Page 8 of Hollow

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” I start walking backward, away from him. “Nine o’clock tomorrow. Telleveryone you know. Especially the people who know how to have a good time.”

“If you’re serious about this,” he calls after me, “you’re gonna need proper decorations. Not that tourist crap in the window.”

“Any suggestions?”

“You need actual Hunt masks. Edith at Mooncrow keeps the real ones in the back.”

“Perfect.” I turn to go, then spin back. “Oh, have you seen Damiano Ricci today? The groundskeeper at my place?”

The shift is immediate. His entire body tenses, his expression shutters. “Why wouldIknow where your gardener is?”

Interesting reaction. There’s definitely history there.

“No reason. He made me something that helped me sleep. Thought he might be in town.”

“Yeah, he’s good at mixing things that mess with your head.” Flint’s voice turns cold. “Free advice, be careful around Ricci. He doesn’t exactly have a history of leaving people better than he found them.”

“Noted.” I start heading away, then call back over my shoulder. “See you tomorrow night, Flint Bishop.”

I can feel his eyes following me as I head down the street. There’s something about him that gets under my skin. Not in a bad way, necessarily, just... unsettling. Like he sees right through the Waters heiress facade to the mess underneath. But at leastnow I’ve got one potential guest for my impromptu party. Time to see if I can drum up a few more.

I head straight to Mooncrow Artifacts. The shop is exactly as I remember it from past summers—dim lighting, that weird mix of tourist crap and actual mystical stuff, the smell of incense and old books. Edith, the ancient owner who seems like she’s been running this place since the island formed, looks up from behind the counter.

“Briar Waters,” she says, recognition in her eyes. “Been a while.”

“I’m having a party tomorrow. Hunt-themed.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “At the Waters place? Your father hasn’t thrown a party?—”

“My father’s not here.” I meet her gaze directly. “And what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” I draw a calming breath. “I saw the masks and thought they’d be perfect for decorations.”

“Okay.” She nods slowly. “But the authentic masks are in the back. Follow me.”

She leads me to a storage room where she shows me a collection of masks far more elaborate than the ones in the window. Genuine bone, hand-carved with intricate symbols, adorned with feathers and small bells that make a haunting sound when they move.

“These are the real deal,” she says. “Handmade by island craftsmen, not the mass-produced ones we sell to tourists.”

“They’re perfect,” I say, already picturing themdisplayed around the great room. “I’ll take five… no, wait… ten. And I need red bulbs, too. Lots of them.”

She nods, pulling out a wooden crate filled with various sizes of red lightbulbs. “You should know that just displaying Hunt items sends a message on this island.”

“That’s exactly what I want.” I hand over my credit card. “To send a message.”

She starts wrapping the masks carefully in brown paper. “And what message is that, exactly?”

“That I’m not my father’s daughter. Not anymore.”

She makes a noncommittal sound. “Just be careful what you’re inviting, girl.”

“That’s the point,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “I’m done being careful.”

I spend the afternoon exploring town, stopping at the small grocery to pick up additional party supplies. The cashier—Meredith, according to her nametag—almost drops the bottle of tonic water when I tell her there’s a party at Windward tomorrow.

“The Waters place? For real?” Her eyes are huge. “Nobody ever gets to go in there!”

“Well, now’s your chance. Nine o’clock. Hunt theme. It’s gonna be wild.”

“The Hunt? At your house?” She leans across the counter. “No way.”

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