to sing “I Will Survive.” Her stomach pitched.
Chad’s ringtone.
He’d been texting her we need to talk for over a week, so she’d known he’d call eventually, probably to attempt worming his way back into her life. But she was ready. Steadfast. She would say no and survive.
“Hello?”Sahara said as if she didn’t know who was calling. “Where’s my Rolex?”
Huh? She’d thought about Chad often since their breakup six weeks ago—maybe that song was not helping—but she’d already forgotten his penchantfor losing everything. She’d had a knack for finding his lost items, but she wasn’t a psychicand had no idea where his watch might be now. Or why he’d think she’d be interested in locating it for him if she did. Should she tell him to check behind the dresser?
No, this was a ruse to lure her back.
The wind picked up and pushed dark clouds across the few visible stars in the sky. A strangeshiver ran up her back, incongruent on such a hot night.
“Probably where you left it,” she replied, her voice coming out unsure rather than stern. “I’m really tired, Chad. Is that all you wanted to talk about? You’ve been texting me several times a day.”
“It took me a while, but I finally figuredout what you’ve been doing.” His gambit to win her back had taken a confusing turn.
“What I’m doing? All I do is work. I’ve had to cover rent for two places, and I’m still working my two jobs. I don’t have time to steal a nap, let alone your watch.” Why was she talkingto him? She wished she had the balls to simply disconnect.
“Then how do you explain my phone being locked?” His smug tone grated. Sahara guided Desdemona off the sidewalk and into the dirty street to avoid a shattered forty-ouncer. Nothing Chad said made sense, but she’d gotten so little sleep, she might be missing something obvious. “If you’re
locked out of your phone,how did you call me?”
“Because I dropped fifty bucks at TechBros last week to get it unlocked.” “Okay. That sucks, but what does that have to do with me?”
“My life’s fallingapart since you left. I lost my keys, my Vitamix broke, someone scratched my car, and my Armani shirts were looted at the dry cleaners. At first, I thoughtit was just Murphy’s Law, but then my phone’s password suddenly stopped working.”
“And you think I did all that?”
Returning to the sidewalk, Sahara tripped over a raised crack. She wished she had done all those things,that she was the kind of badass who could hack electronics, steal keys and jewelry, pillage dress shirts, and sabotage small appliances. He deserved to be miserable, and she’d earned the right to make him that way. But everything he’d listed just sounded like bad luck to her.
“Who else woulddo it?”
The woman he’d been caught having sex with? “Maybe Mercury is in retrograde.”
“Or maybe you’re trying to make a point. You were always bitching about me being on my cell.”
“Well, it’s rude to be on the phone when you’re with someonein person.” “I’m a lawyer,Sahara, I live on my phone—or I used to, anyway.” He blew
out a breath. “Look, I’m sorry I hurt you, okay? But this petty revenge has to stop.”
She had no ideahow to respond to his ridiculous accusations.
“And I can’t find my lucky Charvet shirt, the one you got me for Christmas.” All right,that she’d taken,along with all the spices—except the turmeric,
because yuck. “It must have been lifted with the othershirts at the dry
cleaners.”
“You know as well as I do that I handwashit.”
“Maybe this is karma.” God, she wished life worked that way. But if it had, she wouldn’t be living in an inflamed pimple of an apartment on the sketchier side of town while he’d moved up a floor in their same lovely building. That reminded her. “By the way, when are we gettingour security deposit back?” She desperately needed furniture and a window A/C unit. Hell, she had a list of needs.
“Ha. We’re not. I told you not to paint the walls. The landlord used our deposit to repaint.”
He loved to be right. And she hated that he usually was.
Desdemona yanked the leash to check out a dubious splash of what looked like vomit in a patch of weeds. Sahara jerked her back.
“That place was beige and ugly and had to be painted.It looked fantastic. He should be paying me for the improvement.” Sahara detested the whine in her voice.
