Over the next few days at the library, the Goblin Hordes diminished in numbers. The tide of invaders receded slowly, and then quickly, like a bathtub draining.
On Friday, by mid-day, we had made only five dollars in coffee sales, and that was to Carrot Greyson, who’d come in with a kerchief over her orange hair, ready to change the Little Red Riding Hood mural. We tried to refuse her donation, but she insisted on contributing to the library coffers. We compromised by making it a bottomless cup that she could refill as much as she liked while she painted.
“Thanks, Zara,” Carrot said. “Did you do something with your hair?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” I said.
“You look amazing,” she said. “You Riddle women are so lucky to look the way you do, but there’s something new about you, and how you look today. You really do look amazing.”
“I guess it’s because I finally caught up on my sleep and started eating healthy,” I said. I had not.
Carrot gave me a knowing smile, then took her painting supplies and the coffee upstairs to the storytime area.
* * *
Two hours later, she had refilled her bottomless coffee three times. I had to assume she was busily working away up there, but I couldn’t smell any paint, and she didn’t have any fresh spatter on her clothes or kerchief.
Frank was fascinated by her artistic process, and kept sneaking upstairs to check on her.
After his third trip, he reported back, “Something magic is happening up there with Carrot Greyson and the mural.”
“Good,” I said.
We were shelving books. It was a job that took much longer without magic, but I had always enjoyed fitting books back into their homes on the shelves, and I suspected that would never change. It was the most soothing rote task I could even imagine, except possibly crocheting, which Kathy had not yet convinced me to embrace. I understood the basic premise, but I wasn’t craft-obsessed like her. Kathy had been known to crochet while driving. Me, I would stick to shelving books.
Frank excused himself, ran upstairs to check on the rune mage/tattooist/mural artist a fourth time, then returned, breathless. “Something magic is definitely happening up there.”
“Is the new mural really that good?”
“Yes, but she’s not actually painting.” He rubbed his crooked chin and spoke out of the extreme corner of his mouth, using his secretive voice. “She has a brush in her hand, but there’s no paint on it.”
“She might be planning ahead. Visualizing.”
Frank shook his head. “The mural is already changing. It’s becoming less terrifying.”
“Are you sure you’re not just getting used to it?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Zara,” he said, with the duh implied. “We both know better.”
“So, the woman can paint things, or at least change paintings, without touching any paints,” I said. “Nice trick. That will save her on cleanup time, not to mention paint costs, plus none of her clothes will get spattered.”
“I wonder if she can change tattoos the same way.”
“You could always ask,” I said. “Introduce yourself officially. She’s been dropping hints that she already knows about us. Plus, clearly she has figured out that she’s a rune mage.”
“Hmm,” he said. “Once you know that half of the people in this town have powers, it doesn’t make what you have very special anymore.”
“Oh, Frank. Nobody is as special as you. Nobody.”
He shelved a book in the wrong spot, then rubbed his hands on the eggplant-purple corduroy trousers hugging his slim hips. “I’m going upstairs again. I need to know how she’s doing it.”
I corrected the book he’d misfiled. “While you’re at it, find out who she’s dating,” I said.
He did a double take. “How do you know she’s dating someone?”
“She has a sort of glow. I could be wrong, but I think she’s in love.”
He snorted. “You would know.”
I used the book cart to push him out of the way. “Get going before I run you over,” I said. Frank knew I didn’t like talking about that mushy emotional stuff at work. Or at all. It was private, between me and Bentley.
* * *
Later that same Friday, Bentley popped in for a visit with his new partner in tow.
I collected their ten dollars, and handed over two full cups.
Bentley took a sip and closed his eyes. “Library coffee tastes so much better than regular coffee.”
“It’s the exact same coffee you can get at Dreamland,” I said. “The exact same.”
He opened his eyes, and they flashed silver in that sexy way of his. I wished the counter wasn’t standing between us. I wanted to run my fingers through that thick, dark hair of his, tugging at the curious little widow’s peak point on his forehead. I loved ruffling his hair, looking for those flashes of silver at the temples.
When I’d first met him, I had noticed his solid, muscular build, and his good looks. He’d reminded me of an old movie star, someone from another time, a time when men wore hats and tipped them for ladies. I’d actually tried to set him up with my aunt, since he seemed too good to be wasted by remaining single.
How had I not seen how perfect he was for me? Had I been blinded by my infatuation for another man, or had he been different back then, before he’d come into his vampire powers? I would never know. And it didn’t matter. I had seen through his cool, almost robotic demeanor, and gotten to know the hot, passionate person disguised by the gray car and gray suits. He could be weird, too. The man carried peanuts in his pockets at all times, for the local wildlife. He’d become good friends with a local miscreant known as Petey the Squirrel. And the peanuts also generated goodwill with a certain wyvern who liked popping in on our dates.
I gazed at him as he sipped his coffee.
“I’m glad you like it,” I said. “But you should be warned, we are probably going to suspend coffee service to the public soon. Maisy didn’t care when it was the out-of-towners drinking our brew, but she’s heard rumblings about her regulars thinking of switching to Library Coffee.” I shook my head. “And one does not mess with Maisy Nix.”
