Chapter 20
With true feeding, I was cured of coyote. Not cured of intensity addiction though, so I ran hard through the morning air with Ev and Mark, who told me they missed my presence. From my perspective I had showered earlier under the rain, which tapered off in time for our run. So a quick change of clothes then beeline for caffeine.
Allie placed a cup on the counter. “Bold, with three shots, ready and waiting.”
“Aw, you saw me coming. How’s your morning, Allie?”
“Tired of the rain. I thought you deserted me.”
“Out of town for a few days.” I shrugged and slid two bills into the tip jar.
“Are you going to read that?” She pointed at my oversized book.
“Mmm. Study.”
“Outside?” Her eyes hinted at a cushy chair in the far corner.
“Storm has passed. Clouds are lifting. It'll be fine.”
“Whatever you say. Let me dry off the chairs for you and in a while I'll bring you a refill. If you want one, I mean.” She winked in complicity.
Difficult, flirting on a cold morning, but she kept trying. “All refills are welcomed.” I winked back and led the way out the door.
I sat at my preferred table off to the side, opened the textbook then ignored it while I reviewed plans made with Mark during cool down. I wanted to appear non-stalker normal, and it should help if Henna saw me with a typical student, so tomorrow night we'll go to the Tavern.
I'd see her tonight, too. Full stalker mode though, to test an idea Louie and I discussed. Interesting how quickly he became invested - but then, a problem for me was a problem to him. Important, we agreed, to verify if Henna and her strange abilities were in any way a danger, and verification included an extended experiment that would begin tonight while she sang.
Half an hour later I lifted my eyes from the text, zinging with awareness. Henna was near and coming closer. My energy was tucked too deep for her to sense my presence so I eased out of sight around the corner of the building. I watched her skip up the steps and scoot inside, tiny huffs of breath left behind in moist cloudlets - magical little things, remnants from inside her. I wanted to suck them in.
She had on sweats, a knitted cap and half fingered gloves so she was warm enough to sit outside with me. I reached inside the coffee shop and slid around her free will, taking just enough to slant it my way. When she came out I was at my table oozing niceness and surprise. She saw me and half spun to go back inside.
I jumped up, my hand on the other chair. “Hey. Join me, Henna. Please. We need to talk. I’m not the guy from Venice Beach.” It was cheating to touch her mind and block her wariness, but I cheated all the time and it fazed me not a whit to do so again. With her my motives were pure - no harm, no foul. Just knowledge to the core of her soul.
Henna's look was stern. “Why do we need to talk? If you’re not the guy, then I’m sorry.” But she edged towards the table as she spoke.
I moved my book and angled the chair for her. “You can’t walk and drink at the same time. Sit with me.”
She didn’t smile but with my mental nudge, she sat. “Are you a student?”
“Unh huh.” I relaxed in my chair and pushed the thick book closer to her. “Only three units this semester.”
She glanced down. “What class is it?” Her manner was cautious. I decided to be as open and honest as possible. No problem. Honest deception is one of my fortes.
I chuckled as friendly as can be, my hair tossed back, face exposed to her scrutiny. “Well, my class isn’t calculus, obviously. The course has the same name as the text because the professor wrote the book. It’s rather like an Art History class, with less emphasis on the history part.” The once a week class turned out to be a good opening.
I smiled at her sitting edgily on the chair, rather like a deer that might spring away at any moment. Fine. I knew a lot about handling deer. Casually, I leaned away from her, looked out at the street, gave her space. “Do you take classes, too, Henna?”
She set her cup on the table. “No, I haven't been in town that long.” Her eyes strayed back to the textbook. “I don’t know anything about art.”
“You know about music and performance. That’s art, too.”
“Mm hm. What's your major?”
“No major. I study a little of everything.” Casual words and soothing touches in her mind. Though I was talking with her in public, visible to anyone who passed, most of me was tucked deep in comfortable camouflage. I felt smug.
“Do you go to museums?” she asked. “The whole class, I mean.”