“People don’t want fantastic—which is subjective, by the way—they want something neutral.So, thanks for fucking me out of eight hundreddollars on top of everything else.”
She almost apologized but stopped herself. What the hell was wrong with her? After what he’d done,she shouldn’t apologize for anything ever.
Sahara had never had a migraine until that moment. Lights flashed at the corners of her eyes amid a creeping darkness. Her temples throbbed.
He blamed her.
He had no right to blame her for anything.
His irritation with her shouldn’taffect her at all, damn it. Desdemona lunged forward.
“You betrayed me,” she yelled.
Desdemona ceased pullingand looked back at her, concerned. A couple walking on the other side of the street slowed and eyed her as if she were insane. They weren’t wrong. She guided Desdemona in the direction of Willowbark, the commune that divided the haves and have nots. It took up anentire city block, a forest oasis available only to those who lived there. The sidewalkaround its perimeterwas always deserted. Sahara needed privacy for her breakdown, though she’d have to cross four lanesof traffic to get there.
“Don’t get hysterical.” Chad huffed. “I already said sorry. Let it go, Sahara.”
Hysterical? He couldcheat on her, give her a half-assapology, and then accuse her of going psycho-ex, but if she raised her voice, if she showed any sign of upset,she was hysterical, provinghis point. With that one word, he won the argument.
She clenched her teeth until her jaw ached to keep her heart from crawling up her esophagus. “I’ve got to go. I’m walking Desdemona.”
Sahara choked up on the leash as she waited for an opening in traffic so they could dart to Willowbark’s sidewalk, but it looked as if it might never come.
Chad didn’t ask about the dog, though he’d loved her once, too. “I need that watch, Sahara, and stop all the stalker bullshit. If you don’t, you’re going to be sorry.”
A heavy emptiness told Sahara that Chad had hung up on her. When she pulled the phone from her ear, the screen was dark. He always had to have the last word.
“I’m sorry now,” she said with a sigh.
Her eyes blurred as bright headlights assaulted her and the whoosh of cars and heavy bass hammered at her senses. Vape smoke from a passing SUV smacked her in the face. She refused to cry over him again.
With a desperate grunt, she shoved down the shame and humiliation that threatened to overwhelm her. So much for him begging her to come back. Gloria Gaynor’sgo-fuck-yourself anthem blared in her head but took on a mocking tone. He didn’t want her—and though she didn’t want him, that somehow didn’t make the hurt any smaller.
Willowbark called to her, a sliver of peace amid the bustle of the city. She wanted to smell pine and greenery, not car exhaust and fried foods. Crossing a street wouldn’t change her situation, but she had nowhere better to go.
Finally, she spotteda break in the traffic,and she and Desdemona went for it. Sahara’s bra was old enough to be less supportive than a jogger might want. No security deposit to pay for a new one.
Halfway across the street, Desdemona’s gait jerked, and the dog hobbled the rest of the way on only three legs.
Once they made it to the safety of the sidewalk, Sahara inspected the back paw Desdemona was holding off the groundand found a beer-bottle- green shard of glass imbedded in it. “Oh no, poor baby.”
She should have paid closerattention as they crossed the street. She was a bad mother. She hated Chad.
The glass came out easily and without complaint from Desdemona. Sahara pitched the blood-tipped shard into the hedge surrounding the commune.
Sahara pressed her face into Desdemona’s scruff.“I’m sorry, girl.” She stroked her dog, who miraculously held still. “Why can’t I pick a decent man? I know the perfect guy doesn’t exist, but is this seriously the best I can do?”
Desdemona licked her face and wiggled around her. Sahara nodded. “You’re right. No more moping. Let me check your paw. How bad—?”
Desdemona wasn’t so patient about having her paw examined. She pulled her leg back and trotted ahead on the sidewalk,leaving behind a few dots of blood, but her tail wagged as if the glass-in-the-paw situation had never happened. Sahara thought of how similarthey were, both trudging forward and acting as if they weren’t in pain and everything was fine.
