by Anya Nowlan
That got her to smile.
“I don’t think I even have a long enough broom for you,” Tessa replied, giving him a quick once-over.
Tate wagged his brows at that comment, brain already filling with all the dirty jokes he could make. Somehow, he managed to not say any of them out loud, just grinned like an oaf.
“Men,” Tessa rolled her eyes at him.
But there was still a faint blush on her cheeks as she brushed past him in the cramped room, carrying two of the books in her arms. Grabbing a set of keys from behind the counter, she led the way outside, locking up after her.
“Sorry,” she muttered under her breath as she gave the place one last look before turning away.
“You’re apologizing to the store?” Tate asked.
“Not exactly,” she replied, but didn’t offer any further explanation.
Tate fell into step beside her as they walked away, heading toward the center of town. Tessa’s shoulders were slumped and her steps heavy as she blew a strand of reddish-blonde hair off her forehead.
“You think we’ll really find something in these?” Tate asked, hefting the books up.
“It’s a long shot,” she shrugged. “But if Mr. Thompson had the amulet, who knows what else he could have had.”
“He probably didn’t know it mas magical or mystical or whatever power it has that made Loch want it so badly,” he replied with a shrug.
“Most likely,” she nodded. “But Mr. Thompson is the only lead we have right now.”
Tate considered that, finding himself agreeing. It wasn’t like he had an encyclopedia on the occult to consult. The fact that he was dealing with something as ridiculous as a slimy prick who smelled like the undead was mind-boggling enough.
“We’re headed to your place?” Tate asked.
“It has to be safer than the store, right?” Tessa replied, her steps slowing a bit.
“I’m not sure of anything right now,” he replied. “You said the whole town knows who you are and what you do. Do they also know where you live?”
“It’s a small town…” Tessa trailed off, fingers tapping against the books in her hands.
“I’m just staying… How difficult would it really be for someone like Loch to sniff out where you live,” Tate shrugged.
Tessa sighed, coming to a stop near a diner, and earning a friendly wave from the waitress inside. She waved back through the window, forcing on a smile.
“I don’t know where else to go,” she said, turning to face him, the smile fading fast.
“I think I might have an idea.”
Not sure if it’s a good one, though…
Five
Tessa
Tessa stood in the middle of a small room Tate was renting, right above the local butcher’s. It was pretty bare, except for a bed, a table, and some chairs. A duffel bag rested in the corner, and there was a map of Montana with deep fold-marks on the table, but as far as personal items went, that was it.
“Uh… homey,” she nodded, earning a chuckle from Tate.
“I was just passing through,” he said.
Taking the books from her hands after shaking his head slightly, he walked over to the desk and placed them down. He cleared the map next, and tucked it into the duffel bag before Tessa could get a look at it.
“Any reason you chose Whitefish, Montana, of all places to visit?” she asked, plopping herself down on one of the chairs.
“No,” was all he said, sitting down opposite her.
Okay, then.
“All right,” Tessa replied, drawing in a breath. “Let’s divide these up and start going through them. Look for any mentions of an amulet, or a green stone or…” she trailed off.
“Or what?” Tate asked.
“Well… the amulet kind of did something when both Loch and I held on to it,” she replied, running her fingers along the edges of the table.
Tate leaned back, studying her.
“Did something,” he echoed. “Want to elaborate?”
“He looked human to you, right?” she asked. “I mean, creepy as all hell, but still like a man?”
“Yes,” Tate drew out, crossing his arms. “What are you getting at?”
“When he grabbed the necklace, I saw him as something else,” Tessa started, her mouth suddenly dry.
The image was still clear as day in her mind, despite her only seeing it for a moment. It was too clear, actually, too burned into her brain for her to ever forget it. Her face scrunched up at the memory, a slight queasiness in her stomach.
“His face was bloody and raw and looked like it was falling apart,” she said quietly, staring down at her hands. “His eyes were pure black and so were most of his teeth, sharp and rotting. I got the feeling that’s what he really looked like, you know?” she glanced up at Tate. “And he said ‘you saw me’.”
Tate just looked at her for a couple of seconds, his gaze heavy on her skin. Did he think she was crazy? They did both see him disappear back on the street, but this was a whole new level of insanity…
If Tate hadn’t been there to see Loch pop out of existence with her, she might have been checking herself into an insane asylum right now, instead of trying to play Nancy Drew.
“That’s some pretty fucked up shit,” he finally said, and Tessa let out a breath.
“Tell me about it,” she replied in the wake of her fluttery sigh.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that. It must have been terrifying,” Tate said, leaning forward. “But you got away from him. You’re tough, Tessa. And we’re going to find a way to make sure he stays away from you.”
Tate couldn’t have possibly known that. Sure, he was a werewolf, which made him stronger and faster than humans, but Loch was something they had never encountered before. Neither of them had any idea what exactly he was capable of or if he could even be hurt.
Still, as stupid as it was, Tessa found comfort it Tate’s words. At least she wasn’t alone in all this. And Tate was definitely someone who could handle himself. Not everyone would have stood up for a stranger like he had for her.