“We do. Two museum visits required, plus galleries and art shows.”
“So you're an artist?”
“No, you're the artist, Henna. I’m just an appreciative student.” Ack, too much. No way to take it back.
She gave me a tight smile. “Why are you taking that class?”
Go for honesty. Henna is smart and has a good vocabulary, so instead of the usual platitudes, I gave her the real answer from the real me. “Mankind expresses its artistic self in a plethora of ways and those ways entice me. In countless museums I've observed how paintings and sculpture affect the viewer. Film, architecture, landscapes, stories - and music - all are expressions of mankind that impact us. It intrigues me how those impacts change through the ages and I try to learn how and why they change.”
I liked her unusual reply. “Can anybody understand that? Unless they live all of those ages and changes? Of course, as you said, we can try.” She sipped and licked a dab of caramel from her lip. “Big topic for so early in the morning.” Again the little smile. “Sorry, this girl moves and looks awake, but it's all illusion.”
“This girl makes me laugh. Drink, drink. Awaken Henna. The world awaits.” It seems I was holding her emotions too tightly. Ease up and let the real Henna shine. Nice to note that this man could make the girl smile, too.
“So your name is Brecken. That’s different. Brecken … what?”
Information for a police complaint? No, it was a normal question. “Brecken de Boer.”
Her nose sort of wrinkled. “What kind of name is that? I’ve never heard it before.”
“It’s an old name,” I began. But she had her own answer.
“Something European. Not Italian.”
“Most likely Dutch.” At least I thought it was when I made it up.
She squinted her eyes. “The way you speak is different. Are you from another country?”
“Different?” Has she noticed my slight accent? Most people don’t.
She saw my frown. “I’m a musician, remember? I have a good ear for accents and intonation patterns. You speak perfect English with lots of big words, but - mmm - still unusual somehow, like maybe it isn’t your first language.”
Language influenced by other countries and other centuries, although I couldn’t tell her that. Honest this morning, but not that honest. “I’m impressed, Henna. People never notice an accent. English is my first language, just not my only one.”
“Really? What else do you speak?”
Heh. I left out a few and kept it simple. “German, Dutch, French.” Almost added Gaelic, because women find that intriguing. But not out to intrigue this one. Am I?
“Wow. All learned at home growing up?”
Keep it simple. “Yes, of course. Plus grandparents when I was a kid.” Hmm. Simple could get complicated. But, how nicely Henna talked. No yelling, no snide comments. For some reason her normalcy set me off center.
She took another sip, hazel eyes on me. “Do your parents live here in Claremont?”
“Unfortunately, my family died a long time ago.”
“I'm sorry. Who raised you?”
Questions, questions - yet I liked them. “Oh, they did, for all of my childhood days.”
“Childhood days? See, that’s a strange way to say it. Not quite like a college guy talks.” She laughed at my consternation. But I can ask questions, too.
“How about you, Henna?
Is your family around?”
“I have my mom. And um, cousins I live with here.”
Ooo, bad, girl, I said to her silently. A lie. Just one cousin, Henna. “You're dressed like maybe you went running this morning. “
“Yes. I still seem to be only half awake, though.” She sipped, looking at me over the rim and her expression was an easy read. Wary, but I spotted interest there. Build on that.
“Do you run frequently, Henna?”
“I try for every day. Do you? I mean, you look like you do.” Her face suddenly flushed.
Inside I laughed. Outside I pretended not to notice. “Weekday mornings with two other students, Ev and Mark. We ran this morning, in fact.”
There was a movement beside the table and we both looked up at Allie, with a cup in her hand.
“Refill, Brecken?” She looked sideways at Henna.
“Nice. Allie, this is Henna.”
“Hi,” Allie said with a sharp nod. “I’ve seen you before.”
“Yes. I came in yesterday.”
“Brecken comes in all the time.” She brushed my arm as she grabbed the empty cup. “He's addicted to our coffee.” Big smile at me.
