Singing Fire

by T. L. Martin

  CHAPTER TWO: DESMOND STONE

  Thanks to the sharp clack of lightning outside my window, I woke in a sleep-induced daze. Turns out it is impossible to sleep soundly when you are simultaneously trying to watch for intruders.

  Snatching my cell phone from the nightstand beside me, the time flashed much too brightly in my face. Seven thirty. I groaned.

  I sat up and rubbed my tired eyes. It wasn’t until I opened them again that something white caught my eye. I leaned forward, grabbing the sheet of paper from my nightstand.

  It couldn’t be.

  I set the paper down, reminding myself to stay calm with every step I took to the bathroom. The cold water hit my face, waking me up little by little.

  Let’s try this again.

  Walking back to my nightstand, I lifted the page slowly this time, letting my eyes focus before reading the words Application: Your Tea Stop.

  My eyes immediately darted to the window, but it was closed. Don’t be ridiculous, Charlie. You must have kept the application and thrown away a different paper by mistake.

  I drifted downstairs, carefully setting the page onto the table. I needed tea. No, coffee. This week definitely called for coffee. I noticed the red light on the answering machine was blinking, so I pushed the button to hear my messages while I got the pot of water ready.

  “Charlie, it’s me.” I smiled at the sound of Aunt Stacy’s voice. “Have you seen my blue clutch? You know...Dior? I can’t figure out if I misplaced it back at the Hilton or if I forgot to pack it. Anyway, how’s the job hunt? Hello, you could at least find some time to text me. Shoot, I gotta go. See you tonight!”

  The machine beeped, and another voice rang through. “Yeah, this is Quinn. From Your Tea Stop. Just wanted to remind you about the interview at twelve. We’ll see you then.”

  Huh. Good timing, Quinn.

  I sipped the coffee slowly, eyeballing the sheet of paper. It was still too early to call about the status of my other applications. Maybe I should fill the thing out, just in case.

  The blank page stared intimidatingly back at me from the table.

  Full Name. At least that was an easy one. I picked up the pen and filled it in: Charlotte Marie Eden. I filled in my birthdate, phone number, address, and social security number. Skipping the driver’s license number and professional references, as I had none, I moved on to personal references. I only had the two: Stacy and Ray.

  Skills and strengths…how should I know? Did it count that I could now make it several whole days without a panic attack sometimes? Yeah, that was certain to get me hired...ugh. I left it blank, moving on to the next. Education Level. That one was easy enough, and I filled it right in.

  I stopped at the last question, reading it twice over. Species. Could they mean race? But why would they care about that? Finally opting to leave that one blank too, I set the partially completed form aside.

  I threw a sweater over my head and slipped on my running shoes. The pitter-pattering outside my window was still light as I left. Five miles down and I was drenched, having to abandon the rest of my route as the rain fell harder. My shoes squeaked when I stepped inside, and I set them aside to dry. I glanced at the clock: it was almost nine.

  I picked up the phone and dialed the library while waiting anxiously as it rang.

  “Bandon Library.” Mrs. James’ voice was chipper as usual, and I could picture her sorting through the returns as she always did in the morning.

  “Mrs. James? It’s Charlie.”

  “Charlie, honey. How are you?” I was about to answer when she spoke again. “Oh, right. The application. That’s why you’re calling, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m so sorry, honey.” She’d softened her tone, and I could tell she meant it. “We’re not hiring right now.”

  I bit my lip, contemplating whether or not to attempt changing her mind.

  “We just...things are tight right now, and...you know I would take you on in a heartbeat if I could.”

  I nodded my head before realizing she couldn’t see me. “No, I know. It’s okay. Thank you.”

  We hung up, and I dialed the museum. No answer. There was no response from the bookstore either, and I left a voicemail. The tea shop’s application stared back at me from the table. I wasn’t making any decisions yet.

  I spent the rest of my morning cleaning and slicing vegetables for the crock pot. Aunt Stacy loved my pot roast, and it would be ready just in time for her. The clock ticked by slowly, not a phone call coming through. I let out a defeated sigh, picking up my cell phone and speed dialing Stacy. I was forwarded to her voicemail.

