Jeremiah stared at his reflection in the mirror, a bloody piece of toilet paper stuck to his face where the razor had cut too deep. He couldn’t help but smile back at his own reflection. Prudence had finally called, after a week of zero communication. Jeremiah thought perhaps he had offended her at the coffee shop, or perhaps she had recognized the obvious: she was far out of his league. She wore confidence like perfume, and a little went a long way.

He peeled the tissue paper from his chin and removed the remnant of blood that remained. He took out his go to cologne. The one his friend from high school had dubbed The Lady Catcher. It had lived up to its name, and then some. In fact, every time Jeremiah wore the musky cologne, women would comment about how irresistible he smelled. He sprayed some on his neck, his buttoned up black shirt, and even squirted a bit onto his wrists. Not too much, though. A little went a long way.

With one final glance in the mirror, Jeremiah smirked, satisfied with his appearance. One thing was certain: Prudence wasn’t going to fall for the usual seduction. She was far too smart for that. Perhaps it was the chase that drew Jeremiah in. After all, he had always loved a challenge, an unconquerable puzzle, and Prudence was definitely unconquerable. She had the ability to see past his mask—his illusion of a confident man with life in his pocket. The truth was, life had a way of grinding him down to dust, eliciting his feelings of mediocrity, and much worse, proving he was forgettable.

He shook the anxiety free from his mind. This wasn’t a way to talk himself up before a date, especially a date where he planned to win over a woman like Prudence—a woman dripping with self-assurance and passion. Jeremiah exhaled and ran his hand over his face.

“Get yourself together, man,” he said to his reflection in the mirror. “She’s just like every other woman.” Except he knew that was a lie. 

Prudence was anything but ordinary; she was elusive, a nonconformist, and yet attainable at the same time. Hopefully, at dinner, he’d capture her attention, even if it was only for one moment. 

***

“Come in. The door is open,” Prudence called from somewhere inside of her tiny house: one of those houses where a person lived frugally to have the type of freedom that only debt-free living could afford. 

Jeremiah turned the black door knob of the canary-yellow door, bright and unique—the perfect choice for Prudence. “You should probably lock your door.”

“Why is that?” Prudence asked, turning around from the sink and wringing her hands in a dish towel.

“Well, you live alone,” Jeremiah said, giving her the once over. She wore an emerald green dress with a paisley print. Her once-silver hair was now a bright crimson red. “Whoa, you changed your hair.”

She smirked. “It felt like a red kind of day.” Prudence sashayed over to where he stood. “Are those for me?”

Jeremiah forgot about the yellow and orange daisies he held in his hand. “Oh, um, yeah.” He handed them to Prudence.

“That’s sweet.” She held the bouquet to her nose and sniffed the flowers. “Though daisies aren’t my favorite flower.”

“Why not? You look like a daisy kind of gal.”

She arched one of her eyebrows. “Do I?” she chuckled. “No, posies are my kind of flower.”

“Aren’t those the flowers in that one children’s song?” Jeremiah asked. “You know the one with pockets full of posies.”

“Ashes... ashes... we all fall down,” Prudence sang. “Do you know the origins of that song?”

“Not really,” Jeremiah said, leaning against the wall closest to her.

“Children sang it during the great plague. Posies were supposed to ward off the disease, but, of course, they didn’t, and so, just like dried up corpses, the children fell down into ashes.” A glint in Prudence’s eye made Jeremiah stand up from his leaning position. “My family has a long lineage—as far back as the Ancient Greeks. In fact, the Druids were known to worship those in my family line. Actually, I come from a long line of spectacular beings.”

“Beings… The Druids?” Jeremiah stammered.

Prudence’s mouth puckered playfully. “The Druids were philosophers, teachers, and harmonious people.” The glint in her eye returned. “But most historians claim they were simply pagans remembered only for their animal and human sacrifices, but they were far more powerful than any historian could ever fathom.”

“Sacrifices…” the word trailed off before Jeremiah could finish his sentence.

 “History books are often biased, claiming blood sacrifices as barbaric and pointless.” Her eyelashes fluttered. “Sometimes blood is a necessary means to the ultimate goal… reincarnation, survival, or an offering to something far more powerful than any mere mortal could comprehend.”

