“I met some people tonight who can tell me nearly everything I want to know. I wished to find my family, but I should have been specific.” Red sighed and drew away from him to wipe her cheeks. Embarrassment warmed them suddenly. “If you have other plans, I can buzz off.”
“Please don’t. Tell me about your homecoming. I can get you water first.” Kristoff stood and went to the kitchen.
Red took the moment alone to compose herself. She might start crying again when she got into the story, but somehow the thought didn’t bother her as much as usual. Removing her jacket and laying it on the arm of the leather sectional couch, she glanced around the living room.
The closed entertainment center hid a large TV. Black and white photography hung on the walls—Kristoff’s work. Photography was his hobby, but after a century of practice he had the skill of a professional. Only one picture had him in it—a small sepia picture with his brother Arno taken during the roaring twenties, judging by their clothes. She wondered if it was in Portland, his home territory, or New York City, where he first landed as an immigrant after leaving the Alaric Order.
He appeared back in the living room, setting the water glass on the table. She had seen him shirtless, but there was something intimate about seeing him barefooted in jeans and a plain T-shirt. Usually, he preferred suits tailored in Italy.
“Sorry if I dropped in on a staycation. I pretty much invited myself over to cry on you,” Red said as he settled in beside her. “What are you doing in Charm anyway?”
“Collecting tithes for Prince Marek—its tax season for everyone. This is one of his satellite territories.” He leaned his arm on the couch back behind her. “You have the delightful habit of dropping in when I am bored.”
“I’m not much of a distraction.”
“I like seeing you happy, but I know humans get sad.”
She raised an eyebrow at him as she sipped at the water. The difference between unsouled and souled vampires, according to the Brotherhood, was much like that of a normal person and a homicidal psychopath. Remorseless killers without empathy, she had seen the bodies left behind for sport. Kristoff was harder to classify. “You don’t exactly have emotions in technicolor, but you still feel. You’re not above the human condition even if you moved up the food chain.”
“Some feelings are a hard habit to break.” Kristoff grinned. “Your stomach is growling.”
Red covered her belly. “Heard that? I had to use my witch-fu tonight.”
Using magic depleted a witch, unbalancing her, and probably burned a lot of calories too. She had gotten better at regulating her energy, avoiding a bout of mystical flu symptoms, but spells still left her hungry. Centering herself was a little more complicated, but a long sleep—if she could manage it—would do. Self-care like meditating or physical exertion like dancing was beyond her frayed nerves now. It would take enough willpower to act normal when she booked a motel room later.
“I don’t want to promise, but I might have one of those frozen TV dinners. Keep talking while I pop it in.” He disappeared again to play host. “What spell did you do?”
“You know me. I winged it mostly. I used an air charm since the other elements are beyond me. I still ended up fighting with an axe anyway.” Red didn’t holler. She could have whispered, and he still would have heard in the other room. “We were lucky when Stace and Zach found us.”
“The local white hats? You were fighting beside them?” he called from the kitchen, prepping the meal. She suspected it was something he had ordered weeks ago for her aborted last visit to Charm.
“Yeah, and Aisha Callaway is the new sheriff. Didn’t even get a chance to catch up before finding a body. That wasn’t even the weirdest—” Red launched into the tale of her exciting welcome into town. “Then the ghouls appeared. It’s been one thing after another all night.”
He sighed, returning to her side. “An infestation? That makes my work here more complicated.”
“I took out some, if that helps.” Red propped her knee up on the couch. She didn’t bother prefacing her request. “I don’t want you calling me Emma. I was her, but I’m not anymore. At least, don’t call me that yet.”
Kristoff tipped her chin up. “You finally found yourself. How does it feel?”
Red bit her lip, tears heating up behind her eyeballs. She blinked them away. “I looked for so long. Sounds stupid since I got a mysterious inheritance, after all, but I thought I’d find my parents alive. Otherwise, why care about some old life that obviously ended shitty? I remember the scars, even if I had them lasered off. Now I know. It’d be smarter to leave and never come back.”
He cupped her cheek. “You won’t.”