  “Hate to say it, but you packed the clutch. Maybe knowing I have an interview in a half an hour will cheer you up? Love you.”

  After quickly getting dressed, I threw my hair back to keep it from falling in my face. Stacy would be happy to know I was finally wearing the designer black boots she bought me last year. Anticipation was simmering in my stomach. I had no idea what to expect from an actual interview.

  I was thorough in going through my new routine of checking the locks on each window, then snatched up the application and Stacy’s purse before braving the rain again.

  By the time I reached Your Tea Stop, it was precisely twelve o’clock, and Quinn was holding the golden-framed door open for me.

  “Good morning,” she called distractedly, allowing me to enter before her.

  “Morning.”

  There were two young customers chatting softly as they lounged on the cream colored sofa and one older woman placing her order with Pixie, but otherwise it appeared to be a quiet morning in the shop.

  To my relief, none of the customers seemed to be staring this time.

  “Follow me,” Quinn instructed.

  We walked past Pixie at the register, who cheerfully waved upon spotting me, and stopped once we reached the corner office. She rapped on the door twice and then, to my dismay, abandoned me to join Pixie behind the counter.

  “Come in,” a woman’s voice boomed from the other side of the door.

  I gently pushed it open. She sat behind a chestnut desk, her eyes carefully examining a sheet of paper over a pair of reading glasses. Her remarkably long hair was a peppery grey streaked with silver strands, a pencil loosely holding the top half of it back.

  “Please, be seated,” she said, her attention still glued to the sheet in her hand.

  I sat in the wicker chair across from her. Several moments of silence passed without a word while she looked over her paper and I waited, absentmindedly picking at my fingernails.

  “Thank you for waiting.” Removing her glasses, she set the page down and peered up at me. “I apologize for my rudeness. I’m hosting this upcoming Unity Gala and, well...who knew the entire town council would want to participate?” Her mouth curved into a warm smile. “My name is Priscilla Harrow. You must be Charlie.”

  I nodded. “Nice to meet you. Do you own the shop?”

  She smiled once more, soft lines forming around her mouth. “I do. May I see your application, please?”

  I handed her the form in my hand, which was now slightly damp from the rain and crinkled from my tight grip.

  She scanned through it briefly.

  “Charlotte Eden, is it?”

  “Yes.”

  Priscilla pointed to one of the blank questions at the bottom of the application and handed me a pen expectantly.

  “Species, please.”

  “Oh.” I glanced at it hesitantly. “Um...” Grabbing the pen, I hoped I wasn’t about to make a complete fool of myself as I slowly wrote human.

  To my surprise, Priscilla nodded her head satisfactorily.

  “Excellent. Thank you.” She tucked the form into a file in her drawer before returning her attention to me. “Are you from this area?”

  “Yes. Well, from Texas, originally. But I’ve lived here since I was four. It’s the only home I know.”

  “Hmm. And you’ve never been to my shop before.
Is that right?”

  “Well...no. Sorry,” I stammered, hoping she wasn’t offended.

  “Oh, it’s quite all right.” She eyed me quietly for a moment, lightly tapping her pen on the desk as she contemplated. I fidgeted with the soft fabric of my shirt. “Are you familiar with what we do here?”

  “Serve teas, coffee, pastries. Sell candles...” I answered, racking my brain for more.

  “That is correct, more or less. Quinn crafts the candles herself, actually, and I make the herbs for the tea we serve.”

  “You mean...you mix the herbs?”

  “Oh, yes,” she replied with emphasis. “That, too.”

  I opened my mouth to ask for further clarification, but she continued without pause.

  “Our teas serve an abundance of purposes, including relaxation, pain relief, and boosting energy. The same goes for our candles.”

  “Candles can relieve pain?”

  “Oh, yes, dear. You would be surprised at just what a candle can do, made by the right set of hands, of course.” Her lips twitched into a smile. “Now, you should know this is not your typical tea shop. Make no mistake that there would be much for you to learn.”

