by Ellery Adams
The workmen reappeared on the sidewalk with more rope. They eyed the sculpture warily before winding rope around her torso.
“What’s with the chain?” one of them asked.
There was a far-off look in Celeste’s blue eyes. “Some say she was chained to a devil. Others say it was a dragon. Since I sculpted her, I decided to set her free.”
The younger workman frowned. “Why not just get rid of the chain?”
Celeste glanced at Nora before answering, “Because once you’ve danced with a devil—or been burned by dragon fire—you don’t ever want to go near those things again. The chains are there as reminders.”
“I’d rather tie a string around my finger,” the man said. A movement in the window directly above the store’s entrance caught Nora’s attention. Shielding her eyes against the sun’s glare, she looked up and saw a milk-pale face and dark eyes peering down at her. The ghostlike vision drew a finger across its throat before smiling in delight.
Suddenly, Nora’s burn scars began to tingle. The sensation started on the back of her hand and traveled up her arm to her neck. It crept over her cheek and forehead, even though a plastic surgeon had erased those scars over a year ago.
“I’d better go,” Nora stammered to Celeste. “Good luck with everything.”
She shot a glance at the second-story window, but no one was there.
Nora turned and started walking fast, eager to get back to Miracle Books. Her skin was still tingling like crazy.
Must be prickly heat.
At the end of the block, the tingling turned to itching. Nora put her hand to her forehead. Her hairline was damp. She needed to get out of the sun. She’d left her hat inside the shop and though she always wore sunscreen, she probably needed to reapply it.
As she paused under the welcome shade of the hardware store awning, the itching stopped. She now felt the weight of eyes on her back.
Was Celeste watching her?
Or the person who’d made the throat-cutting gesture? The tickly feeling of being watched stayed with Nora until she entered the bookstore.
“And you said I was pale,” Sheldon cried from behind the espresso machine. “The ghost emoji on my phone is tanner than you. Sit down. I’ll get you water.”
Five minutes and a glass of water later, Nora was herself again.
“That was weird—for both of us to get overheated like that,” she said. “At nine thirty in the morning?”
“Not really. I skipped breakfast and you went on a hike before work. I need food and you need fluids. Doctor Vega is in the house.”
Nora waved a hand, dismissing the subject. “Is the paper back there? I think I saw a short piece about Soothe on the front page.”
With the paper in hand, Sheldon sat down in the purple chair opposite Nora’s mustard-colored velour chair. Three other mismatched chairs formed a circle around a glass coffee table. This was the readers’ circle, the most popular place in the shop.
“All right, children, are you ready for storytime?” Sheldon cleared his throat and began to read. “‘The Greene Building has a new tenant. Ms. Celeste Leopold has signed a three-year lease on the retail space and two-bedroom apartment. Ms. Leopold’s boutique, Soothe, an eclectic mix of merchandise meant to reduce stress and take the sting out of chronic pain, will open in late September. Soothe will also stock organic food and drinks in the form of CBD comfort muffins and anti-inflammatory teas.’”
Nora gaped. “Comfort muffins? I wonder if Hester knows about this.”
“Knows about what?”
Hester Winthrop, owner of the Gingerbread House Bakery and a member of Nora’s book club, the Secret, Book & Scone Society, came around the corner of the Fiction section carrying a large bakery box. Inside were puff pastries shaped like open books. The scent of buttery dough wafted through the air, mingling with the aroma of fresh coffee. Nora couldn’t imagine a more heavenly smell.
Sheldon took the box from Hester and carried it into the ticket agent’s office. “We were just reading about our new neighbor.”
Hester’s face lit up. “I saw movers at the purple awning. What kind of store is it?”
Nora pointed at the paper. “Read the article on the bottom of the front page.”
“I don’t have time. I—”
“You need to read it.”
Hester’s apple print apron was dusted with flour and cinnamon, so she grabbed the paper and read the article where she stood. When she reached the final sentence, her eyes widened in shock.
“Comfort muffins?” Her voice was shrill. “What the hell?”
Sheldon slung an arm around Hester’s shoulder. “Celeste probably doesn’t know about your comfort scones. She hasn’t even moved in, and we’re already getting mad at her.” He looked at Nora. “Why don’t we invite her over for coffee and a chat? We’ll tell her about Hester’s scones and suggest an alternative name for her baked goods. Mellow muffins?”
Hester smiled. “That’s pretty good. But are CBD muffins even legal?”
“Yep,” Sheldon replied. “I use CBD oil all the time. Lots of people do. I wouldn’t worry about a few muffins, sweet girl. Your food is enchanted. You have lines out the door every day.”
“You’re right. Besides, this town needs more female business owners. I should do what I can to support Celeste. Let me know when you ask her for coffee, Nora. I’d like to be there.”
As Nora hurried to finish her opening tasks before the clock struck ten, all thoughts of Celeste Leopold were pushed aside. After the shop was ready and Nora had greeted her first customer of the day, she began gathering titles for the new window display.
A woman picked up the copy of Alchemy and Meggy Swann from the top of Nora’s pile and examined the back cover.
“I love historical fiction,” she said to Nora. “Do you think my granddaughter would like it? She’s in the sixth grade.”