She leaned into his touch. “Why is that?”
Thumb stroking her jaw, he considered her thoughtfully. “You’re too curious. It’s not a surprise you have as many lives as a cat.”
The timer dinged in the kitchen.
Red jumped at the sound.
Fingers falling, he drew away. “I make no promises about having spices in my cupboards.”
“I figured it was a showroom.” Walking out of the living room with him, she made a beeline for the microwave. A fork waited for her on the island counter. Slipping onto a high stool, she dug into the Pad Thai bowl, not shy about chowing down in front of a dude. After dating Lucas, she was used to a guy watching her eat.
Kristoff poured them both a glass of wine. His kind were apathetic toward solids, with varying degrees of intolerance for human food depending on age, but they still enjoyed booze even if the effects were dulled. This was the polite vampire’s version of joining her for a meal.
Kristoff Novak might see himself as above the human condition, but he was wise enough to not interrupt a hungry witch. After a sip or two, he busied himself, opening the fridge and microwave. He rejoined her at the counter with a white mug, warmed up blood inside.
It made her realize something strange—she had never seen Lucas drink blood in front of her. Quinn had, usually in some ridiculous novelty mug that Vic forced upon him, but never Lucas.
Kristoff caught her look. “Does it bother you? Be honest.”
“Everyone needs to eat.” Red shook her head. He misinterpreted her expression. She preferred him drinking the bagged stuff to the alternative, but it’d be too awkward to share her observation about his maker. They didn’t exactly put the fun in dysfunctional sire-childe relationships. She twirled her fork around a noodle, changing the subject. “This is a fancy bowl.”
“Stick with me, and its brand name everything.” He chuckled. Amusement dimming, he sipped his blood. “I wish my connections at the Dark Veil Assurance had been as satisfying. It might have spared you the nasty shock tonight.”
“They did have Emma Peters listed as Asian, but the mix-up might not be their fault considering how they keep records around here.” Red shared more about what she’d learned from Stace and Zach, finishing her wine as she revealed how it felt to be on the spot where she had lost everything and possibly herself. Words couldn’t describe the pit in her stomach as her heartbeat roared in her ears. “I told them I’d be back tomorrow.”
“What about sleep? You could go to a motel, but I have a spare bed upstairs.”
Red considered the offer, remembering that she hadn’t brought her hunter’s kit inside with her. The first time she had met him alone, she had come armed to the teeth. It was strange to trust him.
“And a shower perchance?” He suggested delicately.
She looked down at her black tank top and jeans, dirty from fighting ghouls. She sniffed herself, discretely, to find the smell of smoke from a burning manananggal still clinging to her. The wardrobe distress had taken a backseat to the emotional kind. “I guess I am a bit of a hot mess. And you let me hug you.”
Kristoff shifted in his chair to lean closer, a half-grin on his handsome face. “I like you, I guess.”
Red blushed, turning away from him, standing to take her glass and fork to the sink. “You’re not too bad
either.”
---
After she grabbed her bag from the van, Kristoff showed her the spare bedroom with attached shower and left her to rest. Expecting him to say something about what happened in Vegas, instead he wished her good night. She held the tears back as she shampooed her hair, fishing out the remnants of the shattered windshield. Crying instead of applying conditioner, Red mourned all her hopes for a reunited family.
Water-wrinkled and too drained to blow dry, she wrapped a towel around her head and opened her laptop. Logging into the Brotherhood’s database with Vic’s password, she braced herself for what she might find. She half expected something nefarious, jaded by the disillusionment in discovering her past life.
Nothing came up.
She did a regular internet search on Brooke Peters—finding three articles on excavating relics from medieval witch trials on digs sponsored by a private woman’s college. Smiling, she picked through the archeology articles until she found one with pictures. She teared up when she spotted Brooke Peters in a crew photo, zooming in on the wild red hair framing brown eyes and a crooked smile.
She didn’t know what time it was when she finally slept, dreaming of a farmhouse kitchen where her mother made breakfast and sang old Tom Petty songs.