Henna said nothing. Allie returned my earlier wink and went back inside. She'd made a claim of some sort and I sighed. “Allie’s a nice kid.”
“Not such a kid. She’s cute. Have you asked her out?”
Now that was unexpected. Getting right down to it, but I appreciate directness. “Allie is nice and cute and not my type. So, no. I haven’t and won’t.”
“And what is your type?” Straight face, suggestive tone of voice.
I lowered my eyelids and gazed at her through lashes. “Someone smart and talented and perceptive.”
“What do you mean by perceptive?”
I just looked at her. She looked back, silent, but I saw her eyes flicker. “You know what perceptive is,” I said softly. “Mistakes can be made, but you still understand perceptive.”
I guess it was too soon because her eyes narrowed. “My perception is whispering to me now, clear as a bell. Telling me to walk careful. Whispering that you are slipping under my guard and I don't know how. Reminding me that you feel familiar. Are you sure you aren’t Venice stalker guy?”
I lifted my head. “That's frustrating, Henna. Venice Beach? Never been and don’t plan to.”
She backed off and went for the light and easy. “You don’t like the beach?”
“Yeah, I do, but I prefer the ones in Orange County.” I glanced over as the couple with the black dog came up the steps.
Henna took a long gulp then dabbed the corner of her mouth. “I’ve never been to Orange County. I usually go up the coast.”
“I’ll take you, if you like. There are a lot of really good beaches, some with rocks and cliffs. There's a couple of boulder jetties I could show you.” My voice was especially casual, non threatening in every regard.
The cute squint narrowed her eyes. “Are you asking me out?”
Right to the point again. What could I say? I surprised even myself with the turn of this conversation. “I was offering a drive to the beach, but it's a date if you want it to be.”
Practical tone from her now. “I don’t know you and it's important to be careful. A lot of strange men come around in my type of work....” Her eyes flicked away from me.
“Of course, but I'd like to get to know you, Miss Landau. You've already seen me at the Tavern.” My body was leaning closer, in her space.
“Yes, I've seen you, Mister de Boer. I yelled at you, remember?”
“True, but you mistook me for someone else.”
“No, the vote’s still out on whether it was you or not. Maybe not Venice, okay? But I can tell when someone is there, stalking.”
Damn, she felt threat. I pulled back sharply. “Whooa, girl. Stalking is illegal. And weird. Besides, what would be the point?”
“Get to know about me, maybe. Or something worse?” Her body was tense. “If I'm wrong, I'm wrong - and my bad. But just so you know, I’ve told a couple people and they’re keeping an eye out.”
I didn’t believe her, slippery Henna. No one kept an eye out for me, except her. I fumed, watching her taste that caramelly, sweet liquid. I wanted to suck her tongue clean.
”Look, Henna, how about this. We could meet for coffee here. Talk for a few days and then you'd know me better. I’ll even go meet your cousin, if she wants.”
Her eyebrows rose. “What makes you think my cousin is a she?”
Heh, what a prickly liar. “Okay, I’ll meet him or her. Better?”
“Yes.” It came out hesitant, but was the right answer all the same,
I hid my smirk. “So is your cousin a man?”
“Yes. And his wife.”
I grinned in delight. Look at her, all sweet, honest face and lying through her teeth. This gal zaps me. Ultra suspicious, exactly as I am. “Just make the invite and I’ll come. Or you could have coffee with me here tomorrow.”
“I don’t know.” Her pupils, body language, the slight rush of her heartbeat and of course, her softly pulsing aura all told me she was interested.
I eased forward, resting my hand on the table near hers. “This is a good place. People in and out. Perfectly safe.”
“Yeah, and there’s a big black dog over there who doesn’t like you. Good protection.”
I didn’t want her to notice the dog, who had been rumbling at me for the last five minutes. I moved back on topic. “Look, give me a chance. Maybe we could go for a run together.” Her voice and scent, her surprising niceness and sharp caution all made me pushy. “Or if you're free, a glass of wine after your last set tonight?”
