Page 50 of All My Witches
Hutch bobbed his head. “Thankyou.”
“Wow. Apparently sarcasm isn’t recognizable in the soap world,” Thistle complained. “We need to escape … andfast.”
“Then let’s head toward thewaterfall.”
“But what if the guys aren’t there?” Clove’s tone bordered on whiny. “I mean … what if they head in thisdirection?”
“Landon said he was going to sit in the center of the island and wait for you,” Thistle pointed out. “He sounded serious tome.”
“He was frustrated that the disco ball didn’t lead to dancefever.”
Thistle snorted. “He’s not the only one. Marcus never complains, but I thought he was going to meltdown.”
“It doesn’t matter what Landon says,” I supplied. “It matters what he’ll do. I’m sure he’s complaining bitterly rightnow.”
“I’m sure that’s putting itmildly.”
“He won’t sit down and do nothing, though,” I pressed. “He’ll look for me. He’ll want to find me. He won’t just sit back and let me do all thework.”
“But what makes you think he’ll go to the falls?” Thistle asked. “How can you besure?”
“Because he’s an FBI agent. It’s in his nature to investigate. While he won’t be happy – and I’m sure Marcus and Sam want to throttle him right about now because his complaints are bound to be loud and vigorous – he’ll go for the waterfall because that’s the last thing we all saw before being separated. That’s the one clue we have to goon.”
Thistle looked as if she wanted to argue, but she ultimately kept her mouthshut.
“Let’s go.” Clove held out her hand. “I hope you’re right aboutthis.”
“I hope so,too.”
IT SHOULD’VETAKEN US HOURSto hike to the waterfall. I wasn’t great when it came to geography or distances – Landon often said I had a negative sense of direction – but the fact that we were standing in front of the majestic water display within twenty minutes didn’t sit well withme.
“Did we find a wormhole to travel through when I wasn’tlooking?”
“Why are you complaining?” Clove wiped the back of her hand over her brow to swipe away the sweat. “I’m glad we don’t have to keepwalking.”
“That’s because you’re a kvetch,” Thistle said, turning her attention to the raging waters at the bottom of the waterfall. “Well, we’re here. I don’t see Marcus, Sam orLandon.”
She didn’t go out of her way to sound argumentative, but I felt the sting of the unsaid accusation all the same. “They’reclose.”
“You don’t knowthat.”
“I do. I feelit.”
Thistle tilted her head to the side. It was odd seeing her with muted hair – it reminded me of when we were kids and her mother banned her from the hair dye aisle at Target after an unfortunate shoplifting incident – and for some reason it made her look younger. She looked almostvulnerable.
“Marcus is fine,” I said. “Aunt Tillie would never let anything happen tohim.”
“I know he’s fine,” Thistle muttered. “I just don’t want to spend time with you two when I could be withhim.”
Of course, even when she looked vulnerable she was often a pain in the butt. “They’re close. We’ll find themsoon.”
“You’d better be right.” Thistle moved to the edge of the water and dropped to her knees to study something embedded in the soft mud. “There’s a footprinthere.”
I looked over her shoulder. “It looks like a smallerfoot.”
“A woman,” Thistle said. “Maybe it’s Hutch’s belovedwife.”
“I miss her so much.” Hutch’s eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, even though he hadn’t shed a tear during the walk. “I’ll never get over herloss.”