Especially when being threatened by someone like Loch.
Tessa nodded and cracked open a book, flicking to the first page. At least it was in English, or something resembling it. The dialect was somewhat archaic, but she could still make out the gist of it.
“I think this one is about…” she said, tracing a finger over the words. “Masonic rituals?”
“Not a coffee table book, then,” Tate remarked, grabbing a book of his own. “This one has a lot of Latin in it,” he said after a moment. “By the way they are arranged I’d say they’re poems… But then this column here looks like a list of ingredients…” he trailed off.
“Wait…” Tessa looked at him. “You mean like… for spells?” her eyes widened.
“I think it’s safe to say this Mr. Thompson was into some weird shit,” Tate arched a brow at her. “Why did he sell you this stuff, anyway?”
“He didn’t,” Tessa replied. “He died. His estate went to auction, and I bought the leftovers.”
“What do you know about the guy?” Tate asked. “I’m thinking you weren’t aware he had mystical pendants and spell books lying around.”
“He was just a nice old man,” Tessa shrugged. “He and his wife used to come into the store, but I didn’t see him much after she passed away.”
“Seems like he was a lot more interesting than people thought,” Tate commented, tilting his head toward the books.
“Let’s just hope it’s the kind of interesting that can help us,” Tessa sighed, turning her attention back to the text in front of her.
They both read on in silence. The quiet wasn’t the unsettling, though, or like when your friend leaves you alone with Kelly from college and you try to talk about anything but the way Kelly just flat out announced she thinks women should get paid less than men because aren’t men the ones who always have to pay on dates?
Yeah… I might still not
be over how awkward that particular night was.
But everything with Tate was easy. Except for when their knees bumped together under the small table, and Tessa had to hold back the shiver running down her spine. There was something magnetic about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but wouldn’t mind putting her hands on…
All right, focus, Masonic rituals… How to access the power within…Something about robes…
Hours must have passed before Tessa finally slammed shut the book in front of her, no more useful than the first. There was no mention of a pendant with a green gem, only some vague references to the different messages colored stones send. And there was definitely nothing about faces beneath faces, except for maybe in the metaphorical sense.
“Nothing,” she sighed, letting her hands fall on the table. “Not a goddamn thing.”
“Sorry to say, I’m in the same boat,” Tate replied. “From what I could understand, at least, nothing rang a bell. But I think I could get you a recipe for a spell that’ll make your hair grow faster.”
“I think I’m good, but thanks,” Tessa smiled, despite the frustration bubbling up inside her. “I guess it was too much to hope for, anyway. If these books really contained powerful, magical secrets, they wouldn’t have ended up in my store now, would they?”
Tate narrowed his eyes at her, pursing his lips.
“You said there was an estate sale. How long ago?” he asked.
“Just a couple of days,” she shrugged. “Why?”
“Well, there have to be more books at his house, right? Older, rarer, stuff that people would pay big bucks for? And there’s a good chance the stuff is still there, waiting to be shipped out to its new owners,” he replied, looking like he’d just sniffed out the grand prize.
“That’s possible, sure, but I don’t think whoever’s handling the sale is just going to let us rummage around in there,” she commented.
“What if we don´t ask permission?” Tate countered, a slow grin spreading on his face.
Uh-oh. I don’t like where this is going.
Six
Tate
“I don’t think we should be doing this,” Tessa whispered, trailing behind him.
“Shh,” Tate said, crouched behind an old willow tree right beside a sprawling, three-story home that looked more like a castle than a regular house.
“Don’t shush me,” Tessa protested, but it was hard to take her seriously when she was still whispering, crouching beside him in a black hoodie. “I don’t want to go to jail.”
Focusing on his senses, Tate let the quiet night air wrap him up, listening to every little sound reaching his ears. The leaves rustled softly above them and Tessa’s heart was beating fast, but from the house, he got nothing but silence.
“I don’t think there’s anyone in there,” he said.
“You think, or you know?” Tessa countered.
“I’m reasonably sure,” he shrugged. “Besides, being hunted by some supernatural creature kind of trumps jail, don’t you think?”
“I guess,” she grumbled.
“Hey, you’re the one that insisted coming along,” Tate reminded her.
“I couldn’t let you go on your own,” she said. “I’m the one Loch is after. And besides, I’m a way faster reader. You’d be there all night, flipping through dusty books, without me.”
“You were a nerd in school, weren’t you?” Tate replied, pushing himself off the tree and heading for the house.
A grin spread on his face when Tessa followed, muttering something under her breath.
“At least I don’t howl at the moon,” it sounded like.
Still keeping away from the windows and staying in the shadows, just in case, Tate made his way to the house, with Tessa right on his trail. He circled the place, first, checking the entrances and making sure it was as empty as it seemed.
Satisfied with what he had found, he came to a stop at the back door. Tessa stood beside him, glancing left and right. Her eyes widened when he pulled a lock pick set out of his pocket and went to work, listening to the tumblers inside the old lock slide and click into place.
