by Holley Trent
Mrs. Holst plopped onto a stainless steel stool near a table almost completely covered with unfrosted sugar cookies. “I wasn’t thinking about how you looked.” She made an imprecise motion around her own head. “Just how your thoughts are loud and gunked up right now.”
Marty grunted quietly and let out a breath. “I’m guessing there’s no precedent for having a migraine the morning after…”
At Shani’s expression of wide-eyed curiosity, Marty cleared her throat, and muttered, “Making friends.”
“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” Chris asked quietly.
“Don’t you start.”
Mrs. Holst clasped her hands and held them against one cheek, grinning.
“Mom,” Chris warned again.
Mrs. Holst sighed, and then rolled her eyes. “Party pooper. No, Marty, there’s not any precedent that I know of. Not many folks here have…” She cut her gaze to Shani and then back to Marty and Chris. “Had that happen in recent memory. Psychic migraines are common enough, though.”
“Brain’s rewiring,” Chris said after a baker zipped past with a tray filled with what looked like sandwich buns.
“Just take things easy for a couple of days,” Mrs. Holst said. “Might take a while to shake the fuzz off. I used to get those headaches all the time when I used to try to tap Chris on the web back when he was in college. He was too far away, and that distance would strain even the most proficient of us.”
“Mallory says even Queen Tess and her entourage hate communicating that way,” Marty said.
“See? If it sucks for them, what hope do we lowly peasants have?”
“Mommy, what are you talking about?” ever-brazen Shani asked.
Marty closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Um.”
What to say?
Shani understood in simple terms that the people in Norseton weren’t quite the same as the folks back at home. For the most part, however, she hadn’t yet witnessed anyone working any major magic or pulling any thoughts from her. Marty knew that trying to buffer her from the environment was pointless. Shani knew magic existed. After all, she’d watched a fairy princess pull open a portal and make things disappear through it.
“The way I used to explain it to my kids,” Mrs. Holst said, “was that sometimes people can talk to each other without saying words. When they’re little and aren’t telepathically engaged yet, explaining the weird stuff the grownups around them do is tough, but our kids are very resilient. They tend to go with the flow.” She looked at Chris. “And how are you feeling?”
He shrugged. “I could sleep.”
“No migraine for you?”
“I had a tension headache when I woke up, but my first cup of coffee chased away the dregs.”
Marty nested her arms on a nearby counter and put her head down. “Ugh.”
“Mommy, you should lie down,” Shani said.
“Uh-huh.”
“She’ll be fine here,” Mrs. Holst said. “Won’t you be fine here, Shani? You want to hang out with an old lady and help me decide what to cut from the bakery menu?”
“Why are you cutting stuff?”
“Some things just stop selling after a while, and I want to make space for the things that do sell.”
“My grandma bakes sometimes when she’s home. She’s at work a lot. I think she’d rather be baking.”
“Oh. Well, maybe she’ll move to Norseton and give me a hand with all of this dough.”
“I’ll ask her. She never tells me no.”
Marty sighed.
Chris chuckled quietly.
Mrs. Holst made a hmm sound, that made Chris’s chuckles fall off.
“Whatever you’re thinking, Mom, don’t.”
“What? You’re the same kind of opportunist that I am or else this lady wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
“I may not be your favorite child, but you’re fast losing your chance at ever having a shot at being my favorite parent.”
“Oh, hush. If I were Marty’s mother, I’d certainly give an offer some thought. Both of her daughters and all her grandkids are right here. She’s gotta retire somewhere, right?”
Marty lifted her heavy head and squinted through her sunglasses lenses at Mrs. Holst. “The Afótama knack for devising plans on the fly amuses me.”
Mrs. Holst waved a dismissive hand. “We call it ‘thinking like a Viking.’” She pulled her reading glasses out of her chef’s jacket pocket and slipped them onto her nose. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to confer with my consultant about some things and then decorate umpteen circle sugar cookies to make them look like softballs. The girls team at the school has a tourney this afternoon.”
