My camera bag slung over my shoulder, I exit Coffee Haven onto the streets of Havenwood Falls with a smile on my face and a second cup of hot cocoa in my hands. In a cup with a logo. It’s the small things.
On the sidewalk, an elderly woman with a walker meanders by in fancy sweatpants and a pair of sneakers. Big glasses cover most of her face, her lips painted a delicious shade of red. Irene Beckett, a retired schoolteacher and the town’s biggest gossip. Even though she’s a mortal woman, she knows all about the supernaturals in town, and it doesn’t faze her a bit. Maybe that’s why the Court lets her knowledge slide. Or maybe they’re all as afraid of her as I am. There’s something acutely honest and intimidating about Irene. As if, despite her age, she’d give anyone a good fight if challenged.
Even now, her head bent close to a lady I don’t recognize, but who I feel is a supe, her words play on the breeze like naughty children looking to stir up trouble.
“The black bear kingdom has a new queen, and she . . .” Looking up, she lowers her voice, the words trailing into something too soft to hear. Excitement lights up her face, and her volume rises with it. “Oh, and that Xandru,” she shakes her head, tsking, “he and Michaela are on the outs again. Tase is ruining yet another thing in that girl’s life, but what can you expect from those Rocas?”
Irene catches me looking and shakes her finger at my face. “Don’t be staring at me like that, Harper Sinclair. It’s not as if you aren’t in on the action in this town. I heard all about your little dalliance with an angel. Shame, shame. A one-night stand? What has the youth come to? There’s no such thing as committed relationships anymore.”
Technically, it was a two-night stand, but I don’t correct her.
I smile. “Commitment would give you nothing to talk about, Mrs. Beckett.”
She stops dead in her tracks, the tennis balls on the bottom of her walker resting in snow flurries. “Well . . . oh, my. I’ll be damned! You just greeted me like a normal human being. Maybe the sexual awakening did you a little good.” She grins. “I hear you may be a force to be reckoned with before long.”
“I don’t know what scares me the most,” I reply. “The way you know things so quickly or hearing you talk about sexual awakenings.”
She grunts. “I’m old, not dead, child.”
With that, she continues past, head bent, whispering furiously once more.
On her heels, a familiar beard-covered face approaches the door, with shoulders hunched up near his ears and hands deep in the pockets of his pullover shirt. He stomps the snow off of his work boots onto the sidewalk, his eyes catching mine. Elias.
He nods.
I nod back.
He starts to brush past me, but then stops, his voice raspy and low when he asks, “He left?”
I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat.
“It’s for the best,” he tells me. “Especially with his kind. He’ll never age, and he’ll never die. You’ll do both.” He glances down at me. “He’s marked you, though.”
“Marked me?”
Elias smiles a slow smile. “Something angels do to let other angels know someone is under his protection.” His gaze swings to the street, and then back to me. “It doesn’t mean you’re his. It means he will protect you and that other angels are expected to do the same.”
I let his words process in my head before suddenly blurting, “You could be a friend, right? My friend.”
Elias raises his brows. “Are you asking me to be one?”
“I’m trying out this list of ‘first time for everything’ stuff. So far, my friend pool has been limited to Court members and my aunt.” I shrug. “I’m branching out.”
Elias chuckles. “I’ll be a first then.” Nodding one final time, he enters Coffee Haven.
I hug my cup. Christmas music spills out of the shops down the street, the end of Thanksgiving a welcome reminder that jollier things are on the air. Big ribbons are tied on lampposts and lights are strung along the buildings, mostly unlit until night falls. This is my favorite time of year—the gap between the holiday spent giving thanks and the holiday spent sharing love and friendship.
This is a holiday season meant for magic . . . and maybe a little courage, too. Eggnog spiked with liquor from my aunt’s collection would help, but I was never good at relying on liquid courage.
I rely on me.
Inhaling deeply, I turn and face the one place I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding—Shelf Indulgence. The bookstore is lit up, the inside a mixture of books and cushy furniture that invites customers to stay a while. The big showcase window is empty, a stack of decorations piled against it, and I know by the way the owner scurries back and forth beyond the glass that she has huge plans for her Christmas exhibit.
Books displayed at the front of the store glare at me, the words scrawled on their covers mocking me. Voices whisper in my head, and I clench my jaw.
Not without my permission, I growl inwardly.
“Squeeze any harder, and you’re going to break your cup.” Elias appears next to me, a fresh cup of coffee cradled in his hands. He’s not as tall as Lucas, but he’s broader. He has the frame of a bodybuilder with short, messy dark brown hair and full lips that would bring him a lot of attention if he didn’t have the beard. Releasing his cup with one hand, he tugs on the brim of a baseball cap he wears pulled low, a Havenwood Falls Ski-ventures logo printed on the front. “It will get easier over time. All powers are like that.”
I glance at him. “Do you know anything about what I am?”
He stares at the bookstore. “We all have demons that haunt us. You are a scary person, Harper Sinclair. You can channel darkness and attack people with their own nightmares.”
My breath catches in my throat. “I don’t want to do that.”
“I know.” He looks at me. “That’s what saves you.”
The way he stands—his muscular arms making him look like a bear inside his pullover, his baseball cap casting a shadow over his face—makes me smile. “I hope I don’t offend you when I say I own a scary-looking baseball bat that would look right at home in your hands.”
He laughs, the sound as gravelly as his voice. Rock stars would weep. Yet, the way he laughs sounds new, too. Maybe untried?
“You don’t do that enough, do you?” I ask.
He sobers. “What?”
“Laugh like that.”
He smiles softly. “Maybe I don’t.”
“You should.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
We stare at the bookstore.
“Do I smell like Hell to you?” I ask, turning to him.
He snorts. “Is everything out of your mouth always this unexpected?”
“Do I?”
He takes a sip of his coffee, and then says, “You smell good.” There’s nothing flowery about his words, and I find I like that.
Turning away, he gets ready to lope across the street.
“Do you come here often?” I ask out of nowhere. “For coffee, I mean?”
He glances back at me. “I do.”