“I’m pretty sure that sacrificing someone who isn’t willing to die is murder,” Jeremiah said, the hair stood up on his neck.

“Death is natural, Jeremiah, as natural as breathing.” She closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling in a rhythmic way, as though she heard some ancient song he could not. “I know I would want my last breath to mean something.” She opened her eyes and peered into his. “Wouldn’t you? After all, we all fall down. Don’t we?”

“Well, that’s a bit morbid,” he chuckled nervously. “And here I thought that song was just something little kids sang at recess.”

 “Death isn’t a game, Jeremiah.” Her eyes held his and the surety in her tone made his blood grow cold. “Sometimes it’s a gift: the ultimate sacrifice.” She arched her eyebrow at him, once more, and bit her bottom lip. “Are you hungry?”

Grateful she was changing the subject, Jeremiah cleared his throat and focused on the pot simmering behind her on the stove. “Yeah, I’m starved.”

He turned his head away from the stove and something glimmered to the left of where they stood. He turned toward the shimmering light and realized it was the glass on about a hundred frames that covered the walls in her hallway. “Whoa, those are a lot of pictures.” The hallway led to the back of her tiny house, away from the kitchen, and to where he assumed her bedroom was. 

“Oh that,” she said and then grinned. “My Friend Wall.”

“Sort of like your own version of social media?” He walked over to get a better look. Prudence had snapshots of men and women, smiling, laughing, glimpses of her past. Not one picture was of Prudence. Not a selfie, or candid photo with one of her friends. Strange.

“Not like social media at all,” Prudence said, from behind him. “You know how I love to be anonymous.”

Her breath was on his neck, sending shivers down his spine, but not in a pleasant way. Jeremiah turned to face her. For some reason, maybe it was all that sacrifice talk, the fact that she was behind him unsettled him. She stared up into his eyes again, that same piercing gaze.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, Jeremiah?” she whispered.

“No,” he stammered, but the croak in this single utterance betrayed him. He cleared his throat again, and looked past her back toward the table.

She laughed again. “You’re a horrible liar.” She leaned in closer to him. “How about now?” she asked, her face was an inch away from his. The smell of patchouli wafted toward him.

“No,” he repeated firmly. His blood rushed through his veins, but just before her lips brushed against his, she pulled away. 

Prudence smiled, and her teeth grazed her lower lip. “I could just eat you up,” she said, pulling away from him. “But I think I’ll wait until later.” She winked at him and danced out of his arms. “I better go check on the chili.”

“Can’t the chili wait?” Jeremiah asked, reaching for her hand to pull her back to him, but she darted away. 

She spun on her heel, her lips slightly parted, seducing his senses. “I promised you the best dinner of your life, and a night you would never forget. I always keep my promises, Jeremiah.”

He stared after her, as she swayed back and forth to that same unheard rhythm as before. Her movements were intoxicating. It was as though every twist and swirl of her hand hypnotized him. His heartbeat quickened and blood pulsed through his body, enlivening his senses.

Any anxiety he had once held over the strange topics Prudence spoke about—sacrifices, ancient druids, blood, and death—all melted away, and he hoped with all his might that Prudence did in fact keep her promises, and that tonight would be a night he would never forget.

***

Jeremiah stepped closer to the wall of pictures. Hundreds of smiling faces leered back at him as if to say, “Welcome, friend.” 

A chill ran up his spine, once more. The pictures were all taken in the same location, inside Prudence’s tiny house at a table set for two. Jeremiah glanced over his shoulder at a small circular table set up next to the kitchen. A yellow table cloth with white polka dots adorned the table, and two white, ceramic candle stick holders, shaped like owls, held bright orange candles, the wicks blackened as though they had recently been used. 

He craned his neck to get a better look at Prudence. She stood in front of the stove, stirring a pot full of chili while she hummed a sweet melody that he couldn’t quite place. Though he wanted to reach over, grab her waist, and spin her into his arms, another part of him screamed at him to flee and run as far away from her tiny house as humanly possible. But why?

He turned back toward her wall of pictures, her Friend Wall, as she had called it, and he peered longer at the smiling faces. In each picture, an enormous yellow bowl sat in front of the friend, a generous portion of chili steamed from the bowl. Jeremiah leaned in closer. Yes, it was chili, no mistake there.