She headed toward the back of the kitchen—toward the office Marty couldn’t see, likely—taking Shani along with her.
“Shani?” Marty called out. She hadn’t had her chance to give the child her usual litany of “behave yourself” instructions. Shani didn’t seem to have heard her.
Shani was running her mouth a mile per minute and Mrs. Holst was running hers right back without missing a beat.
“My mother is going to talk her to death,” Chris said with a quiet growl.
“I was just thinking the same thing about Shani.”
“Well, let ’em have each other for a while, then. I say we should go back to bed.”
“Hmm.” Marty cut her stinging eyes toward the office and tried to drum up some guilt over leaving Shani, but she couldn’t. Her brain was well and truly busted.
Maybe that’s not a bad thing.
She gave the sleeve of Chris’s shirt a little yank. She felt better when he was closer, though “better” still felt a lot like “hot shit.”
“How can she be so lonely when she has people around her all the time?” Marty asked.
He laced the fingers of one hand through hers and pulled her toward the door. “I don’t know. I’ve always wondered the same thing. Might just be how she’s wired. Some folks need more social stimulation than others.”
“Mmm. I’ve always felt bad that I didn’t have the endurance. I don’t know where Shani gets the energy.”
“Don’t think about it too hard. You’ll just make your head hurt worse, and Muriel will get pissed at me for letting it happen.”
“What happens when an Afótama matriarch gets pissed at you, anyway?” She smoothed down a bit of hair standing out over his ear, then wondered if she’d have better luck just mussing the rest to make the mess look intentional. She might have felt fucked, but he looked like he’d been fucked.
She giggled.
“If you’re going to laugh at my expense, don’t do it when you’re touching me.” He kissed the back of her hand and cut her a sideways glare she would have taken more seriously if he’d been capable of malice at all. She’d once believed men like him existed, but gave up on the fairy tale hope right around the time she went into labor with Shani and a certain asshole had his phone turned off.
“Hey.” Chris squeezed her hand gently and, stopping her, bent to meet her gaze. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“What’d you just tuck away? Some memory I didn’t catch last night.”
She patted down that been-fucked patch of hair near his ear again and pressed her forehead against his lips.
And of course, he kissed her there. Each kiss was a tiny bit of medicine for her battered brain, and she wouldn’t refuse a dose.
“Tell me,” he whispered.
Her body wanted more of him—wanted the warmth of his skin against hers, and the compassion in his touch. She wanted to be held, and to maybe hide against him for a while.
She didn’t want to talk about the things that had ruined her when the promise of something new and better was right there and holding her hand.
“Later?” she whispered back.
“I won’t forget, Marty. I need to know.” He kissed her forehead once more and then nudged her back onto the path to the front.
“Here, Chris.” A lady worker behind the glass cases wearing a backward pink baseball cap held out a paper-wrapped item and eyed Marty suspiciously, though not quite straight on. She was turned a bit sideways.
Probably knows exactly who I am.
Chris squeezed her hand. “Turn down the magic, Martina. She doesn’t mean anything by the stare.”
“I don’t know if I can.” Marty took a deep breath anyway and looked away from the counter. If she couldn’t control the magic whenever she got emotional, she could at least try not to point it at any particular person.
“Is that cherry?” Chris asked.
“Lemon,” the lady said. “Last one.”
Lemon was one of Marty’s favorite words, so of course she looked, and saw the flaky pastry in his hand. A lemon Danish with cream cheese icing drizzles, so buttery that its base had pervaded through the napkin just that quickly.
Chris scrunched his nose. “Cici, sweetheart, I don’t like lemon. Never have.”
The lady in the pink hat’s gaze flitted toward Marty.
“Oh.” He held it up to Marty. “Want that?”
She took a bite of the damned thing before he could even let go of it.
So good.
