“What do you think about moving?” Chessa asked.
Chloe’s forehead furrowed. “You mean into the kitchen?”
“She means away, dummy,” Charlize said. “You really need to get more sleep. Why don’t you just nap when the baby’s sleeping?”
Chloe’s face reddened. Her short-bodied snakes writhed. “Why don’t I jump across this table and just—”
“Calm down!” Chessa raised one fair hand and flashed her power through the room.
Both sisters fell silent and froze. When they moved, it was only enough to sip their wine. Calmly.
“This is exactly why I can’t move away,” Chessa said, sounding exasperated. “The two of you would kill each other without me around to calm you down.”
The other two spoke at the same time, sharing dissenting opinions.
“You can’t move away,” Charlize said.
“It might be good for you,” Chloe said.
Charlize narrowed her eyes at Chloe. Of course Chloe wanted Chessa to go away. That would leave her to raise Junior without any interference or the passive-aggressive giving of permission.
Chloe narrowed her eyes at Charlize. Of course Charlize wanted Chessa to stay. Chessa always took Charlize’s side in the big fights.
“This town has so many painful memories for me,” Chessa said. Her voice was light, ethereal, but almost weak. She spoke with none of her usual power. The other two took notice and listened quietly.
Chessa went on. “When I see people who know about what happened, I can’t stop their thoughts from flooding into me. They’re all so curious, their minds prying at mine, clawing to get inside me, desperate to know what happened.” Her ocean-blue eyes glistened. “What is it about the worst things imaginable that makes complete strangers want to know every detail?” She shook her head and went on. “But the worst has got to be the pity. I hear them thinking, ‘Oh, you poor thing. You poor, poor thing.’” Her eyes deepened in color, and her voice took on an edge. “As if I am a thing. As if I am some creature, some pathetic, helpless creature, to be pitied.” She finished with a low, gravelly roar. “As if I am some poor, poor thing.”
The sisters said nothing.
Chessa refilled her wine glass and tossed it back in one gulp.
“But I can’t exactly pick up and move,” she said, her tone more conversational. “I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without my darling Chet. But, like it or not, he comes with the other two. Grampa Don’s determined to stay in that house until he dies, and with the way he’s going, it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen time soon. His mind is repairing itself, and his memories are coming back. And then there’s...” She gripped the name in her mouth before releasing it. “Corvin.”
Chloe let out a nervous giggle. “And then there’s Corvin,” she said. She was doing everything right, by the rules, to make sure her precious Jordan Junior didn’t turn out strange, like Corvin.
“Shut up,” Charlize warned her sister. “It’s not funny.”
“Yes, it is.” Chloe finished her wine and shook the last drops into her mouth. She hiccuped, then said, “It’s literally the funniest thing that has ever happened to anyone in our family. Chet went out one day to pick up a stray dog, and he came home with Corvin.” She giggled again. “Surprise! Your new dog is a hellhound. Oh, and it’s also a weird little boy. Congratulations. You’ve got an insta-family.”
“Shut up,” Charlize said again. “Corvin’s just a kid. He’s not a joke. He’s a kid who wants to be loved, just like any kid. Why don’t you practice some of those maternal instincts you have on him instead of treating him like he’s some stray dog?”
“You shut up,” Chloe shot back. “I can find it funny if I want to. It’s my business.”
“It’s not your business,” Chessa growled. The decorative items on the fireplace chattered. Everything in the room was shaking from Chessa’s power.
The other two both shut up.
“Forget I mentioned anything,” Chessa said, her voice light again. “As long as Corvin is in our lives, we can’t move away. I know my darling Chet would do anything to make me happy, but I can’t ask him to uproot his father and his child just because I can’t handle a few intrusive questions from the ignorant.” She straightened her back, taking on a regal air. “I’ll have to find another way.”
The timer on the oven dinged.
The nachos were ready.
All three jumped up and ran for the kitchen, bumping into each other and wrestling to be the first through the doorway. One triplet got the giggles, and it became contagious, just as it had in the old days. All three became delightfully and happily stuck in the doorway, giggling as they struggled and wrestled against each other.
And, just like that, they were sisters again. Although they bickered, it was only because what ran between them mattered, for they were the whole world to each other.
Eventually, the three broke free of the doorway and gathered around the hot nachos at the kitchen table. They ate and laughed over shared memories of their greatest fights. Oh, the wars that had been waged over things that had seemed so important at the time, but that, in hindsight, didn’t matter at all.
Chapter 4
ZARA RIDDLE
WISTERIA PUBLIC LIBRARY
TUESDAY
I picked up another cake Tuesday morning, and everyone at the library enjoyed it as much as they enjoyed the tired jokes about birthday candles, and special permits, and fire alarms.
At lunch time, Frank and I printed out fresh Cynical Librarian Bingo cards and started our game again.
Kathy had banned the game previously, but she’d been in a much better mood since sharing her supernatural secret, so Frank and I decided take our chances.
By the end of Tuesday, Frank had one square filled: patron makes a “check out” pun.
I had two squares: patron mentions it won’t be long before the internet puts libraries “out of business,” and patron exclaims that librarian jobs must be easy because all we do is “sit around reading books.”
