“You said she’s a knitter.”
“Obsessive. She intends to buy out the shop.”
I rolled my eyes “I’ve heard that before. Everyone says they’re going to swoop up all the yarn they can carry, but one look at the price tag on a merino-silk hand-painted sock-weight and suddenly they go running back to Red Heart.”
“You sound cynical, Chloe. That’s not like you.”
“I’m not cynical,” I said. “Just realistic.”
She patted my hand. “I’m thinking that maybe you’re a little bit scared to open yourself up.”
Damn it. My eyes filled with tears. That part of my life, the part where I’d had two parents who loved me, had been closed for almost as along as I could remember. I wasn’t sure how I felt about opening the door and letting in both the light and the shadows.
“My father has been on my mind a lot since Laria was born. Watching Luke with her brings back some memories I thought were long gone.” Sometimes they hurt like hell.
“Good memories?”
“The best.” Six years with him weren’t a lot to go on but it was all I had.
Maybe I wasn’t just worried about magick, after all. Apparently the human part of my heart had a few concerns of its own.
Chapter 10
WENDY
Sugar Maple Inn
* * *
“Sorry, but we don’t have any rooms available.” The clerk behind the desk at the Sugar Maple Inn flashed me a movie-star smile. “We’re hosting a private event this weekend and we’re full up.”
“Chloe Hobbs’s wedding on Saturday,” I said, flashing my own less-impressive smile back at her. “That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re with the MacKenzie party?” The woman’s extraordinary purple-blue eyes narrowed slightly. “I thought I had all the names.”
“Bunny MacKenzie invited me, but I’m actually on the bride’s side.”
“The bride’s side?” The woman’s tone grew a tad less friendly. “I know everyone on the bride’s side.”
“Well, now you do,” I said, a tad less friendly myself. “So do you have an available room or not?”
She excused herself and disappeared into the room adjacent to the check-in desk. I heard a volley of words, none of which I could make out, then the clerk reappeared with an older version of herself by her side.
“I’m Renate Weaver, one of the owners of the Inn,” the older woman said pleasantly, extending a perfectly-manicured hand toward me. “My daughter says you’re looking for a room.”
It was like shaking cotton candy. I quickly pulled my hand away. (I have a thing about fluffy handshakes.) “I know it’s short notice, but Bunny only invited me a few days ago.” I made one of those what-can-you-do gestures and forced a smile.
The two women exchanged glances.
“So you’re a MacKenzie.”
“No. I’m a Lattimer by marriage, an Aubry by birth.” I was starting to get a little annoyed. “Do you have a room for me or not?”
“You’re an Aubry?” Renate asked, looking a shade paler than she had moments ago.
“Was an Aubry,” I said, “but I don’t see why that’s so—“
“You’re one of Chloe’s people!” She said it like I’d announced I was the living embodiment of Bigfoot.
“Second cousin, twice removed.” Or something like that. The degrees between relatives always turned my brain to mush.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m asking for a room, not government clearance.” I adjusted my crossbody bag. “Thanks for the help. I’ll stay somewhere else.”
I turned to leave but a feather-soft touch on the arm stopped me.
“I’m so sorry,” Renate said. “It’s just that we’re a very small inn and there are a lot of MacKenzies coming to town for the event. We promised we could accommodate them and it’s been quite the task. I never expected anyone from Chloe’s side to show up.”
The younger woman, Renate’s clone, nodded vigorously. “I mean, we all know she has no family of her own.”
Bunny had mentioned that in passing but it hadn’t registered until now.
“I understand,” I said, “but I think I’ll stay elsewhere just the same.” Motel 6 was starting to sound like the Four Seasons to me.
“No!” Renate sounded downright insulted. “If we can find room for Luke’s people, we can definitely find room for Chloe’s.”
“I’m not Chloe’s people,” I corrected her, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Just a very distant relative who should have known better than to show up at the wedding of a cousin she’d never met.
The younger woman came around the front desk and I tried hard not to stare. She looked like a very short supermodel in skinny jeans and a tank top. What was in Sugar Maple’s water anyway? These people were freaking gorgeous.
“Are these your bags?” She pointed toward the two small soft-sided pieces at my feet.
The question seemed rhetorical given the fact I was the only customer in the room, but I nodded anyway. There were times when a girl has to suppress her inner wiseass.
She picked them up like they weighed nothing which, to be honest, they did. One was empty, the other almost empty. More room for all the yarn I hoped to buy.
“Why don’t you take a walk around town?” Renate suggested, a bright smile on her movie-star gorgeous face. “If you’re hungry, I can recommend Fully Caffeinated.”
“The paninis are to die for,” said the younger woman.
“You promise you’ll find me a room? I don’t want to hang around for no reason.”
Renate beamed a high wattage smile. “Guaranteed.”
GAVAN
* * *
The dress shop where he had observed Chloe and her companions was diagonally across from the Inn. A small metal box with wheels (they called it a car) rumbled up to the front door of the Inn and a tall dark-haired woman got out. Her resemblance to Chloe caught his attention immediately. Although her hair was darker, she carried herself with the same disarming blend of confidence and human insecurity that he had observed in the female to whom he was betrothed.
