Pawsitively Cursed

by Melissa Erin Jackson

  The music was even louder when she made it into the larger section of the bar, but it was significantly less crowded and much cooler. She spotted Willow out on the crowded dance floor, holding the hand of the very clearly drunk blonde woman. A railing ran along the edge of the dance floor on all sides, with entry points at the corners. Amber found an empty spot along one of the nearby railings. The group of forty or so people on the floor were line dancing. Willow was in the middle and, surprisingly, knew the dance; she tried to coach her newly found friend through the steps. The friend often turned the wrong way, bumping into Willow or the man next to her. Willow and the woman were all smiles though, heads thrown back in laughter as they tried to keep up with the crowd dancing in unison around them.

  When that song ended and the DJ announced which dance was up next, there were several moments of mild pandemonium as some people ran off the floor and others hurried on to get a good spot. Willow and her friend stayed put. Willow scanned the crowd until she located Amber, and then gave her an enthusiastic wave. Amber smiled, waving back. She felt like a chaperone at a high school function.

  As the new dance started, Amber looked around, hoping for some sign of Connor or his friends.

  With her head turned to the right, someone said in her left ear, “You look incredible.”

  She turned in the direction, but the person was on her right now. He lightly touched her elbow. “I thought this outing would be a bust, but you just made my night.”

  Her stomach gave a little flip at the sound of his voice, and she turned back to her right. The flutter she felt unnerved her, if only because she’d never reacted this way to him before. She realized rather suddenly that she was very glad to see him. She grinned up at him. “Hi, Jack.”

  Chapter 5

  Jack Terrence, the owner of Purrcolate, smiled wide. “Hi, Amber.”

  “Is Larry here?” she asked, looking around for his brother. It was a bit odd to see one without the other.

  “Nope, just me. Flying solo.”

  Amber cocked a brow at him. “Come here often?”

  He shrugged. “Sort of. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

  “It’s been a while,” she said. “I’m not much of a … drinker. Or a dancer.” Or a socializer, she wanted to add.

  “Yeah. This doesn’t really seem like it’s your scene. Not that I know what your scene is, really,” he added quickly. “I haven’t lived here long enough to even know what my own scene is. Other than hanging out at bars by myself, I guess. I think I like this place because I went to a line dancing bar back in Seattle when I lived there. Larry and me. Did you know we came from Seattle? I’m guessing everyone knows that.” He coughed, then idly scratched at his freshly shaved face.

  Sometime during his rambling, she’d propped an elbow up on the railing, placed her chin on her fist, and watched him, quite amused.

  “I don’t know why I can’t seem to stop talking. I swear I’m not drunk. And I don’t come here to just leer at women either. I promise,” he said. “Okay. Well. I’m going to go fling myself into the nearest river now. Have a nice night.”

  Amber laughed when he actually made to leave, and she placed a hand on his arm to stop him. “Don’t go. My sister has abandoned me and you’re the first friendly face I’ve seen.” When a slightly wounded expression flashed across his features for a split second, she internally winced. “Not that I only want you to stay for that reason. I mean, I was happy to see you regardless of the fact that your face is friendly.”

  It was Jack’s turn to laugh. A sudden silence fell between them, but they didn’t break eye contact. The DJ announced the next dance—“Tush Push”—which elicited a wave of excited cheers from the crowd.

  “Do you want to head out to the patio?” Jack asked. “It’s … quieter out there. I mean, if you were interested in talking. But if you wanted to dance …?”

  “Horrible dancer,” she said.

  “You can be a horrible dancer and still be a pretty decent line dancer.”

  She looked over just as Willow and the drunken blonde bumped into each other, the blonde turning in the wrong direction once again.

  “The patio sounds great,” Amber said.

  She tried to get Willow’s attention, but her sister was too consumed in the dance to notice. Jack jerked his head toward the patio door; she followed him, passing two pool tables with games currently in play. Someone took a starting shot and the cue ball clacked against the solid and striped balls positioned in a neat triangle in the middle of the table. A group of very young-looking guys set up another table to play beer pong. Who knew a place in Edgehill could be this lively?

