Business With Pleasure (Empathy in the Preternatural PNW Book 2)

by Olivia R. Burton

  I lifted my gaze long enough to catch Stan push his glasses up his nose, before he pointed to what I was looking at.

  “Did you write that?”

  “No,” I said with a sigh. Stan leaned to the side to meet my eyes, watching me for a moment before shifting and holding out a hand to help me up. Unlike Owen, he didn’t pull me toward him, but he did make sure I was steady before letting go. I shook my head, unsure how to explain the fridge to Stan. He waited patiently but did glance back at the table as if worried the food might go bad in the ninety seconds we stood idly by. Realizing I was still hungry and the food was still delicious, I jerked my head in a gesture that we should continue eating.

  “I have a sort of…pest problem,” I explained, moving to take my seat again. Before saying or eating any more, I grabbed the wine and drank it all.

  “A few months ago, I bumped up against… Shit,” I said, shaking my head. Stan folded his hands together, nudged the plate out of the way, and gave me his full attention. I took another bite of food, trying to decide what to tell him. Finally, I decided to wing it.

  “You know how I have a power.” I used the fork to point at my head, referring to my empathy. “And that I’m not the only one. There are other people out there who have abilities, a lot of them more powerful than me. A few months ago, I somehow crossed the path of something that got into my home and left me all sorts of notes. It also ate all my— Dammit!” Realizing that my sugar stash was probably decimated again, I dropped the fork and jumped to my feet. Stan felt a stab of pity when I smacked my knee against the table in my rush to get up. The pity only grew as he watched me hobble toward the cabinet where I kept most of my sweets.

  Surprisingly, they were left mostly intact. Only one box of Twinkies had been emptied, the wrappers left in a sticky pile on top of a blue scrap of paper. Gratitude spelled out in familiar handwriting mocked me: Thanks!

  I turned to stuff the box and wrappers into the recycling bin I kept under the sink, but I left the note on the counter. I stared at it for a moment, before turning and finding Stan watching me with a look of concern on his face. He was genuinely worried about my state of mind.

  “Uh,” I murmured, before flexing my sore knee and moving back toward him. “Sorry. You probably didn’t expect all this when we ran into each other at The Internets on Friday, right?”

  He gave a nervous laugh before shaking his head and grabbing for the wine. He took a sip, reconsidered, and then finished the whole glass. I nodded at him.

  “You’re probably gonna need that. The short of it… No.” I shook my head. “I don’t think it works without the whole story.”

  I explained the candy thief as we ate, detailing everything from the morning I’d woken up to a house barren of sugar and a fridge full of prophetic notes spelled out in magnetic poetry. I told him about the sticky notes, which were usually helpful, occasionally rude, and always confusing. By the end, Stan knew all the salient details of my experience with a child-nabbing demon, an old friend of Mel’s who’d become a vampire, and the candy thief that had helped keep me alive during the whole ordeal.

  While I hadn’t at first appreciated the notes that showed up without explanation, and while I still didn’t appreciate the fact that every note seemed to be given in exchange for my sweet snacks, I had gotten used to it happening. Stan hadn’t had the time or experience to get used to it, though.

  “So this thing just shows up and rearranges your things and you don’t object?”

  “Oh, I object. I just can’t do anything about it. Plus, may I repeat, it seems to want me safe and sound. That’s the most important part, I think. And hey, apparently it’s a big fan of you. That’s…something. Your fans are pretty cool, right?”

  Stan was staring at me askance, his expression skeptical, his psyche stuffed with nerves. I reached a hand across the table to rub his fingers.

  “There’s nothing to worry about. It’s just weird. It’s like having mice, but the mice don’t just eat your food, they also leave you notes.”

  “Always the same sort of notes?”

  “Yeah, you know. Well, and sometimes just silly ones. And…” I trailed off, realizing that I’d gotten lax when it came to my foreshadowing fridge. “It sometimes tells the future.”