“And where did you learn that?” she asked.
“I used to be a troublemaker,” he shrugged in response.
“If you used to be a troublemaker, why do you still carry lock picks around?” she countered. “And why are we breaking and entering?”
“Just in case,” he replied. “And see how useful that turned out to be,” he grinned at her, just as the lock snapped open.
Tate pushed the door handle down and stepped inside. The room in front of him was half-empty, with sheets strewn over some pieces of furniture. By the cabinets and the space where he guessed the stove had been, it looked to be the kitchen.
Tessa fished out a flashlight from her pocket and pointed it at the floor, coming into step beside him.
“Mr. Thompson probably had a study or something, we should start there,” she whispered.
“There’s no one here. You can talk normally,” he replied, inhaling sharply.
The air was slightly musty, with the lingering scent of tobacco. But there was no acrid, ashy smell like the one Loch had. Not that Tate had expected to find it here, but dealing with something so unknown, he knew he had to be ready for anything.
“It’s just feels weird, not whispering when you’re breaking into a dead man’s house,” she replied. “That’s stupid,” she shook her head.
“It’s not,” he assured her. “You want to be respectful, I get that. But we’re here to find what we’re looking for and get out. A house like this, I wouldn’t be surprised if whoever sold the estate has security come around and check it from time to time.”
Tessa pointed her flashlight even more squarely on the floor, nodding to herself.
“Right,” she said. “Let’s do this.”
Setting her jaw, with a crease forming between her eyebrows, she was all determination in a second. If rolling with the punches was an Olympic sport, Tessa should definitely get a medal.
Here they were, a shifter and an antique store owner, committing a crime together, mere hours after meeting each other. Yet, in a crazy way, it all made sense. Tate’s wolf had definitely taken a shining to her, too, nearly purring whenever she got close. It was ridiculous. Wolves don’t exactly purr and yet here he was, all smitten.
Embarrassing, really.
“I thought you were opposed to breaking and entering. You’ve changed your mind pretty quickly,” he couldn’t help but tease her.
“Maybe you’re just a really bad influence,” she rolled her eyes at him as they left the kitchen behind and started roaming the house.
Tate surprisingly liked the feel of the place. It was a bit fancy for his tastes, with the chandelier in the living room and the whole mansion thing it had going on, but there was a real authenticity to it. The furniture looked hand-crafted, old but well-kept. The scent of wood polish floated into his nose, reminding him of a life he had left behind.
He and Tessa cleared the first floor, finding nothing but packed up paintings pushed up against walls and trash bags full of old newspapers. Tate peeked into one of them to make sure there wasn’t anything hidden in the bottom, but there was nothing.
All the weather reports had been circled though, with small handwritten notes in the margins.
Huh. That’s a little weird.
But seeing as why he was poking around here in the middle of the night in the first place, weird was becoming a relative term.
“Should we head upstairs?” Tessa asked, pulling her hood down.
“After you,” he replied.
His senses still on high alert, Tate followed Tessa up the winding staircase. The darkness all around didn’t bother him, his eyes adjusting to it seamlessly. But Tessa gripped on to the handrail, pointing the flashlight at her feet.
When she stumbled at the foot of the stairs, bumping into what was a box of silverware by the sound of it, Tate caught her easily, wr
apping an arm around her waist. Her body soft and warm against his, he held on to her maybe a moment longer than he should have, steadying her on her feet.
“Oops,” she whispered, and he couldn’t help but laugh.
“It’s okay. You’re new at this, after all,” he replied.
Her heart was beating faster than usual as they made their way through the second floor. It was mostly bedrooms, with one room dedicated solely for crafts, with yarn, knitting needles and boxes of buttons and beads stacked on top of each other. But at the end of the hall, there was a smaller door, with a key sticking out of the lock.
None of the other doors here have locks, Tate mused, his curiosity piqued.
“Over here,” he said to Tessa, walking over to the door and pushing it open.
The musty smell was even stronger in that room, a large space with thick curtains covering the windows. Bookcases lined the walls from floor to ceiling, but they were empty. The books had been packed up into boxes instead, in piles all over the room.
“Jackpot,” Tessa sighed, rushing over to the nearest box.
“We can’t go through all of them,” Tate remarked.
“There has to be some logic to it,” she replied. “Look,” she added, tracing her finger along the top side of a brown cardboard box.
Tate leaned over, noting the words scrawled on it in black marker.
“Library?” he read aloud.
“These are marked by where the books will be shipped off to. That might give us a clue,” she shrugged.
“All right,” he agreed. “Let’s see…” he trailed off, making his way to the nearest pile of boxes, unstacking them to see what was written on top.
Most of them had names of buyers or museums scribbled on them, but one stack got his attention.
“Per will?” he muttered under his breath, catching Tessa’s attention.
“What’s that?” she asked, making her way over and peeking over his shoulder.
“There’s no buyer on this one, just this note, ‘per will’,” he replied.
“I think that means they weren’t sold, but left to someone in Mr. Thompson’s will,” Tessa suggested.