  The cool night air was a welcome relief when she stepped out onto the patio after Jack. The crowd here had thinned a little, so Amber and Jack were able to snag a small table in one of the corners closest to the sidewalk. A waist-high black iron fence enclosed the patio area. She did her best to ignore the dark, still field across the street.

  Jack sat with his back facing the sidewalk and smiled nervously at her. Then he glanced away. He wore a dark blue button-up shirt and jeans and ran his hands up and down his thighs now. She wasn’t sure if his palms were clammy and he was trying to rectify that, or if it was an anxious tick, because now that they were sitting across from each other, clearly neither one had a clue what to say.

  Aside from idle pleasantries and flirtatious banter exchanged while she placed an order for coffee and one of Jack’s famous blueberry scones at Purrcolate, they really hadn’t talked about anything of substance. He’d flirted and chatted amicably with her every time she walked in. Sometimes he seemed like he was about to ask her out again, but she’d always cut off the conversation or found an excuse to leave when things headed that direction.

  No non-witch men for her. Not after Max.

  Though she hadn’t bothered with witch men in a long time either. Granted, pickings were non-existent in a place like Edgehill.

  She had a sneaking suspicion that she would rather like Jack if she let herself get to know him. Every time he saw her—and his face lit up like he’d just witnessed a miracle—her first instinct was to run in the other direction. Connor was handsome and seemed to be interested in her, but he didn’t fill her with quite the same level of inner panic the way Jack Terrence did.

  Amber tightly held her small black clutch in her lap. She needed to be at home with Alley and Tom. It was safer there.

  “Oh, uh … did you want anything to drink?” Jack asked now, pulling her out of her mini meltdown. He shot a thumb toward the door that led back into the noisy bar.

  “Oh, I’m okay, thanks.” Though she felt parched the instant she said no. Would it be weird to suddenly change her mind?

  He nodded absently.

  They’d gone from being unable to shut up to being unable to talk at all. Should she ask him about his brother? About how business was going?

  She glanced toward the field on the opposite side of the street. Dark trees and shrubs surrounded by shadows. She wasn’t sure why the “maybe there’s a Penhallow lurking in there” thought was hanging on for dear life, but it was.

  “You okay?” Jack asked.

  She refocused on him, only to have movement on the sidewalk near the kiosk catch her eye. Glancing around Jack, she saw Connor Declan and his two friends had arrived. It would be rude to not flag them down, right? Would it be ruder to leave Jack to go talk to Connor?

  When she glanced back at Jack, she’d caught him gazing at her. His expression softened. There was no doubt that there was a torrent of things he wanted to say to her. She very much suspected he felt the same panic she did.

  “Umm … some people I was meeting just got here.”

  Jack visibly deflated.

  “I’ll be right back. Promise! I just wanted to let them know where to find my sister.”

  Jack’s expression made Amber worry that the second her back was turned, he would launch over the railing surrounding the patio and go
sprinting off into the dark.

  “Don’t move!” she said, playfully wagging a finger at him.

  He nodded, his gaze raking over her for a second as she stood up in her ridiculous red dress, but then he quickly looked away.

  “Hey, Connor!” Amber called out, walking to the other end of the patio. The kiosk sat in the space made between the patio’s fence and the side of the Sippin’ Siamese’s front room. From here, Amber could see the same woman who had been belting a power ballad was still at it. The guys were fumbling in their back pockets for their wallets to pay the cover charge to get in. They all wore jeans and plaid shirts. Wesley Young sported a cowboy hat.

  Connor looked over and his eyes widened. “Hey to you, too. Wow, you look amazing.”

  Amber looked down helplessly at herself again. “Wasn’t my idea.”

  “Va-va-voom!” Wesley said, walking up behind Connor to sling an arm over his shoulder. He gave Amber a once over. “You’re a fox, you know that?”

  He was clearly very drunk again. Still?

  “A foxy, foxy fox.”