  “What?” Stan’s voice went wry, and I felt cynicism bump up against my curiosity. I pushed to my feet, leaving my empty plate and glass as I closed in on the fridge and looked it over.

  Taking my time, I scanned the front of the fridge, seeing things that I had missed, or just forgotten about since November. The appliance explained where my keys had been when I’d misplaced them two weeks ago (Second drawer on the left), as well as warning me not to get dressed in the dark (Red shoe is not black shoe) that had been valid the second week in April. Chloe hadn’t let me live that down for a while.

  As I parsed every sentence the thief had set out for me, I started to really wonder why I didn’t pay more attention to what it was trying to tell me. Most of the lines were nonsense until I looked at them after the predictions had come to pass, but maybe if I took the time to really memorize every one I could be ahead of the game.

  As I got to the bottom and really considered how much work it would take to memorize everything from, ‘Don’t go in that exam room alone,’ to ‘It’s the silver knife you gotta watch out for.’ I felt my shoulders slump.

  “There’s probably something here I need to pay attention to, but I’m just not sure what.”

  “It’s a refrigerator, Gwen,” Stan said from my right. I blinked and glanced over, realizing he was rinsing off our dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. I shook my head.

  “It’s not that simple, okay? I know it sounds weird, but you see this one?” I pointed at the one at the very start. “Right after I found these, I nearly slipped and broke my neck on some spilled water. I still don’t know what a lot of these mean. But if I’d been paying attention, I could have avoided a very embarrassing shoe incident in April.”

  Stan looked skeptical, but I felt like I was on my way to convincing him. He nodded once and set the dish he’d been rinsing into the dishwasher, then turned off the water. Rounding the open door of the washer, he stepped up close and looked over the words with me. I watched his face as he read down the list, wondering which phrase was causing which expression. When he had finished, he cleared his throat delicately and then tapped one toward the top.

  “Werewolf puppies?”

  “That’s one I don’t understand. The only werewolf I know doesn’t have puppies. He’s a grown man not interested in settling—” My conversation with Mel that afternoon jumped to mind. “Uh. Settling down.” Mel slept with everything that moved, but as far as I was aware he didn’t have any illegitimate kids running around. He’d been acting strangely, though, and had mentioned being Mated as if it was a bad thing. I wondered if the fridge knew something about his relationship status he didn’t. Was Mel pregnant? Was that a thing? I’d have to ask Chloe.

  “And this one?”

  “She missed the convention because your boyfriend didn't,” I said, reading the one he'd tapped. Even though I’d skimmed it just minutes before on my own, saying it out loud made some thought in the back of my mind tingle like it was waking up. I’d been single for most of the last decade, dating sporadically but never seriously. It had been since high school that I’d really bothered calling anyone my boyfriend.

  And yet, Chloe had referred to Owen as such several times that day alone.

  The thought wriggling in the folds of my mind tried its best to make itself known, but I just couldn’t quite grasp it. I shook my head and turned to Stan, wondering what the candy thief had meant and why I couldn’t make it out.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “These all make sense eventually. Not at first, not until the thing I’m supposed to know happens, but they’re here for a reason. This one…” I bit my lip and shook my head again, before moving past Stan a
nd heading into the living room.

  “Gwen?”

  Waving my hand in the air as if to placate him, I grabbed my bag off the chair by the door and dug around until I found my phone. Chloe answered before the phone had even fully rung once.

  “Hey,” she started. I interrupted.

  “Where was the body found on Saturday?”

  “The—what?” I’d thrown her off.

  “Saturday. You said one of the people who died was found on Saturday, downtown. Where downtown?”

  “I’d have to look at the address again, but I think—”

  “Was it by the convention? Anywhere in that area?”

  Chloe was quiet for a few moments and I started tapping my foot impatiently. I’d spent nearly the entire day at the convention with Stan, but more importantly so had Owen.

  “It was,” Chloe said finally. “Why?”

  “And you said the guy on the train was from Portland?”

  “Yes. Why?” she repeated, her tone wary.

  “Because Owen was at the convention and Norma wasn’t.”