* * *
WEDNESDAY
I set up a new account for a young woman named Persephone Rose. With a name that unique, I knew she had to be the same Persephone Rose who worked at the Wisteria Police Department and had a girlish crush on Detective Theodore Bentley.
She had to be at least twenty-five, to be working for the WPD, but her long, dark hair and thick bangs made her look like a young girl my daughter’s age. Peering out from under the bangs were big, brown, sad-looking eyes that drooped down at the corners. She had a round face, pale skin, and rosy cheeks.
A real English Rose, I thought. How appropriate for someone with the last name of Rose.
As I handed over her new library card, she asked, “Are you, um, Zara Riddle?”
“All day, every day.”
“I think you might be friends with a man I work with. Theo Bentley.”
“You mean Teddy?” I smiled like the shark on the cover of Barracuda Magazine. Her use of the shortened version of his first name didn’t sit well with me, so I’d one-upped her by calling him Teddy, which I never did. “You could say we’re friends. Why do you ask?”
“Do you...” She trailed off and fidgeted with her thick lashes. They were false eyelashes, detaching slightly as she tugged on them.
I glanced over at my pink-haired, narrow-jawed coworker. Frank was watching the interaction with great interest while disinfecting a stack of hardcover books that a patron with a bad summer cold had just returned.
I turned back to Persephone Rose and asked, “Do I what?” My tone was snappier than intended, and she took two steps back from the counter.
“Nothing,” she squeaked.
I held out my hands for the books she was clutching to her chest.
She slowly came back to the counter and handed me the books she wanted to check out.
I completed the transaction. It took me three tries to hit the right keystrokes.
Nothing, sh
e’d said. Was it really nothing? By the way she was fidgeting with both her bangs and her false eyelashes at the same time, I guessed she hadn’t stopped by the library for “nothing.”
“What did you want to ask me?” I prompted, deliberately making my tone sweet. “Is it something about Detective Bentley?”
The roses on her cheeks deepened to scarlet. “I don’t know. He seems different lately.”
Being dead will do that to a person.
“I hadn’t noticed,” I lied. “Maybe you didn’t know him that well in the first place.”
She blinked those big, droopy brown eyes twice. “Did you two, um, break up or something?”
“No,” I answered honestly. I didn’t clarify that the reason we hadn’t broken up was because we hadn’t been dating.
She bit her lower lip. “Good to know.” She swayed from side to side girlishly.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Ms. Rose?”
She shook her head and transferred the books into her canvas book bag. She’d borrowed some thriller paperbacks as well as a hardcover, all seemingly random selections from the New Arrivals table.
She thanked me, and left without another word.
I glanced over at Frank, who said only, “Meow.”
I thumbed my chest. “Me? Are you implying I was catty just now?”
“Meow,” he repeated. “Does kitty want a saucer of milk?”
“Mind your own business.” I waved at him to get busy. “You worry about removing all the sneeze residue from those books, Mr. Wonder.”
“Oh, it’s more than just sneezes.” Frank tapped a second pile of books. “These ones came in courtesy of a sweaty gentleman in a tank top who was holding them under his arm. He must have walked a long way, because every single one of them reeks of armpit.”
“Isn’t that one of your bingo squares?”
He beamed. “It sure is. Armpit books. Bottom-right corner.” He waved me over. “Come here. Smell.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“You know you want to.”
“Every single book reeks of armpit? I suspect you are exaggerating, Mr. Wonder.”
“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. Come over here and smell these books. You know you want to.”
I couldn’t resist his charms and my own curiosity. An acrid, musky smell hit my nostrils. He’d been right.
We looked at each other and sighed in unison.
“We are so lucky to be librarians,” I said.
He nodded. “All those degrees are really paying off.” He glanced around to make sure nobody was reading a book within earshot of us, then asked, “Who was that big-eyed girl with the bangs who got your kitty-hackles up?”
“Her name is Persephone Rose, and she works with Detective Bentley.” I smirked. “She says he’s been acting different lately.”
Frank snorted. “Being dead will do that to a person.”
I shushed him, because he’d been getting loud. I could have cast a sound bubble, but I tried hard not to cast spells at work, tempting though it was. I could have deodorized the armpit books in five seconds flat using a spell, but I’d promised myself I wouldn’t. Also, the spell did create a visible stench cloud that floated six inches off the floor and took hours to dissipate.
In a quieter voice, Frank asked, “Do you think she’s more than just a coworker?”
I put on my old-fashioned Southern accent. “Whatever do you mean, Frank Wonder?”
He blinked rapidly. “Like how you and I have been smitten with each other since the day we met?”
“She might love him, like I love you, but it’s a puppy sort of love. Their bond can’t possibly be as strong as ours,” I said with a straight face.
His expression grew serious. “How different is he, exactly? How does becoming a vampire affect a person?”
I threw my hands in the air. “How should I know? I barely saw him on Sunday before he tried to eat Zoey’s father.” I held one finger in the air. “But he did seem to have more of a sense of humor. Oh, and his eyes weren’t gray anymore. They were silver.”