---
In the morning, Red walked down the stairs to the living room, uncertain where Kristoff had gone to sleep. She didn’t want to disturb him, but she was heading out. Vampire lairs usually had a hidden basement cubby or light-sealed room, not coffins, for their owners to rest safely in. She wouldn’t open his door, even if she knew where it was. It wasn’t smart to wake a sleeping vampire at close range unexpectedly.
“Kristoff?” Red called out as she trod into the kitchen.
Shirtless and mussed with bed head, he appeared on the threshold to the living room. Black silk pajama pants hung low over his hips. He rubbed his eyes. “Morning, I think?”
“I’m heading off.” Red tried not to focus on his muscled chest and broad shoulders. Eyes up, girl! She put her duffel bag on the counter and walked over to him. “Thank you for letting me crash last night. And listening to me. I needed both, I think.”
“Anytime.”
Red took his hand, impulsively kissing his cheek. She squeezed his fingers and let go. “I’ll let you know how it goes today.”
“You can handle the truth wherever it leads. You know that, right? It might piss you off, but it’ll set you free.”
“Someone else told me that once,” Red said, remembering the dead pilgrim ghost who had given her the first clue about her mother. John Proctor would have been a whole lot more helpful if he had brought Brooke Peters onto the spirit hotline. Ever since Oklahoma City, maybe even before, the road had led here.
Leaving the cozy cottage felt like leaving a cocoon. The sun glinted off the unexpectedly repaired Millennium Falcon—another gift from Kristoff. That took the first item off her to-do list. There was nowhere else to go but the diner.
He was right. She couldn’t back down now.
6
Red had imagined walking into Lili’s Diner countless times. The first time she had come to the diner, she hadn’t gotten farther than the gravel parking lot.
The rough-looking Millennium Falcon blended in with the few battered work trucks and old sedans as she parked in the front. Squat and long, the building looked like a lodge amid the trees. A seagull lay on the sagging brown shingled roof next to a neon sign above the door. Her feet trotted inside before her mind could stall. It looked exactly as it had in the Dreamland, down to the pendants for the Oregon Ducks football team and the picture of Marilyn Monroe on the ladies’ room door.
License plates, dream catchers, and carved signs with drinking mottos clamored for attention on the white walls. Soft pop songs bubbled through a nearby boombox, covered with stickers for local radio stations. Neon flyers on a pockmarked community corkboard advertised job openings, bands looking for drummers, and a high school reunion. In that awkward middle ground between weekday breakfast and lunch, the place was still emptier than it should be. Two regulars at the counter talked to the waitress, a voluptuous older brunette in a tight blue T-shirt and little shorts.
Red wanted to gawk at the completely normal surroundings, but she forced her jaw off the floor and went over to the booth she’d dreamed so much about. She ran a trembling hand over the tabletop and sat on the fading crimson cushion.
“What can I get’cha, honey? The special is—" The waitress asked, setting down a glass of water. Her name tag read Maudette. Painted mouth falling open, her eyes bugged out. “Holy Ghost, you’re Emma!”
“Yeah. Hi. I came for coffee.” Red shrugged, the motion halfway between an apology and an awkward fidget. She tried a reassuring I promise I’m not a zombie smile. “You look great, Maudette.”
She shrieked, muffling herself with a server’s notepad. Looking over at the regulars, she covered for her shock at seeing a supposedly dead woman order coffee. “A spider.”
“I can guess what you’re thinking, but I’m human still. I’m meeting Stace here. She can explain.”
“It’s great to see you, kid, even if you gave me a heart attack.” Backing away, Maudette clutched her chest, fanning herself with the pad. “You still like peppers and onions in your eggs, Em?”
“Sure. Thanks,” Red said, not bothering to correct the kindly woman on the name. She had certainly collected a few in her time—Red, Juniper, and now Emma. Not including all the fake IDs. It was hard to keep these different versions of herself straight in her own head sometimes.
Red sipped her water, fingers itching to give herself something to do after taking a picture to send to Vic with the caption “Not a chicken.” Her one consolation on her trip to Charm so far was that she could throw his words in his face. Phone buzzing with his reply, she ignored it to look over her shoulder at the opening diner door.