  Amber angled a raised eyebrow at Connor.

  “There might have been a bit of pregame happening before we left,” Connor said. “And it may be my birthday, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be designated driver because these two are out of control.”

  Wesley, though he still had an arm around Connor, kept trying to talk to his friend behind them, who had a phone pressed to his ear.

  “Hey, Wesley?”

  He whirled forward at the sound of Amber’s voice. It took a second for his eyes to stop swimming long enough to focus on her. He smirked. “Yes, Foxy?”

  “Willow’s here.”

  Eyes wide, he stood straight as a board. Then he bent toward her at an angle so severe, it caused Connor to stumble a step forward and Amber a step back, even though they were still separated by the low fence. In a whisper that was so loud that Amber had to fight a laugh, he said, “She’s inside right now?”

  “Sure is.”

  He stood straight again, released Connor, and used both hands to adjust his cowboy hat. “I’m ready.”

  Then, without further explanation, Wesley marched for the front door, pulled it open, and deftly sauntered inside. Jake, who was manning the kiosk, called after him, but Wesley Young was on a mission.

  Connor tipped his head back to the sky before looking back at Amber and saying, “I’ll go keep an eye on him. He’s such a mess. I’ll see you in there?”

  “Yeah,” she said, then waved at the other guy as he paid the cover for them all and followed Connor inside.

  Jack was still sitting awkwardly at the table when she returned and sat across from him. “Do you need to …?” He shot a thumb in the direction of the bar again.

  “All good.” She needed to get the pained look off his face. “So what made you move to Edgehill of all places when you’d been in a city as exciting as Seattle?”

  He seemed to sag with relief at the question. “Larry came here on a whim almost ten years ago. He really fell in love with the place and would come back every year for the Here and Meow. Cut to a couple years later, and I had just finished culinary school and was really itching to start a bakery. Most restaurants fail in their first year, but in a place as expensive as Seattle? I didn’t think I could compete. Larry, on the other hand, had always wanted to open an internet café.

  “One night, we were out drinking with some friends and someone drunkenly said Larry and I should combine our two passions and open a place together. Larry dragged me to the Here and Meow that year—kicking and screaming—five years ago. Love at first sight, me and this town. Within a year of that trip, we’d cut the ribbon at Purrcolate.”

  Amber couldn’t help but smile as he talked. She loved Edgehill and was always delighted when she met someone who’d been ensnared by the place’s charm. It was what had initially bonded Amber and Melanie.

  “You said your sister is in town?” Jack asked, a bit more relaxed now. The smattering of freckles across his nose was muted in the soft light here on the patio. “Willow, right?”

  Amber nodded, telling him about Willow and their aunt. She skirted around the topic of her parents and the fire. She knew he knew about their deaths—everyone in Edgehill did—and was grateful when he made no attempt to ask about them.

  She eyed the field again, picturing a Penhallow sizing her up from the safety of the dark field. But Aunt Gretchen had said the Penhallow threat was coming, not already here. Likely she was worrying prematurely.

  “Do you see something over there?” Jack asked.

  Amber flushed a little. “No, sorry.”

  She asked him about culinary school to get the conversation back on track. As much as she enjoyed talking to him—both joking and laughing more the longer they talked—she suddenly found herself distracted by yet something else. Instead of the field across the street, now it was the shift in energy on the patio. A person picked up his phone, looked at Amber, then nudged his companion to show him something on his screen. Someone got a call. And then another. Small rectangles of blue light sprouted up around the patio, one by one, like fireflies flicking to life at dusk. Then Amber’s phone buzzed in her clutch. Jack pulled his phone out of his pocket.

  Before she could voice her confusion, the patio door burst open and Willow stood there, breathing hard, eyes wild. Amber was on her feet before she realized it.

  “What?” Amber asked, her stomach in knots. “What happened?”

  Willow hurried to her. “Someone was just found dead at the Manx Hotel. A town-wide text just went out. I … I don’t know details, but … it’s an older woman and—”

  Amber didn’t hear what else her sister said. She was already running.