Too pushy, I guess. She shoved her chair back from the table. “I need to get going.”
“Sure, all right, but I enjoyed talking. I’d like to do it again.”
She shrugged and her finger jabbed at the book. “This should fill your time while I think about it.”
I watched her walk away. Look back, look back. She didn’t, but she'd left the cup for me to toss. The dog's black eyes followed me in hate and understanding as I licked my way around the rim.
Brecken was in my head and wouldn't leave. I raced along the streets and up the hill. And my mind raced, too, with questions and more question, all centered around him.
What? Am I going to think about that guy all the way home? Looks like it. There’s something about him, a strangeness I can’t quite pin down. Still - get to know him? Maybe over coffee like he said? It made me nervous, torn between wanting to see him again and safe avoidance.
It really wasn’t fair. How could I consider anything when I've sensed him watching me? When he might have actually broken into my room. It's usually me controlling situations, controlling the ambiance, affecting other people. Then suddenly Brecken showed up, distinctly different and reminding me of Venice. But I could be wrong. I am in fact, since the police arrested those guys. An ease settled over me when I remembered that.
Face it, there's no reason not to check him out further. If he's persistent. If I ignore him and he still tries again, I mean. If he comes to hear me sing. Coffee doesn't mean I can't watch and learn. See how he reacts to a yes followed by a couple of no's. Mr. confidant de Boer, who maybe spies on me at night, you don't know it, but I'm no weakling. We'll see if you meet the challenge.
I was getting close to home so I slowed down, still questioning myself but pretty much knowing I'd say yes. Might as well. The guy definitely had appeal and he wasn't going away. But I wasn't going to make it easy for him. No come on glances in the Tavern. If he approaches me anyways and asks me out, I'll say yes to the coffee, but no more. Play hard to get, but work it that I still get gotten.
I giggled. Get gotten? A cute phrase for a folksy type song, maybe.
So my way was set for dealing with Brecken. I pictured the few times I've seen him, including today. Beyond attractive. His hair that falls over his right eye. Why was I drawn to use my hand, my hand,
to move his hair so I could see both eyes clearly. Shiny green eyes like wet leaves. Those rings around the edge of the iris. The darkness in those rings. Distracting. But eyes like that would be good in a song, too.
Okay, I admitted. I’ve looked him over pretty thoroughly and he looks yummy. Dresses like everyone else, but moves better in his clothes. Sure of himself. Has a temper though, which was strangely appealing. Mushy mild man is not my idea of sexy. And he was absolutely, breath stopping sexy, even in sweats. He must work out. I wonder what he does besides run. Lift weights?
Yeeks. Get hold of yourself, Henna. Stop thinking about him. Just freaking stop.
Chapter 21
From outside I watched Henna settle on the platform stool. The Village Tavern sits alone on its plot of ground. A parking lot runs alongside and behind the building, small trees line the front sidewalk and hedges border the remaining two sides. The end window is shielded by the tallest hedges and the growth encircles a hidden space with a direct visual across my favorite booth to the platform. I was in that space.
This was going to be fun. I gazed through the window at Christina, seated between me and Henna. No matter. I've watched from here before, skulking unseen - though apparently detected, if Henna's uneasiness meant what I thought it had. Thanks to gourmet drinking in Canyon Lake and Fallbrook, she would detect nothing this time.
As she began to play, I set my focus on her and began a play of my own. Sheer experimentation, uncertain of effect, interested in the outcome. For the first time I wondered what she would feel. Would she notice the experiment? Perhaps not this time, perhaps not ever.
With a slow breath, I slid myself inside myself and a gauzy haze formed around my body. I released and wispy Silver waved through the window, through the solid walls. Like an elusive bakery scent adrift in the air, the energy, guided by me, drifted above Christina and settled directly over Henna. None of it swirled back at me and none moved beyond her. It was wondrous to watch and she sang on, completely unaware.
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