  “Norma, Stan’s stalker?” Chloe asked, sounding lost. I turned to find Stan had followed me into the living room and was standing by my other chair, watching me with concern naked on his face. I nodded, even though Chloe couldn’t see it.

  “I think Madeline’s innocent.”

  “Good,” Chloe said, before I heard a knock at my door. She hung up and I realized I could feel her just outside. I dropped my phone onto my bag on the chair and went to open the door. Chloe stepped in, waved briefly at Stan, and then turned to face me. “Because we’re going to see her.”

  “We’re what?” I asked, shutting the door. Chloe turned and marched down the hall toward my bedroom without answering. I looked to Stan as if he’d be able to offer an explanation, but he was just as confused as I was. Giving in, I followed Chloe down the hall and found her in my bedroom, digging through my closet. I felt Stan follow me in but I didn’t mention it.

  “Chloe, what are you doing?”

  “Get dressed. We’re going to see Madeline. What’s this about Norma?” Her eyes flicked past me to Stan. “He should come with us if the stalker’s involved.”

  “Come with you where? Who’s Madeline?”

  “She’s a succubus. She owns The Internets, the restaurant downstairs from our office?” Chloe made it a question, as if Stan might not remember going in and buying me a hot chocolate. “She’s invited us over to discuss murder.”

  “I don’t—” Stan started. I shook my head and waved my hand his way.

  “You can stay, don’t worry. Chloe, he doesn’t need—“

  “You’re the one who thinks this Norma chick is killing people. Madeline’s being blamed for something Stan’s stalker is doing and maybe he can help.”

  “I don’t—” Stan started again, his voice high.

  “I’m not dragging him into—” I got a face full of t-shirt as Chloe tossed clothes my way. When I uncovered my head, I found Chloe had moved past me to speak to Stan.

  “No one’s going to hurt you,” Chloe explained, matter-of-factly. “Gwen, get dressed. I’ll explain what’s going on.”

  “Chloe—”

  “Get dressed or I’m dragging you there in stained sweats and no bra,” Chloe said, wrapping her arm around Stan’s shoulders to lead him out into the hallway. I huffed out a breath but considered that I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. Resigned to the direction my evening had taken, I dropped the clothes on the bed and moved into the closet to grab a bra.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Stan had been remarkably calm under the circumstances, but I knew him well enough to understand that it wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Finally, as Chloe led us toward Greenlake, she tucked Norma’s last letter into the folder, switching her attention to her phone. She typed some text in, pointed to a light up ahead and ordered me to take a left. I obliged, glancing in the rearview mirror at Stan. He was staring out the window, his expression thoughtful but tense. Chloe took a breath to speak, but Stan got there first.

  “Is this some sort of party? One of those murder mysteries where everyone has an identity and we all guess at the end of the—” He stuttered. “Of the role-play who’s the killer? This is a game?”

  “No, this is all real,” Chloe said, her tone bordering on rude. Stan’s posture changed slightly and I felt a slice of insult wedge into him. He turned to face the back of her head, his brows drawing in. “This is kind of a defining moment in your life, Sneedley. Suck it up and go with it, because I’m not going to pick your skinny ass off the floor if you faint when we get inside. Up here, third house on the left.”

  “Chloe!” I snapped, irritated that she’d done a complete one-eighty from the way she’d been treating him before. She met my gaze, but before I could chastise her further, I felt Stan’s mood sway away from nervous and baffled. He turned to frown at the back of her headrest, cynicism chasing away the very last of his nerves. When neither Stan nor I launched into a lecture about her behavior, Chloe winked and then pointed. I hadn’t even put the car in park before she was out of it and crossing the small yard to the front door.

  “You’ll be fine,” I assured Stan as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “Chloe is surprisingly great to have around in a crisis.”

  “This entire situation sounds ridiculous.”

  “Wait until you get inside and meet the succubus.”

  “I’m sure she’s very nice,” Stan said, his tone polite but unable to hide the fact that he thought I was making the whole thing up.

