The Wolf Witch (The Keys Trilogy Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

caught the hem of her robe and tugged it here and there, but she was beyond worrying; as she tried to tear the plastic the cardboard box slipped from her hands and bobbed off on the waves. Litterbug. God, what was she going to do with the plastic afterwards? Normally she would have crumpled it up and taken it to the non-recyclable trash bin, but how did that work when you had the residue of a human being still clinging to the inside? You couldn’t dump your own mother in the garbage, even if it was less than a gram of her ash.
    Her anxiety got the better of her and she put her thumb through the plastic, so that the ash trickled out without ceremony or prayer. She pictured it sticking to the wet hem of her robe and let out a small yelp of horror or hurt; she wasn’t even sure which. She just wanted to shake it all out, get it over with.
    The bag was empty. She held it firm and bent to dip it in the water. It bulged up white and swollen, like a jellyfish, and she pushed it down frantically, trying to rinse out the last of the ashes. She realized she was breathing hard. When she straightened up, wet plastic screwed tight in her hand, the stars and the sea whirled around her head. She thought she was going to throw up, but then a chill breeze brought her up sharp, and it was so welcome that she poked the tip of her tongue out as if she could taste the brief, blessed coolness. Whisper of cold salt – wasn’t that what the old lady had said?
    Done. She was done. The End. Finally Reggie’s complicated relationship with her own demise had ended, too, as all things must. The stars took another waltzy twirl, but this time Blue’s feet stayed firmly rooted on the sea floor. She dug her toes into the wet sand, anchoring herself against an unseemly exhilaration as sudden and bright as lightning.
    In the midst of life we are in death. Or in the midst of death we are in life. Which way around was it supposed to go?
    As she walked back along the beach she saw a dark figure moving around in the boat. Gabriel, she guessed. She thought it would be impossible for him to see her, but then he stopped what he was doing out there and straightened up - stock still, like a gundog sniffing the wind.
    His eyes must have been something, because the next thing she knew his hand was in the air, waving at her.
    She could have run to him right then, letting her robe flap open and peel off into the wind. But she didn’t. She tugged the white cotton tighter around herself, conscious of the speed of her heart, appalled at how suddenly the hunger for wild, raw life had leapt up inside her; she still had the crumpled plastic bag in her pocket.
    Gabriel walked up the jetty with the same jaunty gait she had seen when he was escaping Charmaine that morning. He didn’t look especially tall, but he had that solid swagger that went with good muscle tone. His feet were bare.
    “Hey,” he said.
    “Hey.”
    The word came out in a gasp and no sooner was it out of her mouth that she realized she had no idea what to say to him. She’d only seen enough of him to sketch the briefest impression – a bare shoulder flexed to pull in a rope, the wind ruffling his black hair. Up close he was even more of a stranger.
    Quickly, fumbling to keep the ball in the air, she nodded towards the boat. “Are you taking it out in the morning?”
    He flashed a grin. His eyes were black and his teeth – a little jagged – were white. “Yeah. Just cleaning up. Washing the blood off the deck. Doesn’t matter how many garbage bags you use; body parts always leak.”
    She stared at him for a second and he laughed. “Kidding,” he said. “I’m not really a serial killer, I promise.”
    “You see,” she said, feeling dizzy all over again. “That’s exactly the kind of thing a serial killer would say.”
    He gave her a long, assessing look. “You must be Blue,” he said, holding out a hand. “Gabe Arnot. What are you doing out here at two o’clock in the morning?”
    His