One of the faces caught his eye. A young man with curly orange hair, reminiscent of a comedian Jeremiah had once seen do a magic show in Las Vegas. 

“Prudence,” he braved. 

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed happily.

“I don’t mean to bother you,” he stammered, his heart racing as he formed the words. “But I think I know one of your friends.”

A clang came from the kitchen, the sound of a metal utensil hitting the floor. “You do?” she asked, behind him now. She was quick, her movements silent like a snake. 

“Yes, but I can’t remember his name.” He pointed to the man with the orange hair. 

“Oh, Clive,” Prudence answered, nodding her head. “He’s a hard one to forget.”

Clive... the name was familiar... Clive. Jeremiah’s eyebrows drew together. “Yeah, that’s his name, but I still don’t know how I know him. Does he live in Hood River?”

Prudence laughed. “Oh, no, Clive doesn’t live in Hood River.”

The hair on the back of Jeremiah’s neck stood on end once more. “He doesn’t?”

She shook her head. “No, silly, Clive is from California. His family owns a farm out there. You probably met him at a farmer’s market.”

“That makes sense,” Jeremiah said, even though it didn’t. He hadn’t remembered meeting anybody besides Prudence at the Farmer’s Market, which was over three weeks ago, and he could have sworn he had seen Clive’s picture recently. Jeremiah racked his brain trying to remember where he had seen Clive’s picture: at the coffee shop? No, not there. Had he read about him in the newspaper? No, Jeremiah rarely read the newspaper.

Prudence peered into his face. “What are you thinking about, Jeremiah?”

The question itself was innocent, but the chill in her eyes was unmistakable. Jeremiah shivered. “Just, trying to remember which farmer’s market Clive worked at.”

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “All those questions will spoil your appetite.”

“I smell something burning,” he said, changing the subject. 

Prudence grumbled and left the room quickly. “Oh, it’s just the corn bread,” she said from the kitchen. “Don’t worry though, only a few of the muffins are burnt.” Irritation entwined itself in her words. “We should eat soon.” This was more of a command than an invitation.

“Mm-hmm,” Jeremiah murmured, his mind still focused on Clive’s picture.

Had he seen him on the Internet? Jeremiah pulled out his smart phone and opened the daily articles listed on his home screen. The loading symbol circled, trying to find a signal.

“Come on,” Jeremiah grumbled, “load already.”

“Load what?” Prudence said from behind him, again. 

He shifted his shoulder, blocking his phone. “Oh, nothing,” he quipped, facing her.

Prudence held out her hand, motioning for him to take a hold of it. “Come on, silly,” she giggled, “dinner’s ready.”

Jeremiah placed his hand in hers, embarrassed that he had ever questioned her motives. So, she had a Friend Wall where she posted random pictures of people eating in her home. So what? That didn’t make her evil, quirky and eccentric maybe, but evil… not in the least. 

Prudence handed Jeremiah a cornbread muffin. “You’re in for a treat. They’re my grandmother’s recipe.”

He held the muffin in his hand, Prudence’s finger lingered on his for a moment, sending tingles up his arm. Her eyes met his, and any coldness he had seen was gone. In fact, he must have mistaken the ice in her glare. He had a tendency to misread people, which was one of the many reasons he had remained single for so long. 

“What are you thinking about, Jeremiah?” Prudence repeated the question, her voice husky, passionate.

“I don’t like being vulnerable,” he admitted.

She grinned. “All the more reason to share.”

“I’m not really good at this… dating that is, but I’d like to get to know you better.” He motioned toward her photographs. Maybe if he asked about her pictures, she’d be willing to tell him how she knew Clive. “Do you make dinner for all of your friends? I was kind of hoping I was more than just a friend.”

Her lips puckered up, and she drew circles on his hand with her finger. “Let’s eat first and let things happen naturally.”

“That was my intention.” Jeremiah’s eyebrow rose. “I’m just curious about your friends is all.”

Prudence let go of his hand. “Your chili is getting cold,” she said flatly.

“I didn’t mean to press you,” he stammered, hoping he hadn’t made another dating blunder and ruined his chances with Prudence.

Though tonight had been strange, he still wanted to be more than just her friend. He took the bowl of chili she held out for him, and spooned a generous portion into his mouth.

“Wow!” His eyes widened. “This is amazing.”