  “This one isn’t how you’d picture.”

  “I’m sure she’s very nice,” Stan repeated.

  Madeline’s house looked to be about a hundred years old, though the white-edged windows and sky blue paint looked modern. It had a bright red front door and a porch that jutted out no further than your average teenager’s under-bite. Chloe had walked in like she owned the place but left the door cracked. Stan and I glanced at each other and I shrugged before stepping in ahead of him.

  It was like stepping into a soup of sex and sexual frustration.

  The air was thick with arousal and desire. Everyone was clothed, but I was betting that if I’d walked up to any one of the men standing around the living room and rubbed myself roughly along his body, I would have discovered an enthusiastic erection. In that moment, I liked the idea more than I could properly articulate.

  I found myself staring at a man who would not have caught my eye in any other situation. He was wide at the shoulders, with a narrow waist, thick thighs, and a skeletal nose. His eyebrows were too thin for his Neanderthal brow and his lips were unappealingly thick. In any other place, I wouldn’t have given him a second glance.

  In Madeline’s living room he could not have been more attractive.

  I felt Stan step inside, pressing himself to my back slightly to the left of matching up our hips exactly. I could hear his breath over my left ear, and it was coming a little fast. The feeling I’d had coming in, the worry I’d been holding onto about Stan, crept back into my brain. He was unprepared for this, and standing here thinking about bedding a perfect stranger in front of my ex-husband suddenly didn’t seem so appealing.

  I took a deep breath, which pressed me a little harder against Stan; he lifted his hands to my waist, held on, and leaned his lips a bit closer to my ear. As I was able to separate my actual emotions from those in the room, I felt myself let out a nervous giggle. Stan’s hands were sliding forward around my waist, and he’d shifted to press himself more symmetrically against me. Unless I was mistaken, I wasn’t the only one thinking about getting naked and rolling around with someone else on the floor of Madeline’s living room.

  Chloe turned to look me over and her eyes were a little heavy, her lips damp. I thought in that moment that she was about to cross the room and make a me-sandwich with Stan. I couldn’t decide if I would have objected.

  “Um,” I squeaked, before trying to step forward. Stan
held me in place and I let out another sound; it came out of my throat as more of a moan than I think I’d intended. Closing my eyes, I tried to picture what I was feeling more precisely.

  My emotions were there, under the others. I could see lust above all else, growing out of Madeline to tangle like a living vine through the mess of fear, anger, panic, and a breezy, familiar amusement. I grabbed onto the fear, which was easier than I expected it to be. Both Stan and I were feeling it, though it was nearly strangled by the lust. Opening my eyes, I looked down, letting the fear take over and make my skin cold. My heart started beating a little harder and I grasped Stan’s hands with my own, catching sight of goose bumps along my arms. Somehow, touching his skin seemed to magnify the fear I could feel from him, as if I could pull it into myself and suffer in his place. Gently, I pulled Stan’s hands away from my belly and looked up to meet Chloe’s eyes.

  I stepped out of the circle of Stan’s arms and turned to the side so I could look between Chloe and my ex. They had similar expressions on their faces, and I was betting that I hadn’t seen either look at me this way before. Even Stan, back in the good old days, had never been quite as direct as this.

  Doing the only thing that felt true to me in that moment, I took a very deep breath and screamed. It was a release of tension, an announcement of discomfort, a demand for order, and an expression of the fear I’d focused on so heavily.

  Stan jumped back, tripping over the slight bump of doorjamb and toppling. Chloe’s body tensed, her eyes going alert immediately. Madeline gave a small smile and shifted in her seat. As my breath gave out, taking the scream down with it, I pointed at her and spoke.

  My voice was strangled and raw, but I managed to demand, “Stop.”

  Her smile widened as she laughed. The tension in the room faded slightly but I still forced myself to step even further away from Stan. Despite holding onto the fear and seeing through the layer of lust she was using to coat my skin, I was still having trouble remembering that this was the absolute wrong time to lie on the porch with him and stick my hand down his pants.