“Probably for the best,” Bentley said. “You don’t have a license to sell food on the premises.”
“Why, Detective! We’re not selling food,” I said coyly, batting my eyelashes. “We merely accept donations.” I waved my hand at the posted signage.
“That sign is evidence,” he said, using his Big and Scary Voice. “Evidence of your flagrant violation of the local bylaws.” He took another sip. “But I’m not going to arrest you, because the law-breaking is what makes it tastes so good.”
I gasped and held my fingers to my chest. “Detective! I am just shocked by your baseless accusations.”
He glanced left and right, then made a come-here gesture with his fingers as he lifted his chin.
I leaned across the counter of the circulation desk and held my ear near his lips. His warm lips. Some vampires ran cold, but not mine.
He murmured, “I hear it’s also against the bylaws for two municipal employees to fraternize on taxpayer-funded premises.”
“Is that so?” I murmured back. “Is that only during official posted hours and while on duty, or is that a twenty-four-seven sort of thing?”
“I’ll have to look into the matter. Either way, it won’t stop me from meeting a certain redheaded municipal employee in the stacks for the occasional lunch date.” The way he said “lunch date” sent a thrill right through me.
It also alerted my pink-haired coworker, who had a special sense for romantic chatter.
“I heard that,” Frank said, rolling his cart to a stop behind Bentley. “You know we have cameras in the stacks, right?”
Bentley’s expression went slack. “You do?”
I interjected, “Cameras that can be shut off.”
Frank scoffed. “Only if the parties remember to shut them off in their haste to fraternize on taxp
ayer-funded premises.”
I waved Frank away. “Go check on Carrot and the new mural,” I said.
Bentley raised an eyebrow. “She’s doing a new painting? I’d like to see that.”
“It’s not ready yet,” I said. “It’s a surprise.”
“I hope it doesn’t involve any bats.”
“Honestly, I don’t know Carrot’s plans, but I think she’s in a much better mood than when she painted the first one, and it’s going to come through in the work.”
At that moment, Persephone Rose returned from her browse of the new releases table. She smiled hello, and picked up her coffee. She smelled it deeply before taking a sip.
I watched her, and Bentley watched me, watching her.
Persephone looked up at me with those big, brown eyes peering out from under thick, dark bangs. “Library coffee really is better than regular coffee,” she said, giving me a smile. When I’d first met the young woman, I’d interpreted her smile as needy, or nervous, or an attempt to suck up to me. And perhaps it had been all of those things, but now I saw it for what it truly was: an attempt to close the distance between us.
I glanced over at Frank, who, like Bentley, was also watching my interaction with Persephone. Frank waved both hands like a parent encouraging their child to step into the water at the beach, and mouthed words at me. Ask her. Do it, Zara. Do it now.
“Ms. Rose,” I said tentatively.
“Yes?” She held the coffee with one hand while she used the other to tug at her thick bangs.
“Never mind,” I said. “You’re probably busy tonight, anyway. It is Friday, and you’re young, and—”
“I’m not busy,” she interrupted. “Why?”
“I was wondering if you might like to go bowling.”
Her hand dropped away from her bangs and thunked on the counter. “Bowling?”
“Bentley and I are starting a team,” I said. “We’ve joined a league that meets on Fridays. My goal is to eventually beat the Incredibowls. That’s my aunt’s team. They’re very good, but I think we stand a chance.”
“That sounds...” She was apparently at a loss for words, which was understandable. A person didn’t get asked to join a bowling league every day—not since the seventies, anyway.
“The team is mostly friends and family,” I said, gathering my courage as I rolled back my shoulders decisively. “Which is why I’d like you to join.”
Her thick, dark eyelashes fluttered. “You consider me a friend?”
“No,” I said.
My response came out a little harsh, and she flinched visibly.
More gently, I said, “It’s because you’re family.”
At the word family, Persephone Rose seemed to wither in on herself, becoming an inch shorter. Was I imagining things, or was she actually shrinking? She might have very well been shrinking. Shifters were able to make themselves smaller or larger while maintaining their human form, and Persephone Rose was a shifter. She was a black fox shifter. She was the creature I’d encountered running through the woods the day Harry Blackstone first came to talk to me about a favor. Due to a hilarious confluence of events, I had made the assumption the fox was Harry.
Hilarious!
But I knew better now, and I figured it out all by myself, so you can stop snickering about how dense I am to not see what was right in front of my eyes.
But I digress.
Back to Persephone.
She whispered weakly, her eyes as big and bright as white saucers under brown teacups, “You know?”
“I do now,” I said.
Up until that instant, it had been a theory, but now I knew, and with that magical change, it felt like I had always known.
“You’re my half-sister,” I said.
She nodded.
Still standing next to her, Bentley said, “Wha-wha-what?” He sputtered dramatically.
I reached across the counter and patted his hand. “It’s okay. You don’t have to lie for me and pretend you don’t know.”
Behind him, Frank let out a single, “Hah!”