  She paused, her eyes slipping back into deep thought.

  “An extraordinary amount for you to learn in such a short amount of time, in fact. It would certainly take its toll, eventually. Do you feel you are open to such an experience?”

  I nodded my head confidently, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of my mind suggesting otherwise. It was only a tea shop, after all.

  “All right. You will always be able to come to me with any questions, no matter how small—or even peculiar—they may seem. Do you understand?”

  I gave another nod.

  “Well, then.” She clasped her hands together, a knowing gleam forming in her eye. “Would you be able to begin today?”

  “Um, yeah. Thank you. But...” I paused, wondering if I should explain my condition.

  “What is it, dear?”

  I knew I should have told her, but I didn’t want it holding me back from getting the job. Who knew when I would be able to find another one?

  “It’s nothing. Yes, I can start today.” My answer sounded surer than I felt.

  Priscilla’s lips curved into a pleased smile. “Wonderful. Let’s get the boring details and paperwork wrapped up in here, then I’ll have Quinn show you the ropes. You’ll mostly be helping with clean up and checking on customers today, until you get a bit more acquainted with things. How does that sound?”

  “Fine.” I was grateful for her willingness to hire me despite my lack of experience.

  “Oh,” she added thoughtfully, “about the Unity Gala. It’s coming up here just around the corner, to be held at the Town Hall. You’re more than welcome to attend.”

  I smiled. “Thank you.”

  I’d never been invited to an event before.

  As promised, the next twenty minutes were spent reviewing dull paperwork and other finite details. The schedule was flexible and would be updated every Friday, but I could pretty much count on helping with the earlier shifts. Pay would be given biweekly.

  I followed Priscilla out of the office and toward Quinn and Pixie, who were preoccupied with restocking the pastry display.

  “All right, ladies. I need to head out but will return this afternoon,” Priscilla informed them.

  “Again?” Quinn asked, an eyebrow raised in question as she handed Priscilla a thick coat.

  “I’m afraid so. Charlie is ready to begin.”

  Priscilla turned to me once more with kind eyes. “It’s good to have you here, Charlie.”

  The back hem of her flowing dress brushed across the floor as she departed gracefully from the shop.

  Pixie was grinning from ear to ear when I turned to face them.

  “I knew she would hire you!” she squealed, reaching over the counter and embracing me tightly. I tensed slightly out of sheer surprise. “Can she stay up here with me today?” she asked in a hopeful voice.

  Quinn opened a cabinet beneath the register and retrieved a tattered white rag and a clear spray bottle. “She’s not a puppy,” she replied, a trace of humor in her voice. “Priscilla always had us start with cleaning, so cleaning is what you’ll do.”

  Ignoring Pixie’s dramatically forlorn expression, Quinn led me to the nearest neglected table and handed the rag and spray bottle over.

  “Just start with the tables, then work your way to the rest of the furniture. Try to stay attentive to any guests as you do so, checking if they’d like anything. Most of our customers are regulars and already know us pretty well, so you might get a few stares or questions from some of the nosy ones.” Lowering her voice, she whispered, “Trust me. We get plenty of those.”

  I sprayed the first table and proceeded to wipe it down. “Good to know.”

  Quinn’s lip lifted in a slight smile. “I have to wrap up some things in the office for Priscilla. You have Pix if you need anything.”

  The next hour swept by somewhat uneventfully. The rain had let up slightly, but the wind’s current was strong enough to rattle the windows. An occasional quiver brushed through my body as the door swung open and closed, with customers coming and going. I was able to finish wiping down all of the furniture within the first thirty minutes and, at Pixie’s direction, refilled two cups of tea.

  There was only one customer in the shop now, a kind, middle-aged man with greying hair, and he quietly studied a book in one of the wicker chairs. I grabbed a broom from the utility closet and began to sweep, softly humming to the hypnotic music streaming in the background.

  Crouching down with the dustpan behind the counter, I froze when that cold, unnerving chill formed at the base of my spine again. It quickly crawled up my back until my neck grew rigid. I shivered.

