And wearing dishwashing gloves wasn’t going to be as easily explained as the cotton ones.
Of course, if he happened to be some kind of sorcerer himself and was able to open the book with his bare hands, the gloves would prevent that as well. Which probably wasn’t even something she needed to be concerned about, but she liked to plan for everything. Living in Everlasting had taught her that much.
She put one pair of gloves on, then went to get the book. It was on the top shelf of her closet. Edgar Allan was curled up on the bed, completely zoned out. No wonder he hadn’t come out during dinner. She chuckled at him, then got the book down, laid the second pair of gloves on the cover, and carried the whole lot out to Walker.
“Here it is.” She put the book on the coffee table. “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to wear the gloves while you examine it. Maybe it’s valuable, maybe it’s not, but it’s still a very old book and I’d like to preserve it as best as I can.”
“Sure.” He picked up the gloves and slipped them on. “I tend to wear gloves when doing a lot of my restoration work. It’s a good precaution when dealing with delicate things.”
She sat beside him on the couch. Not too close, but close enough to be a part of what he was doing. “Like I said, even if it’s not worth anything, I still want to preserve it. I’m pretty sure it’s the oldest book I’ve ever owned. I feel like that deserves some respect.” It was also her first grimoire, which made it exceedingly special, but she couldn’t explain that to him.
He glanced over at her. “You really like books, don’t you? More than just for reading.”
She nodded. “I do.” She shifted her gaze to the book on the table. “Books have kept me company all my life. They’ve allowed me to explore interesting places when my budget wouldn’t. Experience new things. Meet strange, wonderful people. I can’t imagine my life without them.”
He smiled. “Good thing, considering your job.”
She laughed. “Right. Which is another thing I have books to thank for.”
“Okay, let’s have a look at this one.” He picked up the book and turned it over, studying the cover from all angles.
She waited patiently while he inspected the outside. She knew he probably wasn’t seeing the cover the same way she was, but Charlotte wanted to test that theory. “Pretty rough, right? You can hardly read the title.”
“Right.” He shot her a quick, indecipherable look. “But that could be restored.” He put his hands on the sides and pulled. Nothing.
She almost sighed in relief.
He frowned. “Pages are stuck together. That’s unfortunate.” He shook his head. “Pretty much makes the book worthless.”
Which was what she’d expected him to say. “Oh well, it’s still pretty. To me anyway. I’m happy to have it on my shelf no matter what it looks like.”
He put the book back on the coffee table and took the gloves off. “If you’re going to keep it, I could restore that cover for you. Redo the gold leafing on the title, touch up the leather in a few spots, that sort of thing. Wouldn’t take me more than a day.”
“That’s kind of you, and I really appreciate the offer, but I’m okay with how it looks.” Especially because it didn’t look like that to her.
“You’re sure? I don’t mind doing it.”
A glimmer of something lit his gaze. Frustration? Disappointment? She couldn’t tell. She picked the book up, hugging it to her chest with her gloved hands. “I’m sure. I’m also sure I’m ready for dessert. I’ll just go put this back, then we’ll dig into that tiramisu you brought.”
He got up at the same time she did. “Okay, I’ll get it out of the fridge.”
She took off for her bedroom while he headed to the kitchen, meeting him back there a few minutes later.
He had the box of tiramisu out and had found cups for the coffee and small plates for the dessert, plus two forks. “I looked through the cabinets for these. I hope that’s okay.”
She shrugged. “Sure. Not like I’m hiding state secrets in there or anything.” She peeked into the box. He’d gotten two pieces, which was perfect. “Wow, does that look good.”
“I hope so.” He used the forks to lift each piece onto a plate, then picked up the plates. “I’ll take these to the table.”
“Right behind you.” She got the creamer carton from the fridge and took it and the sugar bowl out, then came back, filled both cups with coffee and brought them to the table as well. She sat and started fixing her coffee. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Checking out Cavanaugh’s Antique Mall.”