“I knew you’d like it.” She leaned toward him. “Do you mind if I take your picture?” The question floated in the atmosphere like fog obscuring a train signal, both dangerous and deadly.

Before Jeremiah could protest, she snapped a quick shot with a Polaroid camera he hadn’t seen on the table before that moment. “See that didn’t hurt, now, did it?” She leaned back in her chair.

“Maybe you should retake that picture,” Jeremiah said, blinking his eyes. “I wasn’t ready for it.”

“No, I think it’s perfect. I want to remember you just like this.”

“What do you mean, remember me?” Jeremiah asked. “Are you going somewhere?”

Prudence’s smiled faded. “I don’t like to stay in one place for too long.”

“Why is that?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate.

She shrugged. “I get bored quickly.”

A knot formed in Jeremiah’s throat. He knew that feeling all too well, getting bored with someone he was dating, but he thought Prudence and he had shared something deeper, something meaningful and lasting, but maybe he was wrong.

“Don’t you like your chili?” she asked.

He glanced down at his bowl, wanting to press the issue further, but hesitant to push Prudence again.  Jeremiah spooned another large bite into his mouth. The flavor was addicting. “Where did you get this recipe?” He asked between bites.

Prudence tilted her head and her lips curled into a devious grin. “It’s another family recipe.”

“What’s in it?” he asked, taking another bite, and then another.

She shook her head. “A magician never reveals her secrets.” Prudence stood up from the table and walked back toward the kitchen.

Jeremiah’s phone lit up on the table; it had finally loaded. He pushed the button to open his home screen. A list of articles popped up immediately, and he scrolled down through the list. 

Prudence walked back toward the table with hot sauce in her hand. “What are you looking at?

Jeremiah glanced down at his phone. “Nothing,” he said, covering the screen with his hand.

Prudence’s eyebrow rose. “I don’t like when people use their phones during dinner. It’s rude.” The bite in her tone was sharp, like a hornet protecting its hive.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he paused. “I was just checking out an article online. I think that’s where I first saw Clive.”

Her lips tightened into a thin line. “Why are you so interested in Clive?”

“Oh, I’m not really,” Jeremiah responded too quickly. “I just hate when I can’t remember something.” He glanced back at his phone. The screen was black. He tapped the button to reload the page. Jeremiah glanced from Prudence to the bowl of chili in front of her. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“This isn’t my favorite meal.” She smirked. “I told you I don’t enjoy conventional cuisine.”

“What do you mean by conventional cuisine?” Jeremiah asked.

Prudence shrugged, taking the developed photo in her hand. She glided over to her Friend Wall. The photos of the smiling faces. Clive’s face.

Jeremiah glanced back down at his phone. An article caught his eye. The same article he had read earlier that morning. The article about Clive. Clive’s picture stared back at him from the screen—that same smile and unmistakable hair. Large cap letters above the picture read: CLIVE BAXTER... MISSING SINCE JULY! Jeremiah gasped.

“What’s the matter, Jeremiah?” Prudence said from behind him. Her voice no longer playful or sweet.

He turned to face her, but when he did so, the room spun, sending him off balance. Jeremiah closed his eyes to regain his focus.

“What’s wrong with me?” He asked, slurring his words together.

Prudence chuckled, leaning into him. “Jeremiah?” she sang, focusing on the syllables of his name. “Ashes... Ashes...” she taunted him. 

The scent of patchouli suffocated his senses. Jeremiah’s head grew foggy, and the room blurred in and out of focus. “What... is... happening... to... me?” His throat constricted, and he gasped for air.

“Maybe it was something you ate?” She giggled, again, toying with him—a cat pawing at a dying mouse.

Dying. The word echoed in his head. His tongue swelled in his mouth... heavy, like a lifeless stone. “You poisoned me?” He forced one of his eyes open, and a sliver of Prudence’s face blurred before him.

Jeremiah felt Prudence’s breath on his neck. “I didn’t poison you, silly,” she hissed. 

He should fight back, but his limbs were too heavy, and his eyes heavier still. Sleep was beckoning to him,

“Then… I’m not… dying?” he gasped the words out.

“Dying?” Prudence asked the question, and then he felt her lips close to his ear. “No, Jeremiah, you’ll taste far more appetizing if you’re fresh.”