“Maybe I should have enticed you with a Danish instead of offering a cookie last night.”
When Chris smiled the way he was, full and broad so his eyes crinkled at the corners, she remembered what that felt like—being able to let happiness out without worrying other people would see it and beat it down.
She wanted that again.
And why shouldn’t I have it?
Cici handed a cherry one across the counter to Chris. Another worker in a pink hat—an older lady wearing a kind smile—carried over a couple of to-go cups of coffee.
“Hello,” she said to Marty.
Marty waved. It was either that or grunt. Her mouth was full.
Chris chuckled. “You’re a telepath.”
“Oh.” She nodded to the coffee lady. “Sorry. Hi. Thank you.”
“Got a headache?”
Marty stopped chewing.
The lady gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “You’ll get used to the psychic eavesdropping. Get you something greasy to eat. That always helps me when I’ve been overdoing the chatter.”
“Cheeseburger at ten in the morning?”
“Nobody would blame you for it.”
“Do you really want a cheeseburger?” Chris asked.
Marty took another bite of Danish, and shrugged. “I wouldn’t say no to one.”
At the ringing of the bells over the door, they all turned to watch a woman with glossy red hair who wore a leather vest, and jeans that had a few indecent rips, saunter up to the side counter where another worker went to greet her.
Marty furrowed her brow and tried to grab the woman’s name out of the ether. She’d known it before, but her memories were scattered. The lady had been at the door with the queen when they’d visited Marty and Mallory in Florida, and Mallory talked about her often. “That’s…”
“Nadia Hall,” Cici said without looking at Marty. She looked just past her ear, not quite at the bulletin board behind the line.
She seemed to have a problem making eye contact.
“Don’t think anything of her behavior,” Chris projected, obviously noting the cause of Marty’s curiosity. “None of us really understand why she does that, but we’re all used to her. If she does look you straight on, then you really worry.”
“Oh. I feel bad for being suspicious, then. I thought she was staring because…”
“Nah. Trust me—there’s no buzz on the web about you and Dan. When people give you looks, it’s because you’re with me.”
He set his coffee cup atop the counter and rubbed one large hand down Marty’s back.
“Or because you’re pretty.”
Nadia sauntered over, cocky as hell and wearing a crooked grin. “I heard my name.”
“We didn’t say anything about you,” Chris said. “Yet.”
Nadia gave him the long blink treatment, then set her blue gaze on Marty. “How’s Shani? Heard she had a spill yesterday.”
“Word gets around fast around here, huh?” Marty asked.
Nadia shrugged. “I see your sister probably seven times per day, so I’m a little better tuned in to what’s happening in your little web circle than most other folks.” She shifted her big bakery box to her other arm and narrowed her eyes at Chris. “That part of the web seems to be a little different now. Hmm, I wonder why that is.”
He grunted.
Marty furrowed her brow again. “You can…see, or whatever, that much of the web at once?”
Again, Nadia shrugged. “I assure you, that’s not typical.”
“She’s a descendant of Ótama,” Chris said. “The ability to observe so much of the web at once isn’t unique to their line, but they’re certainly the best at it.”
“I won’t feel bad for sucking, then.”
“You shouldn’t feel bad anyway,” the coffee lady—whose name badge read Brynn—said. “Most of us aren’t all that interesting, psychic or otherwise. I mean, Cici here got a little magic during the trickle-back, Chris got some, and a few others here and there, but most of us are the same old, same old. We’re generally okay with that.”
“Not everyone is,” Cici whispered. She lowered her head and fiddled with the glass door on her side of the bakery case.
Brynn gave her shoulder a placating pat. “Ignore anyone who makes you feel bad about yourself.”
“Who’s been making you feel bad, Cici?” Nadia asked. There was an edge to her voice that said she wouldn’t be brokering any bullshit.
Cici shook her head hard.