She laughed as she stirred her coffee. “I think you’re going to be disappointed. It should be called Cavanaugh’s Crap Mall.”
“That bad, huh?”
She nodded and picked up her fork. “Maybe you’ll find something. Who knows? But don’t haggle too much. Crazy Cavanaugh is one of those cranky New Englanders who’d just as soon run you out of his place than give you a nickel off.”
“Good to know. Anything else I should know about him?”
“Just that you’d be better off at Hunted Treasures Antiques. If you go by there, the owner’s name is Wilber Messing. He’s a really nice guy and one of the regulars at the library. Tell him I sent you.” Maybe if Walker bought something, Wilber would give her a little extra off that crystal ball she’d been eyeing.
“Will do.”
They ate, the tiramisu indeed as good as it looked, and she told him some more colorful stories about the people and places in town.
With the tiramisu gone, Charlotte was about to clean up, but just then Edgar Allan came sauntering out of the bedroom.
Walker’s head came up. “I knew you said you had a cat, but I was picturing something…”
“Smaller?” She laughed. “He’s kind of a beast, but he’s my beast. Aren’t you, baby? At least he finally stopped sleeping and came out to say hi. Edgar Allan, say hello to Mr. Walker Black.”
“He’s quite the handsome fellow. Is Edgar Allan after Poe?”
“Yes.” She liked that Walker knew the reference. Not that Edgar Allan Poe was so hard to guess, but not everyone got it.
Edgar Allan paused a few feet from Walker. He arched his back, and a low yowl spilled out of him like a feline warning.
“Edgar Allan, stop that,” Charlotte said. “Walker is a guest.”
“It’s okay. I’m invading his territory.” Walker held his hand out for Edgar Allan to sniff. “Sorry about that, big man. But I’m not an enemy, I promise.”
The cat stretched his neck out and sniffed Walker’s hand. He hissed once, softly, then sniffed again. This time, he rubbed his cheek on Walker’s fingers.
Walker grinned. “See? Friends.”
She watched with interest. “Huh. He’s never reacted like that with anyone before.”
Apparently satisfied that the intruder was no foe, Edgar Allan trotted off to the couch to take up his favorite spot.
Walker stood. “I’m glad he likes me. I’d hate to leave on a sour note.”
“You’re leaving?” The evening had gone by so fast.
“It’s getting late, and we both have work tomorrow. Speaking of, how about we hit Chickadee’s for dinner when you get done at the library?”
That would be their second date. Or third, since Walker seemed to think the coffee counted. She almost hesitated, but it wasn’t like she had anything else to do. “Okay. I can meet you there around seven twenty. How’s that?”
“Perfect. I’ll be waiting.”
They both got to their feet and she walked him to the door. “Thanks for the wine and dessert. It was great.”
“So was dinner. Thanks, again.” He opened the door, then leaned in and gave her another kiss on the mouth. “See you tomorrow, Charlotte.”
A little wobbly-kneed from the over-too-soon kiss, she nodded. “Tomorrow.”
Then he was out the door and gone, and she was alone to think about what on earth she was doing with a man like Walker.
Chapter Eight
Charlotte had the book.
That was Walker’s last thought as he fell asleep and his first thought when he woke up. He stared at the pitched ceiling. The room was still dark, as the sun had yet to crack the horizon, but his shifter eyes didn’t need much light to see by. He had work to do. He knew that. But he remained in bed, thinking about last night’s date.
He’d hoped his dinner with Charlotte would help him determine which side she was on. It hadn’t really. All it had confirmed was her possession of Middian’s.
And that he liked her far more than he should.
He sighed. Nothing about her demeanor or personality made him think she was remotely the type of person who might be recruited by the Collective. Sure, she needed money, but she didn’t strike him as desperate for it. And yes, she was a witch, but other than the second kiss they’d shared, there wasn’t one spot in the evening where he’d felt as though she’d deliberately been using magic on him.