  The jingle of the door sounded just as the music ended, and the room around me seemed to momentarily reverberate in uncomfortable silence. I forced my hands to finish sweeping up the pile, vaguely wondering why I didn’t hear Pixie’s usual sing-song voice welcoming whoever it was to the shop, and why she stood so still next to me. I wiped my hands off and turned to Pixie. The color in her face had all but completely diminished as she gawked at the door.

  I followed her gaze.

  An exceedingly stunning woman stood in the doorway with an equally stunning man at her side. The woman’s satiny blonde hair was draped over a lengthy, form-fitting red coat. The considerably pale tone of her skin added an extra touch of softness to what were already delicate features.

  The young man beside her was just as striking, though there was something distinctly darker, and rather forbidding, about him. His face was remarkably handsome—beautiful, even—with a strong jawline and thick lashes shadowing a pair of the deepest blue eyes I had ever seen. Dampened from the rain, his midnight hair was disheveled, and the intensity of his gaze struck me from clear across the room. The pale complexion of his smooth skin matched the woman’s.

  He surveyed the shop with a cryptic expression on his face, his eyes locking on mine for a fraction of a second before continuing upon their inspection.

  The single customer in the store quickly closed his book and exited the shop, forgetting his full cup of tea on the table.

  I glanced at Pixie, who still silently gaped at the pair, and quietly cleared my throat. It did nothing to break the strange tension thickening the air, but at least it was enough to garner her attention.

  “Anastasie Badeaux and Desmond Stone,” Pixie whispered under her breath, reluctant to avert her eyes. Arching a brow, she added, “This should be interesting.”

  I was about to ask what she meant by that when the office door clicked open, and Quinn strolled over to the register carrying two small boxes in her hands. Her arms and shoulders were rigid as she gingerly opened the first box, revealing six black candles.

  “Charlie, would you please add these to the shelves?” she asked stiffly.

  Pixie watched the int
eraction carefully, her eyes darting from Quinn to Anastasie and Desmond and then back again.

  “Sure.” I was grateful for an excuse to withdraw from the register area. Our new customers did not seem to be the type to frequent a tea shop, and something told me they were not particularly welcome either.

  Ignoring the biting coldness that still lingered in my spine, I quietly made my way across the shop to the wall opposite from our newcomers, where miniature shelves displayed multi-colored candles and flowers. I found one low enough to reach and absentmindedly shuffled its contents around. From the corner of my eye, I discreetly watched the dashing guests glide over to the counter.

  A loud, jolting thud sounded as the other box in Quinn’s hands crashed to the floor.

  I rushed to her side, picking up the broken pieces. She didn’t meet my eyes, and I was surprised to see the subtle shaking of her hands. Anastasie eyed Quinn intently, but Desmond’s gaze was on me—an unpleasant scowl on his striking face.

  “Welcome to Your Tea Stop,” Pixie recited. Her over-the-top enthusiasm didn’t go over anyone’s head. “May I help you?”

  The angelic looking woman flashed a ravishing white smile. “Please. One hot green tea should do just fine.”

  She spoke with a hint of a French accent, vague enough to suggest she had been in the States for some time.

  Picking up the box of candles, I rose with Quinn, who seemed to be avoiding eye contact with Anastasie and Desmond like the plague. She quietly poured hot water into a cup and retrieved a teabag. I wanted nothing more than to bolt from the building tension and retreat to the sanctuary of candles along the wall, but the thought of abandoning Quinn felt wrong.

  “One green tea coming up,” Pixie sang, ringing it up on the register. Despite her fixed stance, her voice was as bubbly as ever.

  “Anything for you, sir?” she asked, turning her attention to Desmond Stone.

  “No. Thank you.” His tone was polite enough, but irritation was evident in his expression.

  I peered at him from behind loose strands of my hair. Startled to find his blue eyes on mine, I quickly shifted my gaze back toward Quinn, who was placing a lid over the steaming cup—one which I noticed was clearly to-go.