“Nuh-uh. Don’t do that. I keep telling you, if folks are giving you a hard time for whatever reason, you’ve got to tell me.” She turned to Marty. “Most folks here try not to act like shit stains, but we all know this isn’t a utopia. There are assholes everywhere, but we tend to be a little more vigilant here about putting them in check.”
Cici remained silent, but Marty didn’t doubt for one moment that Nadia wasn’t going to try to follow up at another time. After all, she and her cousin had managed to uproot Mallory with her three kids at the drop of a hat. Getting a member of the community to answer a question probably wouldn’t be such a difficult feat in comparison.
Nadia pinned her piercing stare on Brynn, who nodded knowingly.
Cici drifted away and fiddled with the coffee machine.
Nadia cleared her throat and turned her attention back to Marty and Chris. “So. Shani?”
“She’s fine.” Marty tossed the last bite of Danish into her mouth and knocked the crumbs off her shirt. “She’s in the back with Chris’s mother probably eating frosting or something. I’m trying not to think about all the sugar.”
“Yeah. Best if you didn’t. After you’ve shaken your headache, you should pop by the mansion. I’m sure Tess would like to see you.”
“To curse me out for rudely slamming the door in her face last month?”
“Nah, she’s too lazy for that nowadays. Too pregnant to work up very much indignation over anything except her sciatica. We’d need to talk to you about…” Nadia grimaced and closed her eyes. “I think you know.”
The tension that Chris had so easily swept away with his touch rushed back. Fear tightened Marty’s throat and made her hands shake so badly she nearly spilled her coffee.
“Take it easy,” Nadia whispered. “We’re not going to interrogate you. We’re not going to do anything to make you feel like what happened was your fault. We talked to Mallory, and we need to talk to you. The last thing we want to do is go into any situation half-cocked.”
Chris pulled Marty a little closer, and his soothing cure pooling where he touched. “Can you just give her a little time?”
“Of course. You know we’re going to be as delicate about questioning as we can, Chris, but we’ve got to pursue every lead. Dea
ling with this now is for the greater good of the community. Once we aren’t as worried about internal concerns, we can concentrate on the external ones.”
“I don’t know if I can help you,” Marty said.
Nadia’s lips parted, but before she could get any words out, Marty amended, “I mean, I want to. I do. I just don’t know if I have the information you think you’re looking for.”
“Ah.” Nadia nodded, gnawing contemplatively on her bottom lip. “You’d be surprised at how what we perceive to be throwaway nuggets of information can actually change the course of an investigation.”
Marty nudged her sunglasses up her nose and cleared her throat. “Can I let you know later?”
“Sure. You can have Mallory tag along if you want. We’re not going to push you into an interrogation room and shine a bright light in your eyes and deprive you of food. We’ll probably talk to you around the dinner table.” Nadia squinted and rubbed her chin. “I think Nan said something about short ribs for tonight.”
“Casual, right?” Chris asked.
Nadia guffawed in a comically unladylike way and started for the door.
Waving their goodbyes toward the ladies behind the counter, Marty and Chris followed.
“We really don’t know how to do things any other way,” Nadia said. “We don’t have the innate professionalism and dignity of previous generations, so Tess and the rest of us dorks just try to do the best we can and hope we don’t screw anything up.” She put her back to the door and pushed.
Chris stepped forward as if to hold the door, but he needn’t have bothered as someone on the other side had his grip on the outer handle and was waving her out.
Marty’s heart nearly opened its own door in her chest and ran.
Even before she’d finished perusing his form, she knew precisely who he was just from that weird psychic shit that was stronger than the day before. Her gaze had started at the sidewalk—at his cook’s clogs, then moved up to the hand with the couple of old burn scars and the wedding ring he never wore when he’d visited Tallahassee.
She didn’t even bother looking at his face.
He was too close. He was right there in front of her physically, and too close to her on the web again. Chris had been her buffer for a night, but Dan was back because he was her father, and maybe she’d never get away from him.