“She’s the perfect age for Karen Cushman. Does she like historical novels?”
The woman looked aggrieved. “Not really. She’s what you’d call a reluctant reader.”
“Hm. Maybe she just hasn’t met the right book. What are her interests?”
“Well, the last time I saw her, she told me about a paper she’d written on gender equality. Her teacher was very impressed. And she marched in a parade last year.”
Nora smiled and touched the cover of the book in the woman’s hand. “Meggy, the main character, travels to London to work for her alchemist father. However, she is turned down because she’s not male. This is a story of a young woman fighting for her future. I have a feeling your granddaughter will cheer on Meggy Swann.”
Though the woman thanked Nora, she didn’t look happy. “It’s hard to connect with my grandkids. I don’t get their technology. I don’t know what they’re talking about most of the time. Are there books that can explain these things to me?”
“Probably, but I don’t think you need them. Why don’t you and your granddaughter read this book at the same time? Maybe you could meet somewhere special to talk about it? That would be a pretty cool way to connect.”
The woman loved the idea. “I’m going to write a note on the title page. And buy us matching bookmarks too. I thought I saw ome . . .”
Nora pointed her toward the bookmark spinner and returned to her stack. Now that she’d sold her only copies of Alchemy and Meggy Swann, she’d have to find a middle-grade replacement for the window. Luckily, she had another Cushman novel, The Midwife’s Apprentice, on the shelf. While she was in the children’s section, she also grabbed Ella Enchanted, Malala’s Magic Pencil, The Witch of Blackbird Pond, Matilda, and Neil Gaiman’s Coraline.
After bagging the grandmother’s purchases and telling her to come back soon, Nora perused the stack of YA titles Sheldon had selected for the window display.
“Every book has a feisty female on the cover,” he said as Nora looked at copies of Throne of Glass, Labyrinth Lost, Children of Blood and Bone, and Uprooted.
N
ora nodded in approval. “These books paint a picture of strong, determined, powerful women of all ages. Magical women. We can add Wicked to the pile, but not A Discovery of Witches or Practical Magic. There are no women on those covers. Let’s find a few more adult titles.”
In between helping customers, Nora pulled copies of The Mists of Avalon and Paulo Coelho’s The Witch of Portobello, and Sheldon added Alice Hoffman’s The Dovekeepers and Isabel Allende’s The House of Spirits to the pile.
Later, while Nora was reviewing their final selections, a young woman with pale skin, purple-tipped black hair, black clothing, and a sullen expression approached the counter.
“This is from my mom,” she said, dumping a paper bag on top of The House of Spirits. “For checking on her this morning.”
Nora took in the young woman’s nose ring, eyebrow piercings, Metallica T-shirt, and knee-high combat boots. “You must be Bren. I’m Nora.”
Bren pointed at the empty space above Nora’s pinkie knuckle. “She said you’d been in a fire. How’d it happen? Did you start it?”
But Nora wasn’t listening. She’d just recognized Bren’s face. “You were in the upstairs window—when the angel fell—I saw you.”
“I know. Wasn’t it awesome?” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I mean, who wants to be an angel? They don’t have any fun.”
She walked over to the bookmark spinner. Using her middle finger, she spun it once. Twice. Three times. The bookmarks lifted into the air.
Sheldon stepped out from behind the North Carolina Authors section just in time to see Bren whip the front door open, creating a riot of noise from the sleigh bells. She left the shop without a backward glance.
“What’s in the bag?” Sheldon asked. “A hand grenade?”
Nora peeked inside. “Two chocolate muffins. Do you want one?”
Sheldon curled his lip. “If that girl does Like Water for Chocolate baking, those muffins will taste like angst and hostility.”
Picking up a muffin, Nora gave it a tentative sniff. “It’s a gift. I should try it, at least.”
Sheldon watched with interest as Nora broke off a piece and popped it into her mouth. His interest was even more piqued when she immediately spit the piece back into the bag.
“It’s that bad?” he asked. “Should I feed it to the pigeons during my lunch break?”
Nora shoved the bag into the trash can under the register. “I won’t be held responsible for the deaths of innocent animals.”
Sheldon picked up the single bookmark that had fallen off the spinner and handed it to Nora.
“Why do I feel like things are about to get interesting around here?”
A customer entered and he and Sheldon disappeared into the stacks.
Nora didn’t even notice them. She was too busy staring at a photograph of a stained-glass window. The figure in the center of the window was an angel.
As she held the bookmark, Nora’s uneasiness from that morning returned. Angels were supposed to be symbols of light and protection.
But there was another kind of angel. The fallen kind.
The ones who became devils.
Photo Credit: Amy Stern Photography
ELLERY ADAMS has written dozens of mystery novels and can’t imagine spending a day away from the keyboard. Ms. Adams, a native New Yorker, has had a lifelong love affair with stories, food, rescue animals, and large bodies of water. When not working on her next novel, she reads, bakes, gardens, spoils her three cats, and rearranges her bookshelves. She lives with her husband and two children (aka the Trolls) in Chapel Hill, NC. For more information and a list of bibliotherapy titles, please visit www.elleryadamsmysteries.com.