Stace walked inside, two bumblebee barrettes in her dark curls, wearing a lacey bright yellow top with cute patches on her jeans. Behind her, Zach marched like a shadow in black.
The two were met by a burly man with thick dark hair. He kissed Stace, pulling her in for a hug. The half-fae was even more pixie-like in his muscular arms. In the diner’s blue uniform shirt, he looked like he should have been a lumberjack instead. Nodding toward Red, he whispered to the other two, clearly asking about her.
Awkwardness intensifying, she gamely waved at them.
“You found our booth.” Stace sat next to her.
“Is Maudette okay?” Zach smiled, sitting across from them. “Are you?”
“I think you know, Mr. Empath. I’m wigged out for sure. I’m sorry for bailing last night. It was just more than I expected from my first night in town.”
“I’m glad you called us,” Stace said. “Did you stay at a motel?”
She shook her head, distracted by the smell of food. “No, with a friend.”
Maudette arrived with a tray of omelets, setting them out in front of the three. The must have been from memory for the newcomers. “I’m glad you’re back, honey. The new hair suits you! Did you fall out of a portal or something?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Zach said, then thanked her for the offered hot sauce.
“You mean you don’t know?” Maudette gasped. She called out to a co-worker, the one who had greeted Stace before. “Jackson, did you hear that?”
Coming from around the bar, Jackson approached the table. More rugged than handsome, his eyes twinkled as he looked at the heroine. His aura was different, with wild stripes in it—he was a werewolf. No wonder Stace had recognized Vic’s name. Red wasn’t like her mentor. She didn’t rage out at the sight of wolves, especially one that had a Hero’s kiss of approval.
He came up behind the waitress, nodding toward a patron at the counter. “Maybe you should let them catch up and get Herman a refill.”
“Sure thing.” Maudette nodded, looking at Red with a mix of concern and happiness before moving
away.
“Pleasure to meet you. Stace told me a lot about you,” Jackson said warmly, shaking her hand.
“Thanks, honey.” Stace grinned up at him, then sighed dreamily to Red as he wandered off to get back to work. “He’s my boyfriend.”
“Gonzales is my general manager until seven tonight,” Zach explained. “I own the place.”
Chuckling, Red tried to make sense of the black-clad hunter owning a restaurant with a poodle’s name. “Who’s Lili then?”
“The lady I bought it from,” Zach said, lips curving up self-deprecatingly. “I’m sentimental, I guess. Worked here as a kid. Even when we did upgrades, I couldn’t change much.” He gestured to look under the table, pointing out the scrawl of different signatures. Zach Sanchez, Stace Bonner, and Emma Peters were here.
Stace said, “We were like the three musketeers if they were going through magical puberty.”
“She was the Hero and you acted like a little Bard-in-training.”
Red popped back up from under the table. “I was training for the Brotherhood?”
Stace shook her head. “Not officially, but if your mom had let you, you would have left for the Brotherhood university after graduation. Officially, Aunt Gina was my Bard, but when she found two mystical youths next door… She was always a softy, couldn’t help but teach you both too.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you kept up the good fight as a hunter, Red.”
“The supernatural was all I remembered when I woke.”
Head cocked, Stace tapped her finger on the table. “Why did you choose this booth?”
“It’s a weird story, especially if you don’t know what the Dreamland is.”
Zach sighed, leaning back in the booth, arm over the seat top. “We’ve been there—the limbo between our dreams and the spirit realm. It sucks.”
“I had fun!” Stace said, between bites of her omelet. “I rode a unicorn.”
“My trip wasn’t the fun kind of whimsical. Ghost warlock on my tail, I wished myself somewhere. I didn’t have a location in mind. I just wanted to be safe. I landed in this booth and you both were there. It was close to Christmas.” Red realized what that meant now. Her subconscious hadn’t been seeking the diner. “I guess a part of me was still looking for you guys.”
Small Town Witch: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Red Witch Chronicles 5) Page 6