I turned to get back to work, but Frank stopped me.
“Hang on. I want to try something.” He held up a popular graphic novel featuring a tough but beautiful blonde who reminded me of the gorgon triplets. “What’s this girl’s name?”
“Buffy.”
“Buffy the... ?”
“Buffy the, uh, Slayer.”
“It’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” Frank shook his head. “You still can’t say vampire, can you?”
“Apparently not.”
“You should get your new beau to bite you, or put you in a thrall, or whatever it is they do. See if he can reverse what your mother did.”
“Right,” I scoffed. “I’ll get right on that. Please, Bentley, bite my neck for scientific reasons.” I tugged down the collar of my blouse, exposing my neck.
Frank’s eyes flashed with mischief. “Or for personal reasons.”
I rolled my eyes and got back to work.
* * *
THURSDAY
Mid-day, I got scolded by Kathy for constantly checking my phone.
She pushed her glasses up her sharp, narrow nose, which still looked owlish to me even though she’d been revealed as a sprite, not an owl shifter, and said, “I expect this sort of obsessive phone-checking behavior from the teenaged pages, but not from my librarians.”
I nodded for her to follow me into the break room.
Once we were alone, I explained to her my very good reason for obsessive phone checking. My daughter, who was still on summer break from school, was having lunch with her father, the genie. I relayed to Kathy how I was feeling every kind of emotion imaginable, all at once. I was happy she was getting the gift of another parent, but fearful it would be a crushing disappointment. I was curious about what information she would find out about genies, and Archer’s past, but also angry they hadn’t invited me along. I could have taken my lunch break early and met up with them, if anyone had asked.
“You’re a good mom,” Kathy said after I’d poured my heart out.
“Well, duh,” I said, then, quickly, “I mean, thanks.”
“Does your phone vibrate when you get a new text message?”
“Yes.”
“Then leave it in your pocket. Taking it out and looking at the screen isn’t going to make your daughter report back any sooner.”
“You say that, but can either of us, knowing what we know about magic, really say for sure that looking at my phone doesn’t have some effect on her messaging me?”
One of Kathy’s golden-brown eyes twitched behind the round lens of her glasses. “What do you mean?”
“There’s a witch I know who has a psychic ability about phones. She can sense when someone’s going to call her, a few minutes before they do.”
“Is it your aunt, Zinnia?”
Oops. I only knew a handful of witches in town—three, to be precise. Aunt Zinnia, Dreamland Coffee owner Maisy Nix, and her niece, Fatima Nix. Kathy knew I was a new witch, so she must have known my witch social circle wasn’t wide. I hadn’t even been invited to join a coven. This was exactly why supernatural people didn’t gossip about powers.
“Just a witch I know,” I said breezily.
“Zinnia and I have been friends for years. You have my permission to reveal to her my secret. You can make official introductions when you have hers.”
“Good.” Because I probably would have told my aunt regardless.
Kathy peered up at me, her lips pursed. “But you were going to tell her anyway, weren’t you?”
I pursed my lips right back at the head librarian. Were sprites mind readers? Kathy, are you reading my mind?
She cocked her head to the side. “Why are you making that face?” Kathy asked. “Did your phone buzz?”
If she was a mind reader, she was an equally good bluffer.
“No, but I should probably check it, just in case it buzzed while we were
talking and I missed it.”
She pointed to the charging station, where we kept cords and chargers for every type of phone. “Check it one more time, then leave it in your pocket or keep it back here at the charging station.”
“Yes, boss.”
As she walked away, the screen lit up with a new message from Zoey: Lunch with Mr. Caine is going well. The waitresses thought I was his date! He introduced me as his daughter, and now they are all flirting with him like crazy. One of them offered to be my new stepmom.
I typed out a few choice words then erased them.
I was so full of confusing mixed emotions that a full minute passed and I hadn’t been able to compose a response.
A second message came through: I’m going to put my phone away now. I just wanted to let you know everything is fine and you can stop checking your phone obsessively. Have a great day at the library! Boost those circulation numbers!
Chapter 5
FRIDAY
As I shelved books about family relationships, I thought about Zoey’s relationship with her father, whom she referred to as Mr. Caine. She would probably come up with a goofy nickname for him soon enough, but he was Mr. Caine for now.
In addition to having lunch together, Zoey had spoken to her father, the genie, on the phone a few times.
According to Zoey, his powers were pretty much what we’d known about. He had the ability to bend and manipulate time, but only in small pockets.
Other than that, the genie who’d sired her was, in Zoey’s words, “basically normal.” She’d gone on to say that despite his age, he was immature. His body was the same age as Chet Moore’s—thirty-seven—but he acted like someone thirty-seven going on sixteen. He seemed to Zoey less like the fathers of her friends and more like the teenaged boys she went to school with. This was mostly due to his interest in massive multiplayer online video games. At their lunch meeting, he’d talked about his gaming system and playing strategies “pretty much non-stop.” He’d also acquired the phone numbers of not one but two waitresses.
“Two waitresses,” I muttered to myself as I shelved books about self-improvement.
Wisteria Witches Mysteries Box Set 3 Page 62