Willowbark Retreat had “Private Property” signs everywhere and was surrounded by a ten-foothedge with trees beyond that. The aroma ofburning herbs—sage or basil or something—along with a sweeterscent, maybe lavender or jasmine, wafted through the air. Perhaps someone was brewing the essential oils they sold at the farmers market on Saturdays.
An odd metallic taste filled her mouth, and a heavy weight pressed against her chest, seeming to prevent her from gettingenough oxygen. She couldn’t shake an awful dread.
Fucking Chad.
Desdemona snuffled aroundthe hedge as if catchingsome kind of con- tact high. Sahara still had Gloria Gaynor in her head and a boa constrictor around her gut.
The rumble of traffic faded while a rumble in the sky rolled over every- thing. An unnatural stillness fell over Sahara, reminding her of a suddenly disconnected phone.
Out of the darkness, a tall, spindlywoman in a long-sleeved blackdress strode toward Sahara. Her steps were purposeful, both sharp and smooth and definitely unfriendly. She scowled at Sahara like a schoolmatron about to correct an errant student, making Sahara’s mouth go dry and her skin itch. The woman didn’t appear to be sweating despite the heat. Her gray- and-iron bun was yanked so tight it pulled some of her wrinkles taut. An economical facelift.
“This is private property.”The woman’s voice sounded like rust and battery acid.
The trees swayed a beat out of tune with the breeze, as if they’d been badly dubbed. Great, another migraine symptom. Perspiration dotted the nape of Sahara’s neck, even with her hair in a ponytail. She was emotionally exhausted, suffering from a nasty case of swamp butt, and now this creepy lady.
“Isn’t this a public sidewalk?”
Lightning flashed in the distance.
“You better get out of here. A storm’s coming.”The woman’s tone turned gentle but not in a contrite way. Thetimbre was more I’m-going-to-slit-your-throat-when-you’re-asleep.
Sahara noted there were no streetlights on the commune side of the street, and the traffic noises muffled, as if the surrounding trees absorbed some of the sound. Odd. She pretended she wasn’t skeeved out by the relative darkness and the woman, whose face was ghoulish.
“Awesomeidea. Have a nice night.”Trying not to appear intimidated, she nudged past, the air so muggy it was like walking through marshmallow fluff, though the woman smelledof damp earth and copper pennies. Like a butcher.
Too disconcerted to risk anotherrun-in with the woman, Sahara decided to cross the street again. But when she turned to check traffic, the woman was gone. There must have been a secret side entrance to the commune.
Without the woman’s nasty presence, Sahara felt emboldened to con- tinue on her original path. Desdemona needed the exercise. Better to do that where they wouldn’t have to dodge broken glass, chicken bones, and the occasional used condom.
They were halfway around the commune when the first raindrop hit, a fat one that splatted on her collarbone and slid beneath the gathered neck of her peasanttop, mingling with her sweat. A few degrees cooler than the air, the drop soothed her hot skin as it trickled.
Desdemona sniffed the ground maniacally, like a junkielooking for her next fix.
Chad seemed to honestly believeshe was harassinghim. That she was a thief.Maybe he hadn’t loved her or known her at all.
Her stomach squirmed as she lifted her phone to block his number. Though nobody was aroundto hear her, she placedthe phone’s microphone to her lips. “You didn’t deservemy love,” she whispered.
Desdemona bolted under the hedge, easily stripping the leash from Sahara’s wrist. Her phone tumbledthrough the air to land screen down on the pavement.
Sahara watched, stunned, for too many seconds as the red nylon of the leash trailed behind Desdemona like a kite’s tail, disappearing into the commune.
“Oh, shit!” The hedge was too dense for Sahara to follow. “Dessie!” Those commune nuts are going to have a fit.