That kiss, though. It had stuck in his head. So much so that she’d shown up in his dreams to kiss him again. He ran his fingers over his mouth. The soft, insistent press of her lips and the tantalizing warmth of her breath lingered as though she was right there with him.
No, that kiss had been too pure to have been magic.
Or it might have been magic more powerful than anything he’d come up against. And Charlotte might be the craftiest witch he’d run into. Did she know what he was? After all, she hadn’t let him take the book, even after he’d generously offered to restore it.
He bounced his fist on the bed.
Charlotte was a puzzle. A beautiful, sexy puzzle he wanted to get to know piece by piece.
His phone vibrated. He picked it up off the nightstand and checked the screen. Stillwell. Walker answered. “Morning, boss.”
“The mission’s changed. Bring in the book and the witch.”
No hello, no how are you, no small talk. That was Stillwell. “What do you mean and the witch?”
“Bring her in with the book.”
Walker sat up. “The last time the FOL asked me to bring in a witch was when I was hunting that woman who was hexing telemarketers with the throat-closing sickness. Charlotte isn’t doing anything like that. I don’t even know yet if she’s actually working for the Collective or not.”
“The order’s been given. Bring her – and the book – in.” Stillwell hung up.
A rare swell of rebellion turned Walker’s vision temporarily red. He’d known taking Charlotte in had been a possibility, but now it was an order. That grinded his gears. Taking her in would disrupt her life in a way that meant it would never be the same. Guilty witches who were taken into custody rarely saw the light of day again.
He’d been to the FOL’s holding cells once, when he’d delivered Elmira Boudreaux, the bane of telemarketers everywhere. She’d killed three of those telemarketers just for doing their jobs, and all because they’d dared to interrupt her dinner. Elmira deserved to be locked away from the world for her crimes and the use of dark magic, but Charlotte hadn’t done anything. At least that he knew about.
Just the thought of her in those dark, isolated, magic-proofed cells made him shudder.
He was torn. He’d never disobeyed an order. But he’d never been given an order he felt was so blatantly wrong.
Then again, he’d never kissed a witch he’d been sent to hunt. Not that he’d really been sent to hunt Charlotte, but she was certainly a part of this whole mess. In some way.
He shook his head. He had to get some answers today. And that meant talking to Charlotte. But the library wouldn’t be open for another three hours. He decided to go out for a run. Sometimes that helped him think.
By the time he got back, the sun was up, but his decision to talk to Charlotte hadn’t changed. He would be at the library when it opened. He had to return The Scoundrel Prince anyway. But he still had two hours to kill. He took his laptop out and checked the FOL database to see if any of the pictures he’d taken yesterday had matched with any potential Collective agents.
Not a one. Including Charlotte’s. That just fueled his annoyance. There was no reason for the FOL to want her, too.
He put his laptop away, showered and dressed, then headed to Chickadee’s. Might as well see how the breakfast was.
Turned out to be as good as he’d expected, and a stack of cranberry pancakes, two eggs, home fries, and three strips of bacon later, Walker was ready to talk to Charlotte and find out which side she was on. It would be good to see her. It felt like it had been ages.
He got to the library thirty minutes before opening, so he positioned himself on the bench outside the front door and waited, but not for long.
Charlotte was early, which didn’t surprise him. The look on her face when she saw him was a little more unexpected. He thought after last night she’d be happy to see him. Instead, her brows knit in an expression of displeasure. “Hi. What are you doing here?”
Yeah, not the welcome he’d expected. Maybe she wasn’t a morning person. Good thing he’d brought her breakfast. He picked up the coffee and the waxed paper bag holding the takeout order he’d gotten. “I need to talk to you, but I also brought you breakfast. There’s a cranberry orange muffin and an egg sandwich in there. I wasn’t sure which one you’d prefer, so I got both.”
