There’s only one remedy for the sick feeling in my stomach: grilled cheese sandwiches.
That’s the thing with issues like mine. After years of having to face the monsters under my bed, or in my case, out of accidental messages, I’ve had to find ways to cope. Wine is a pretty good remedy. Hell, there’ve been times I’ve just thrown back the hard stuff, but drunkenness means losing control. Losing control means forgetting not to read messages or write. That leaves food. Forget ice cream. There’s nothing better for stress eating than carbs and melted cheese. And butter.
Oh, the butter.
Chapter 5
Barely twenty-four hours into living on my own, and I’m back in town, the sun shining down on my uncovered head, my coat pulled tightly closed. Despite growing up in the mountains, I am always cold, which is the reason I have a tendency to tuck insole foot warmers into the bottom of my boots and hand warmers into the pockets of my coat. If I can keep my feet warm, the rest of me manages.
Pedestrians crowd the sidewalk despite the late November temperatures, most of them taking advantage of the Thanksgiving week sales. Murmurs of conversation ride the wind, puffed breaths mingling with the smells of coffee and food.
I pause outside my aunt’s shop, the words Into the Mystic New Age Books and Gifts burned into a wooden sign hanging above my head. I don’t look up at it. My breath leaves condensation on the store’s glass door, the heat clouding the interior.
My stomach hurts. Anxiety, maybe? Or the ridiculous amount of greasy grilled cheese sandwiches I inhaled the night before.
The bell dings when I enter. “Aunt Eloise,” I call, “we need to talk.”
Beads clink together. “What do you think about reserving an area of the park for storytellers at the psychic fair this year? Maybe dressed as authentic minstrels?” In white tights and a top covered in swirly colors, my aunt looks like a lollipop. A lollipop that’s avoiding eye contact. “Imagine how enthralling and vivid it would be.”
Every year on the spring equinox, Eloise runs an Into the Mystic New Age and Psychic Fair in Town Square Park. She starts planning the next year’s event as soon as the current one ends, and as much as I love helping her come up with ideas, I know a distraction when I see one.
“The Court sent me an angel. A fallen angel.” The statement sits in the air between us, heavy and accusing.
Eloise tugs on one of her hoop earrings. She has eight earrings in all, most of them studs and none of them the same color. “I know. Saundra informed me.” She tugs harder on the hoop. “Technically, they sent you the angel your message called out by name.”
“Hmm.” It feels good to throw out a few hmms of my own, instead of receiving them.
“He’s a warrior,” Eloise tries again. “There aren’t many high-ranking supernaturals who don’t know who Lucas Fox is.”
“Hmm.” My arms cross.
“He fell from the highest order an angel can fall from. He’s one of the most powerful of his kind. That’s all I know, Harper.”
“Is he dangerous?” I ask, dropping my arms. “Because he just showed up at my house. Out of nowhere.”
Moving past me to the table she keeps stocked with candles, she begins sorting them. First by size and then by color. “The Court wouldn’t bring in someone dangerous.”
“That’s a lie,” I snap, surprising us both. “I’m dangerous, and they let me live here.”
“Harper—”
“Is he dangerous to me?”
I leave what I really want to ask unsaid. She knows. Because of my curse, I should have never taken the pen. I should have never attempted to write my name. I not only put people in danger, I put the entire town at risk. The Court has every right to punish me.
A sudden brilliant light fills the room, followed by a familiar golden visage. “Give me a little credit, sweetheart. I don’t punish people unless I have a personal reason to.”
Eloise knocks over two of her candles. I nearly fall into a display of essential oils.
“I expected a little fanfare, but nearly fainting . . . I’m humbled.” Lucas Fox saunters across the shop, his blue eyes glinting.
Eloise rights the candles. “I had heard you were arrogant.”
He smiles. “I had heard you were charming.”
“I haven’t heard anything.” Frustration turns my voice into a growl. “And that light thing,” I wave at Lucas, “you couldn’t have done that when we first met?”
Lucas roams the shop, an appreciative gleam in his eyes. “I’m not sure what smells better. The scotch you have put away or the holy water you’ve got for sale.” Pausing at a rack, he lifts a vial of clear liquid. “What proof is this, you think?” Popping the top off, he sniffs it. “Fifty percent, at best.”
Curiosity gets the better of me. “Holy water?”
Lucas replaces the vial. “Angels can’t get drunk on alcohol, but holy water,” he laughs, “let’s just say it’s intoxicating.”
I try so hard not to smile and fail.
Pointing at me, he winks. “There you go. I knew you had it in you. You’re going to need it.” He glances at Eloise. “You’ve got a witch, a shifter, and a fae coming in three, two . . .”
The bell above the door dings.
Saundra Beaumont is the first to storm in, looking like the avenging angel Lucas is supposed to be. Close on her heels is Elsmed Fairchild, a one-hundred-and-two-year-old male fae with frosty blue eyes and a bone to pick. Bringing up the rear is Ric Kasun, Havenwood Falls’ sheriff and a wolf-shifter. At six foot four and built as solidly as the black Chevy truck he drives around town, he looks in no mood to play games. All of them are from old families, all of them are representatives of the Court of the Sun and the Moon, and all of them are pissed.
“Close up shop,” Saundra commands Eloise. “Now.”
My aunt wastes no time obeying, knocking over more of the candles in her haste to flip the open sign to closed.
Saundra turns to Lucas. “You want to explain to me why you’re not standing in court right now? Why you had the audacity to summon us here!”
Completely unfazed, the angel circles behind the store’s checkout counter, stoops to retrieve something off of the shelves built beneath, and rises with a bottle of scotch and a glass. He pours the liquid.
“Want some?” he asks. The question is met with hard stares. Lucas shrugs, downs the amber-colored liquid, and then tips the empty glass at me. “I figured the familiar setting would make this a lot easier on the girl.”
Elsmed’s glacial eyes swing my way. He has silver hair, a flat nose, and a long chin, and I find myself thinking he’d be just as intimidating as an iceberg as he is as a fae. “Speaking of court—”
“She didn’t get the summons,” Lucas interrupts. “I intercepted it.”
While they argue, I stumble, catching myself. The stomach pain I’d felt when I arrived at my aunt’s shop worsens. My head pounds, my skin itching. The fading bruises around my neck tingle.