Praying fervently that the bitchy woman from earlier wouldn’t catch her—or, worse, her dog—Sahara scoopedup her cell, briefly mourningthe now-cracked screen, and ran down the hedgerow until she found a small gap, just wide enough to crawl through. Shoving the phone in her skirt pocket, she wiggledinto the space,swearing as the branches scratched her arms and legs. Ten feet high and at least four feet thick, the hedge was hard to maneuver through. She hissed but kept going.
Fucking Chad! She’d spent their entire relationship taking care of him, always acquiescing to his needs, and he’d never appreciated her. His horrible accusations had distracted her when she should have been payingattention to Desdemona, and now she was crawlingthrough a hedgeon her knees in the mud. A branch tore her blouse, scoring her skin.
From now on, she was going to work on herself. She was going to con- tinue to eke by financially until the debt she’d taken on for her late mother’s memory care facility was paid off. No more romanticrelationships until she repaid every cent. Except for sex. She could find a man to ease that ache when her collection of toys wasn’t cutting it. She’d pick up a friend too. A real one, who would appreciate her. Maybe they’d even support her too.
Clear of the hedge, she stumbled to her feet, brushing the dirt and mud from her knees. Her skin prickled, and the hairs on her arms rose. She hoped she wasn’t about to be struck by lightning.
The commune wasn’t what she’d expected. From the outside,it appeared stuffed with trees, but she could see that while trees lined the perimeter, there were great swaths of open space, with a few large trees scattered here andthere. The air was cooler, maybe because the oaks were insulating the area from the heat, and smelled of exotic flowers rather than the earlier herbal scent. Thunder crashed overhead, and at the perimeter of trees, rain shushed through leaves and slapped on concrete, though no rain actually fell inside the compound. Sahara had never found herself on the edge of a rainstorm before.
If anyone caught her here before she found Desdemona, she might never save her dog. The commune nuts might have her detainedor arrested. What if her dog was lost forever? No. She had to remain unseen, unfound.
Ahead, she saw a cloaked figure holding a candle. While the greenery offered some heat relief, the temperature still had to register in the upper eighties—far too warm for a cloak. Sahara duckedbehind a tree, lamenting the high visibility of her red hair.
They always joked in town that the commune was full of witches, because what else would society call a bunch of women who sold excellent jams, essential oils, honey, and other bee products?Four years ago, people could tour the little cottages and take pottery or art classes, but thenWillowbark had become closed off. Now she wished she’d taken a tour, even if she’d been preoccupied with her mother’s illness. Then she might have known theplace housed not an eccentriccollection of women but a crazy cult and avoided walking Desdemona near it.
The Druid, or whatever, walked toward Sahara, who pressed tighter to the large tree, its scratchy bark biting into her arm. Her entire commune experience thus far had sent a clear message that outsiders were not welcome.
Jingling noises called her attention, and Sahara peeked to see the Druid had stopped several feet away and shed her cloak, revealing herself as a belly dancer with bells on her ankles and a belt of janglinggold coins. She wore a sequined bra and a nearly translucent lavender chiffon skirt that left her flat stomach exposed. Sahara jolted with envy mixed with amuse- ment, confusion, and fear.The woman’s age was impossible to determine from Sahara’s vantage point behind the tree. Thirties maybe. Mid-thirties. At least a little older than Sahara’s twenty-eight years.
From another direction, she caught a flash of bright yellow. A woman walked through the trees, this one in her fifties with red hair dyed several shades brighter than Sahara’s natural copper and pulled in a tight French braid. She wore a flight suit with patcheson the breast and sleeve.Sahara ducked lower.
So, maybe they weren’t a cult sincecults didn’t have costume parties.If they did, they’d be more popular. The whimsy made Sahara’s fear soften. Perhaps she could approach one of the women and ask for assistance in finding Desdemona. Except the air still held that charge, like a dragon waiting to exhale.
Thunder crashed again, then rolled and rolled.Lightning flashed. The sound of rain roared close by. The commune hummed with energy.Sahara rubbed her arms and swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat.
The first man fell from the sky.