She smiled. A little.
He lifted the cup higher. “Skinny caramel latte. I took a chance.”
“That sounds really good. I never get takeout coffee. Too expensive. Anyway, that was nice of you.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Millie won’t like it, though.”
“That I brought you coffee?”
“No, that I’m having a personal visitor while I’m at work.”
So that was it. He grinned as he got to his feet. “But this isn’t just a personal visit. I also need to return The Scoundrel Prince, so that makes it partially an official visit.”
Her smile widened. “That’s good. And maybe you could look for another book to check out? Make it even more official?”
“I can do that.” Then he could get her away from the front desk and into the stacks to discuss her role in all this. That was about as private as it was going to get while she was at work, but he’d have to risk it.
“Excellent.” She had a key in her hand. “Let me get the lights on and get through the opening routine, then you can come in. Shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes or so.” She looked over her shoulder. “Judge Turnbury will probably show up soon. He’s usually waiting on me when I open the doors. Although he’s never brought me breakfast.”
Walker smiled at her last comment. “When does Millie get here?”
Charlotte turned the key in the lock. “Any minute, but she has a reserved spot in the back. Which is the way she comes in too.” Charlotte bumped the door open with her hip, hoisting the straps of her tote bag higher on her shoulder, then she reached over and took the coffee cup and takeout bag from him and winked. “Thanks. See you in a few.”
He nodded, a little dazzled by the wink. That wasn’t good. A wink wasn’t anything to be dazzled by, not under normal circumstances. He was definitely under her spell.
He sighed and sat back down on the bench. There was no way a witch as powerful as Charlotte was going to let herself be taken into custody. Not without a helluva fight.
* * *
“There are patrons waiting,” Millie announced as she strode into the library from the back.
Charlotte jumped at the sound of her voice, almost spilling the very delicious coffee Walker had brought her. Fortunately, she’d already scarfed down the muffin. She turned from the break room fridge where she was putting her lunch away. “I’m getting ready to open right now, but I didn’t realize we had a crowd.”
“Not a crowd, just one actually. But more could be coming any time. Judge Turnbury will show up any second.”
Charlotte almost rolled her eyes. Millie loved to exaggerate when it suited her purposes. “The judge�
��s arthritis must be bothering him again. It’s not like him to be late. And I know the man who’s out there waiting now, and he’s fine waiting until we’re ready to open.”
“Even so, our sign states we open at nine.”
“We will. It’s 8:53.”
Millie put her handbag into the cubby that was reserved for her. “I have a conference call with the Maine Library Association about the upcoming general meeting and this charity grant we may potentially be getting, so I’ll be in my office most of the morning.”
Charlotte nodded. “Great. Sounds like fun.” It really didn’t, but she would gladly take the call if it meant she was head librarian and Millie wasn’t in the equation anymore. Not that she wished Millie any ill fortune, but the woman could be a bit much at times. Of course, becoming head librarian after Millie wasn’t a guarantee. The Maine Library Association could always promote another more experienced librarian from another branch. “The front desk will be handled.”
Millie raised her chin slightly. “I expect nothing less. Today’s papers need to be put out, too.”
As if Charlotte didn’t do that every morning. She barely restrained a second eye roll. “Yep, I’ll make sure that’s done as well.”
Millie went to fix her morning cup of tea. “All right then, get those doors open.”
“Going.” Some days, Charlotte couldn’t wait until she was the head librarian of her own library. Although at times, Charlotte wondered if she’d make it that long with Millie for a boss. With a soft sigh, she grabbed her coffee and headed to the front. Walker was patiently waiting. Judge Turnbury was shuffling up the walk, so that answered the question of whether he was okay. She opened the door and gave Walker a quick look, which he returned just as discreetly. Then she greeted the judge and stood there, holding the door while she waited for him to get through it. “Morning, Judge.”
Witchful Thinking: A Cozy Paranormal Mystery Page 6