The gathering at the dress shop ended with the women, mortal and magick, waving goodbye as they headed off in different directions. He had intended to continue shadowing Chloe as she moved through her day, but this new human intrigued him. She was an unexpected complication who deserved close observation.
The woman entered the Inn and he followed behind her, trusting that his magick, unfamiliar to the inhabitants of Sugar Maple, would continue to conceal his presence.
This female was clearly mortal. The Fae owners of the Inn seemed reluctant to give her shelter, which confirmed that fact. While they maintained a pleasant and hospitable demeanor, it was clear they wanted no part of her or of her business. Even when she revealed herself to be part of Chloe’s blood kin, they were slow to relent.
Did they sense danger in her presence? He was new to this dimension. He was not yet able to understand the signifiers that seemed obvious to the inhabitants. He had not bargained on a human blood link to his betrothed and he determined to make sure she would not get in his way.
She exhibited anger when she left the Inn. It showed in the tight lines of her face and the way she seemed to attack the sidewalk with each step. So he had not imagined the hostility. Her reaction confirmed it for him.
He shadowed her as she made her way up the street. He hoped she would climb back into that little metal machine in which she had arrived and roll away from Sugar Maple. Unfortunately, his hopes were dashed when she opened the door to a place called Fully Caffeinated and stepped inside.
Instantly he knew that mortals were in the minority. As far as he could tell, she might be the only one present. The high magick energies circulating around the large room worried him. He was not ready for his presence to be recognized. Not until he had gathered the facts he needed.
This time he would watch from the other side of the big wall of glass.
* * *
Fully Caffeinated was on the corner of Osborne and Bishop, a short walk from the Inn. It was one of those perfect late August days that come around maybe once every ten years: sunny, warm but not hot, a gentle breeze rustling through the trees. It was the kind of day that brings people out of their houses to enjoy the weather, but the only sign of life in Sugar Maple was the occasional car rolling by.
No young mothers chatting while they pushed double strollers. No kids tearing down the sidewalk on their way to the park. No old people perched on a park bench watching the world go by.
Just me.
Weird.
Did you ever go on one of those Hollywood studio tours where they take you onto the back lots? A road in ancient Rome presses up against a High Street in Dickensian London, which fights a row of Manhattan brownstones for room. The sets are perfectly rendered, right down to cigarette butts on the sidewalk but that was where it ended. Peek around the corner and you’d find nothing but scaffolding and dreams.
That was how Sugar Maple made me feel.
I like neat and orderly as well as the next person. (Maybe more, considering the fact that I clean houses for a living.) But there was a real Stepford feeling to the place that unnerved me.
One night here would be more than enough.
I pushed open the door to Fully Caffeinated and stopped in my tracks. The noise was deafening. Maybe this was why the streets were so empty. Everyone in town was in the coffee shop, talking at the tops of their lungs.
I placed my order up front then claimed a lone seat near the back door and pulled my phone from my crossbody bag.
“Where are you?” Diandra didn’t bother with hello. “It sounds like you’re in the middle of a bee hive.”
“A coffee shop in Sugar Maple. It does better business than the Tip Top.”
“So how do you like the town? Is it as great as they say on Yelp?”
“Jury’s out. So far I’m not impressed.”
A woman two seats over shot me a look that brought me up short. I didn’t think I’d been speaking that loud but maybe I had.
“I need details,” Diandra said.
“Later,” I said as a server deposited my turkey club in front of me. “I just wanted you to know I made it in one piece. I’ll text you after I meet the cousin.”
The turkey club was great. They served it with a bottomless basket of homemade potato chips that were sinfully delicious. Funny how judicious applications of fat and salt can soothe a woman’s jangled nerves.
A very round woman with a mop of curls sat down next to me. I couldn’t help noticing that her feet didn’t touch the ground.
“You should have ordered the panini,” she said without preamble. “Henry is known for his paninis.”
Good for Henry. “The turkey club is excellent.”
She made a dismissive gesture. “If you like club sandwiches.”
“Actually I do,” I said. “That’s why I ordered it.”
“To each her own,” the woman said. “But next time try a panini.”
I gave her my best noncommittal smile then took another bite of my turkey club and looked down at my phone.
She didn’t take the hint.
“Are you here for the wedding?”
I nodded, grateful that my mouth was full.
She scanned my face like she was the head of airport security. “You don’t look like a MacKenzie.”
I swallowed then took a sip of iced tea. “I’m not.”
“A friend of theirs?”
I shook my head. “Not really.” Clearly she would keep on asking so I might as well tell her. “I’m related to Chloe.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Actually I am.”
“Chloe doesn’t have any – you should excuse the expression – blood relations.”
“She has me.”
“No offense, but I don’t believe you.”
“None taken, but it’s true.” I took another huge bite of turkey club. “Ask Bunny MacKenzie. She’s the one who is bringing Chloe and me together.”