  It wasn’t until Amber was halfway down the sidewalk, the country music a mere hum in the distance now, that she remembered she hadn’t driven here. There were no car keys in her clutch.

  “Amber! Wait up!” It was Jack.

  She slowed and turned to him. “Where’s Willow? I have to make sure my aunt is okay.” She heard the mounting panic in her own voice.

  “Connor’s with her. We’re meeting them in front. C’mon.”

  Amber’s mind was such a buzz of nerves, she didn’t protest when Jack grabbed her hand and pulled her after him, jogging to the gravel lot. He opened the door to his little four-door black sedan—not out of some act of chivalry, she thought, but because she likely looked like she was going to pass out—and then deftly maneuvered his car out of the tight space and out onto the road.

  By the time they pulled up in front of the Sippin’ Siamese, Connor and Willow were waiting. Connor ran around the back to get in behind Jack, and Willow climbed in behind Amber. Willow didn’t say anything, just squeezed Amber’s shoulder.

  Her aunt hadn’t been feeling well. Amber thought about how pale the woman had been when she first arrived. Had she been sicker than she let on? Amber had been out at a bar when her aunt was ill and alone in an impersonal hotel room. If something had happened to her, Amber knew she’d never forgive herself.

  The drive to the Manx Hotel was only twenty minutes, but it felt like half a lifetime. Amber was too nervous to check her phone, but Willow informed her every few minutes that she still didn’t know any details. Amber had no idea how she’d heard the news at all. If Carrie, Willow’s old classmate, had been the one to report the news to her, she would’ve known it was Amber and Willow’s aunt, wouldn’t she? Would she keep details like that from Willow?

  When Jack turned onto Calico Boulevard, the hotel just a block away, the flash of red and blue lights sent Amber’s heart into her throat. For a moment, she was back on that sidewalk outside her burned home, emergency lights bouncing off the walls, the smell of charred wood heavy in the air.

  “Oh God.”

  She startled when Jack lightly patted her leg. His hand was there, then gone. She supposed her muttered plea hadn’t just been in her head.

  An ambulance sat outside the Ma
nx as well, the doors thrown open. There wasn’t a stretcher inside, just bright yellow-white light and shelving covered in medical equipment. The second Jack pulled to the curb a few doors down, Amber and Willow were out of the car and jogging up the sidewalk. Willow slipped her hand into Amber’s. They were sixteen and fourteen again.

  People stood around in front of the hotel, some wrapped in blankets, some in robes and slippers. No one fell to their knees at the sight of the Blackwood sisters and apologized for their loss when the pair moved past them and up the steps to the front door. But, Amber guessed, most people staying at the Manx wouldn’t be locals. These people didn’t know them.

  Unlike the somber scene outside, the lobby buzzed with nervous energy. A cluster of hotel staff in crisp black outfits huddled together on one side of the lobby. Amber didn’t see Carrie among them. One of the staff members stood apart from the group, giving his account to a uniformed police officer. Amber could only see the man’s back, but if she had to guess, she’d say it was Garcia, one of the officers she’d met briefly a few weeks ago when Whitney Sadler was apprehended. Amber wondered if the cut on his arm inflected by a kitchen-knife-wielding Whitney had scarred.

  The realization that Chief Owen Brown would more than likely be here turned Amber’s stomach inside out.

  Guests stood in clusters around the lobby.

  “What do we do, just run upstairs?” Willow hissed at Amber.

  Just then, a tall, lanky figure started to make his way down the wide staircase directly behind the reception desk. Amber recognized him instantly—Carl, Edgehill’s newest and youngest addition to the force. He was a sweet guy, but very green. And a bit like an overly excited puppy.

  “C’mon,” Amber said, pulling Willow behind her.

  They rounded the desk, then hurried up the steps. They met Carl halfway.

  “Whoa there,” Carl said, hands out. His face lit up a second later. “Amber! Hi.” His attention swiveled to Willow. “Well, hello.”