Bentley sighed. He knew all about my theory that his new partner was my father’s daughter. He also felt terribly guilty that we’d talked about Persephone at great length without going directly to the source herself. I’d promised I would broach the topic with her, when the time was right.
And that Friday afternoon, after illegally selling them two coffees for above-market rates, had been the right time.
Persephone gazed at me with eyes that I now recognized as having the same shape as my father’s, albeit with darker coloring.
“I was going to tell you,” she said. “When the time was right.”
I assured her that I understood.
There had been several times recently, when we’d been setting up the haunting at Persephone’s mother’s Bed and Breakfast, where I had sensed the young detective wanting to tell me something. I had resisted the urge to push the matter before the time felt right.
I rocked forward on my toes and grasped the edge of the counter. Now that we’d finally spoken about the unspoken bond between us, my body felt light. Light enough for a spontaneous broomstick flight.
“I know you knew long before I did,” I said, using my Bossy Big Sister voice for the first time in my life. It felt good.
She smirked. “I totally knew.”
I shook my head. “You little brat.”
“I’m not a brat. You’re the brat,” she said, using her Bratty Little Sister voice for the first time in her life. She’d grown up an only child, just like me.
Did we have other siblings out there in the world thanks to our father? Probably. But for now, it was just the two of us, and we would learn how we fit together.
“But you’ll come for bowling tonight?” I asked.
“Of course I will,” she answered without hesitation.
Frank called out from the peanut gallery, “Hug! Hug! Hug!”
Persephone looked down at the ground, in the manner of someone who wanted very much to be hugged by her big sister, but didn’t want to be overt about it.
With Frank, Bentley, Kathy, and the rest of the WPL staff as well as three patrons watching, I took the long walk around the circulation desk and hugged my sister for the very first time.
Chapter 40
After I finished work on Friday, I went to Bentley’s place for dinner before bowling.
We didn’t have a lot of time, but he’d taken some lamb chops out of the freezer, and assured me he could cook them without setting off the smoke detector.
One thing led to another, and...
Let’s just say we had to cancel dinner and put the lamb chops in the fridge, uncooked.
He watched me button up my blouse with just as much interest as he’d watched me take it off earlier.
“That was new,” I commented.
“Not that new,” he said.
“But it was new in the sense that it didn’t take place at an active crime scene, or on taxpayer-funded premises.”
“But what about...” He swished his kissable lips from side to side thoughtfully. “Never mind. I guess my car is technically taxpayer-funded premises.”
“Exactly,” I said, slipping my shoes back on.
He was quiet a moment, then said my name with that tone of voice I didn’t like. The one that said he wanted to discuss something.
I waved off whatever he was attempting to foist on me. “Let’s just go bowling and have fun. Whatever happens between me and my sister will be fine. And you can stop telling me to be nice to her. I promise I’ll be nice, or at least that I’ll change tactics, and only be mean to her in a sisterly fashion. Like, um, teasing her about her hair, or whatever sisters do. I’ve been getting notes about sibling rivalry from Frank.”
“Zara, I need to talk to you about my ex-wife.”
“You don’t.”
“Yes. I do.”
I continued to protest as I turned toward the door.
He was sta
nding in the kitchen, putting the lamb chop seasonings away, and then, instantly, he was blocking my exit.
I jumped back. That vampire speed took some getting used to.
“Careful,” I said. “Don’t startle me like that. I could accidentally ruin your day.”
“Zara, I don’t want to talk to you about my relationship with my ex.”
“Great.” I clapped my hands. “I’m glad that’s settled. Let’s go bowling.”
“I don’t want to talk about why we split up.”
“Right. Heard you the first time. Hey, do you even know how to bowl? And if so, do you have any tips? Are there special tactics, or do you just toss the ball and hope for the best?”
“All I want to do is tell you one thing.”
I kept going about bowling. “Obviously I won’t use magic, because there’d be no sport to it, but I would still like our team to win.”
“Zara.” He was still blocking the only exit. I pondered ways I might go through him. All of them were messy, and I happened to like my current outfit—a tailored find from Mia’s Kit and Kaboodle, a lilac-purple blouse and teal, wide-legged pants that were made of a divine fabric that repelled rain while still being breathable.
“Fine.” I stuck my hands in the teal pants’ voluminous pockets. “Tell me your one thing,” I grumbled.
“It’s her name.”
“That’s weird, but okay.” My chest suddenly hurt. My stomach felt rock-hard, despite being empty. Was she someone I knew? I swallowed hard. “Does your ex-wife’s name start with the letter Z? And rhyme with Birconia?” I crossed my fingers, accidentally casting a minor good luck spell that affected the outcome of coin tosses by altering probability by ten percent.
“Her name is Larissa Lang.”
“Oh, that’s neat. Like the famous actress.”
Silver eyes stared down at me.
The pain in my chest lifted. I swayed from side to side as a giant sack of clues rained down on me.
I gasped, “Your ex-wife is the Larissa Lang? The beautiful actress who plays Mahrissa on Wicked Wives?”
Wishful Wisteria (Wisteria Witches Mysteries - Daybreak Book 3) Page 23
