Page 3 of Only the Wicked
A falcon flies overhead, flapping its wings until it hits an air stream and coasts high above. Fast, fierce, and powerful, falcons are a symbol for Horus—an Egyptian god who represented the sun, the sky, healing, and protection.
If I had my phone, I’d refresh my memory of the falcon-headed god. Protection and healing—exactly what I came here seeking. But my phone connects me to the world and with that connection I am inundated with messages and emails. No phone is good. This is what I need. An electronic detox. Space to decompress.
I close my eyes once again, resting my thighs against the banister. The breeze cools my skin. Behind me, the unmistakable sound of footsteps on wood breaches the quiet. My muscles tense.
The Yellow Mountain fire tower is on almost every North Carolina hiking map. A beautiful summer day like this, others were bound to come. And you don’t hike the trail without taking the time to take in the view.
With one last glance across the Smokies, I turn to cede the tower to the recent arrival. A dark-haired woman, hair pulled into a ponytail that swings slightly with her movements, climbs the ladder, her back to me.
“Ow. Fuck.” Her progress stops, and as if sensing she’s not alone, the woman turns her head, giving me a view of cheeks flushed with exertion. She’s not sweating, but it’s not that hot—yet.
Did she take the steep shortcut like me?
Two paths to the top. One easy six-mile trek, or a steep mile-and-a-half climb.
The way she’s frozen in place, stuck in a trance, reminds me of a deer in the forest, evaluating the need for flight.
“Hi there,” I say, stepping back from the hold, giving her more space, letting her know I’m not some sicko.
Which, come to think of it, is she alone? I only heard one person approach.
“Hi.”
She resumes her task of climbing the ladder. It’s a wooden ladder, the kind a person might attach to a tree house, only this one ascends into the tower through a cut-out on the deck platform.
I watch closely as a lithe, fit body rises. With each push from her right leg, she mutters to herself, lower this time, presumably to prevent me from hearing her cuss. Her legs are lean, the muscles flexing beneath smooth, lightly tanned skin. Either she spends her days outdoors or she’s naturally tan. She could be a park ranger.
But no. A park ranger wouldn’t wear those sporty short shorts. Lots of the girls in my high school wore shorts just like those, loose at the leg openings, designed for running, and while parents frowned, I did not. That was a long time ago. Maybe the styles have changed. Or maybe I stopped noticing.
She reaches for the banister, her feet on the second rung, and my southern upbringing kicks in, prompting me to step forward and offer my hand.
“Thank you.” Her voice is light, the words automatic.
More weight than I expected presses down, but I easily take it, offering balance as she climbs out of the hold. A bloody spot on her right knee catches my attention. A thin stream of dried blood forms a line from her knee to the base of a thick hiking sock.
“You okay?” I ask, although, it’s not like I have a first aid kit. I don’t even have my phone.
“Oh. I’m fine.” Her right knee bends, and only the right toe of her hiking boot touches the deck.
Her gaze travels over the perimeter, captivated by the view.
For her to turn her back on me, I must come across as trustworthy.
As she studies the horizon, I examine the woman’s profile. Smooth skin, tiny silver studs for earrings, no visible tattoos above the neckline. Her chocolate brown hair shimmers with healthy shine. She’s younger, but I’d guess she’s late twenties, maybe.
It’s a Tuesday and she’s not working. Unless… Internal alarms ring and I take a second look over her frame, hunting for what? A camera?
You’re full of it, Rhodes. No one here knows who the fuck you are. And that right there is why you’re here.
Still, the paranoia Miles accuses me of having makes me scan the tree line once more. No one. Just mountains and sky.
The woman steps forward to the railing, still entranced.
I’m halfway down the ladder when a board creaks from her one-legged hop. She’s injured and alone.
Rhodes—
I stop my grandmother’s lecture before the replay.