A lean woman with a stern face joined Squeaky at the tiny round table.
“Verna Griggs,” she said with a terse nod in my direction. “Who are you?”
Good thing I was a New Englander, born and bred. Somebody else might have been offended.
“Wendy Lattimer,” I said.
“Coast of Maine,” she said.
“Good call. Most people think Boston.”
“Most people don’t have my ear for accents.”
“Do you live here?” I asked.
“Ten generations,” she said, “and more coming up behind me.”
“Twelve generations,” Squeaky chimed in, not to be outdone. “Did I mention I’m Midge Stallworth. My husband and I own the funeral parlor up the street.”
I must have involuntarily recoiled because she laughed out loud.
“Don’t worry,” she said with another one of those squeaky laughs. “I’m not looking to drum up more business.”
Verna shot her a look that would have made me run for the hills. I wondered what that was about. It sounded like pretty standard funeral home humor to me.
“What brings you to Sugar Maple?” Verna asked. No offense, but the woman must have missed a few waxing sessions lately. Her brows not only met over the bridge of her nose, they married.
“She’s here for Chloe’s wedding,” Midge said with an arch of her left brow. “Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Another MacKenzie,” Verna said, shaking her head. “I should have known.”
“Wrong!” Midge crowed with obvious delight before I could say a word. “She’s not a MacKenzie.” She paused for what seemed to me unnecessary dramatic effect. “She’s related to Chloe.”
The room fell silent.
I’m not exaggerating when I say you could have heard a pin drop three towns away. Every eye in the place turned toward me. Every ear wagged in my direction.
I started babbling something about DNA tests and my half-sister Janna and how it somehow connected with Bunny’s family tree project but I had the distinct feeling no one was listening.
Let me clarify that: they weren’t listening to me, but I was pretty sure they were talking about me. Not that I could hear them, but it felt like at least a dozen silent conversations were going on all around me. I know that sounds crazy. I mean the coffee shop was dead quiet but I would have bet my Toyota that messages were being sent and received. You could almost see words ricocheting off each other as they flew around the room like a mob of startled crows.
My turkey club had lost its appeal. I reached into my wallet and pulled out a few bills and laid the tip by my plate.
“It’s been nice, ladies,” I said, pushing back my chair and standing up. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the wedding.”
“Sticks & Strings is around the corner,” Midge Stallworth squeaked as I strode across the coffee shop. “But I’ll bet you already knew that.”
I thanked her for the information but I was pretty sure I would have found it anyway. I can smell yarn from a hundred yards away and the unmistakable scents of Blue-faced Leicester, angora, merino, Lopi, and every other glorious combination of fibers were already filling my head.
Okay, so maybe I have a good imagination but it wasn’t every day I got to visit a world-class shop that happened to be owned by a distant relative.
And yes, the thought of a fifty-percent-off family discount had occurred to me, even if it was beginning to lose its appeal.
Once outside I took a moment to orient myself. The grid was pretty simple with the tourist area all within a two-block rectangle. I struck out for Sticks & Strings at a brisk gait.
GAVAN
* * *
Currents of energy followed her out the door and down the street. Once again she had not been welcomed by the magicks, not even when they learned she shared a bloodline with Chloe. Behind their smiles and laughter, they sensed d
anger and he would heed their warning.
The world had evolved since his clan had lived among them but the distrust between mortals and magicks still burned like a fire that could not be extinguished.
He understood the fears that beat inside the magicks’ hearts at the thought of yet another human living among them. Beneath the surface, fear of humans lived and breathed, same as it had when his clan went beyond the mist.
He would not hurt the human called Wendy, but he would send a signal that she would be unwise to ignore.
WENDY
* * *
According to my guidebook, most of the families in Sugar Maple could trace their roots back to the late seventeenth century when Sugar Maple was still known by an impossible-to-pronounce Native American name. That could explain the clannish feeling I’d sensed at Fully Caffeinated but I felt it went deeper than that.
There was something weird about the town, apart from the number of beautiful people, but I couldn’t quite put my figure on exactly what.
Once again the streets were pedestrian-free. A UPS truck rolled slowly by, stopping at the corner sign, then continuing on its way. There was no movement except for a light breeze rustling the leaves and lifting my bangs from my forehead.
I was alone.
Except that I wasn’t. I could feel eyes on me, probably peering from behind the curtained windows that lined the street. For a town that was supported by tourism, they seemed uncomfortable having a stranger in their midst.
Which made zero sense no matter how you parsed it. The town was supported one hundred percent by tourists hungry for a taste of Norman Rockwell’s New England and maybe a few skeins of kettle-dyed yarn. There were no manufacturing plants in Sugar Maple. No high tech companies to drive their economy. They should be welcoming tourists with open arms, not nosy questions.
Then again, maybe I was the only one they were having trouble with.
They had all been adamant in their belief that Chloe had no blood relatives, almost aggressively so, as if the idea threatened them in some way. Ridiculous? Maybe it was. But so was deciding to show up at a stranger’s wedding at the request of another stranger.
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