“Where are you going?” Miranda pulled back, her large, watery green eyes gazing upward.
Della rubbed her palms on the back of her jeans. “We’re burying Chan.”
“Oh, my bad,” Miranda said. “Here I am, asking you for a hug, when you’re the one in need. Come here. Come here.” She held out her arms and wiggled her fingers.
“No, I’m fine.” Della even took a step back, but damn if her chest didn’t grip with a reviving of the grief. That’s what hugs did sometimes, brought everything to the surface. Some things didn’t need to come up for air.
Miranda shot out of bed, her pink heart-covered nightshirt fluttering around her. “Why don’t Kylie and I come with you? Wait.” Miranda waved her hands in the air as if erasing the request. “Forget I asked, we’re coming even if you don’t want us. You shouldn’t go to a funeral alone.” She started for the door as if to go wake up Kylie.
“Nooooo.” Della caught her by the arm. Damn it, she’d come in here to help Miranda, not to start World War III. And that’s what every argument felt like lately with the witch.
“Why? Is Steve going?” Miranda asked.
Della’s heartstrings yanked. Just hearing his name did that to her, and it came with a quiver of guilt. Guilt over what she felt for Chase. Not that she’d really defined what “that” was, but it was there. And denying it wouldn’t make it go away.
“No, he’s not coming,” Della said the truth and the thought hit: If Steve knew about it, he’d want to come. That was Steve. He cared. She cared about him, too. But did she care enough to let him go? To stop hurting him?
Miranda gently removed Della’s hold on her arm. “Just give it up, vamp. Because no way, no how, are you going alone. Kylie and I are coming.” She even did that attitude shake of her head that reminded Della of one of those head-bobbing dog figurines some people put in their cars.
Frustration built in the pit of Della’s stomach. “Put your broom down, witch!” she bit out. “You can’t come. Besides, it’s not a funeral,” Della said, her tone getting tighter. If she showed up to meet Burnett with Miranda and Kylie in tow, Burnett would have a shit fit. And Della avoided Burnett’s shit fits at all costs.
Seeing the determination and love in Miranda’s eyes, Della held out her hand, seeking patience from both the witch and herself.
“Look, Burnett didn’t even want me to come. They’re burying Chan in the fake grave where he was supposed to have been buried earlier. So, it’s a little dangerous, unearthing a casket, putting a body in it, and doing it without getting caught. Supposedly, breaking into graves can get you five to ten years in prison. And orange is not your color.”
“I look just as good in orange as you do,” the witch sassed back while twisting a strand of her multicolored hair. Then she frowned, and even got teary-eyed again. “Please. I still don’t like you going alone. It hurts me right here.” She put a hand over her chest.
Della’s own heart took a blow at her words. “Burnett’s going to be there,” she assured her.
Miranda made a face, which included one of her signature eye rolls. “Like he’d give you a hug if you needed one.”
Della didn’t think Burnett would hug her, but she didn’t doubt he’d offer his sympathy. And from one vamp to another, that was more than enough.
“I’ll be fine.” And she would, Della told herself. Burying Chan beneath his tombstone was the right thing. Even if his dying wasn’t. “I have to go.” She took a step toward the door.
“Wait,” Miranda said. “One hug to hold you over.”
The word “no” danced on Della’s tongue, but stopping Miranda from hugging was like stopping a male dog from peeing on a fire hydrant. Impossible.
Della leaned in and pulled back extra quick, studying the witch and still seeing worry in her expression. “Later, we’ll have a Diet Coke session and share our problems. But before then, you need to find whoever you promised that you wouldn’t tell on and rescind that promise.”
Miranda’s bottom lip came out a bit. “I can’t.”
Della frowned. “Fine, then I won’t tell you guys what’s going on with me. And it’s huge.”
“That’s not fair,” Miranda said.
“Yeah, it sucks having friends who expect you to spill your guts, but that’s what we do. So, get your guts prepared to fall out. Later.” She shot out of Miranda’s bedroom, and out of the cabin, hurrying to meet Burnett—hoping that burying Chan would at least bring some closure to this issue and free her up to work on the others.
Natasha and Liam were first on the issue list.
Then the whole Steve and Chase issue. Or maybe trying again to find her uncle. With all the issues Della had, she had choices.
* * *
The ghostlike clouds had passed, and the half moon, accompanied by the stars, spit out just enough light to turn the sky a dark navy. Burnett, dressed in black, waited by the front gate of Shadow Falls. His gaze fell over her as if trying to read her mood. Or maybe her ability not to emotionally crumble. Little did he know, that wall had come down months ago.
At times, she wasn’t sure what she’d used to put herself back together, but she had a feeling it had everything to do with Shadow Falls. The people here. The friendships. Not necessarily the hugs—though she loved Miranda for it, she could do without those. But just knowing others cared had her pulling herself back together after each of life’s disappointments.
She cared about them all. Even the stoic camp leader.
Face it, completely cratering meant letting people down. If her Asian father had instilled anything in her, it was loyalty. Which probably explained why even when her father seemed to have given up on her, she hadn’t given up on him.
“Ready?” Burnett asked.
She nodded.
He started to run, his boots crashing against the dirt three or four times before he went straight into flight. Della didn’t know if she could do that, but almost sensing it was a challenge, she gave it a shot. Her own boots hit the ground seven times before she sensed the strength. Forcing every muscle she had into action, she felt herself being lifted into the air. A sense of accomplishment whispered over her, and for one second, it dulled the pain of what she was about to face.
Burnett glanced back at her. The look in his eyes almost reminded her of the way her father looked at her when she’d made a good move at chess.