Page 70 of A Curse On Black Lake
“What?” Killian grunts.
Ignoring him, I turn the box back and forth, looking at the bottle. It’s filled with a liquid, maybe perfume. And it’s nestled in black tissue paper. The top of the bottle is shaped like a glass knob, almost like a diamond sitting on top.
I lift the bottle out to study it, and get a whiff of lavender.
“Why are you smelling it? What if it’s poison?” Killian asks.
Frowning, I bring it to my nose and take another deep breath.
“Eliana—”
“It’s lavender,” I mumble and pull the lid off.
Grabbing a napkin from the table and I spray the liquid into it, and take a deep breath. It’s lavender perfume, but it’s not like any perfume I’ve smelled. I study the bottle closer, and there are no indicating markers, remnants of a label, or etching anywhere. “I think this is homemade,” I mumble.
“How would you come to that conclusion?” he asks.
I lift the bottle, turning it in the light. “I grow a lot of lavender, and part of it is sold to people who make things with it, perfume, essential oils, extracts. But I also make my own for soap and essential oils. Everyone thinks it comes out purple like the flower, but usually it’s almost a light brown tint. There is an undertone of purple, but it’s not overall. Most people don’t realize that it’s dyed purple. This is not, this is what it would look like from the extraction point.”
“Maybe it’s mixed with something else?” Killian suggests.
I shrug placing the bottle back in the box. “It could be, but I don’t smell anything behind it, only the lavender. I love the stuff, so I feel like I’d know if there was.”
“Someone made you homemade perfume, wrapped it with care, and left it at your front door,” Killian says, stating the obvious.
My throat tightens, and I try to breathe through it, but I have to admit … I’m scared now. This isn’t normal. I’m not friends with anyone here except Killian, and he wouldn’t lie to me, let alone know how to make homemade perfume. Someone wanted me to have this.
“This was done with a lot of intention, which tells me whoever they are, cares about you.”
“I don’t know who. I don’t have any friends,” I whisper.
Tiny leans against my leg sensing my distress, and I rub his head.
“Why did you say uh-oh?” Killian asks, leaning forward, breaking the tentative barrier of personal space. But it’s not intimidating. It’s because he wants to know, for my sake.
“Um, well, I told you I saw someone standing in my garden staring at my house, and I’m not sure if they saw me. I stayed still, but I chalked it up to some kids messing with me, or something of that nature.”
He nods, listening thoughtfully.
“But a couple of weeks ago, Tiny heard noises outside, and I went to check, with my shotgun.”
Killian’s jaw goes rock hard.
“I found boot prints, ones that looked virtually identical to the ones before.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me this?” Killian roars, standing from his seat so fast the chair tips over behind him.
I wince and clasp my hands in my lap. “You have a lot on your mind,” I mumble.
“Yeah, you’re right, I do, and you’re one hundred percent of it.”
I gasp, and my head spins so fast, a muscle in my neck screams.
He grabs my chin and looks down at me. “You said it yourself. We are intertwined with something much bigger than us. I want you safe, and astalkeris not safe.”
“Okay, but what was I supposed to do? Call the cops? The only evidence I had was my eyes and impressions in the dirt. I know, and you know, they can’t do anything with that. Hell, they’ll probably think it’s some stupid kids messing with me.”
He groans, dropping his hand from my face, and begins pacing back and forth, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up at odd ends.
