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Chapter Three
Chapter Three
IN LOOSE COTTON PANTS AND A TANK SHE considered suitable only for sleeping, Cybil followed the life-affirming scent of coffee toward the kitchen. It was lovely to know someone in the household woke before she did and had a pot going. The chore, all too often, fell to her as she was up and about before any of the others.
Of course, none of the others slept alone, she thought, so they got coffee and sex. Didn't seem quite fair, she decided, but that's the way the cookie crumbled. Still, the cookie meant she wasn't required to make precaffeine conversation, and had a quiet interlude with the morning paper until the frisky puppies rolled out of bed for the day.
Halfway between the stairs and the kitchen, she stopped, sniffed the air. That, she realized, was more than coffee. Bacon scented the air, which made it a red-letter day. Someone besides Cybil was cooking.
At the doorway, she saw Layla busy at the stove, humming away as she fried and flipped, her dark hair pulled back in a little stub at the nape of her neck. She looked so happy, Cybil thought and wondered why she felt this big-sister affection for Layla.
They were of an age, after all, and while Layla might not be as well-traveled as she was, her housemate had lived in New York for several years, and even in cropped pants and a T-shirt wore urban polish. With Quinn, there'd been an instant connection for Cybil-a click the moment they'd met in college. And now, there was Layla.
She'd never had that same affinity, that click with her own sister, Cybil thought. But then she and Rissa never fully understood each other, and her younger sister tended to get in touch primarily when she needed something or was embroiled in yet another mess.
Cybil decided she should count herself lucky. There was Quinn, who'd been like a missing piece of herself, and now Layla sliding smoothly into the slot, to make the three of them a unit.
With the bacon set aside to drain, Layla turned for a carton of eggs and jolted when she saw Cybil. "God!" On a laugh, she clutched at her heart. "You scared me. "
"Sorry. You're up early. "
"And with a yen for bacon and eggs. " Before Cybil could do it herself, Layla got down a cup and poured coffee. "I made plenty of bacon. I figured you'd be down before I finished, and Fox is always up for a meal. "
"Hmm," Cybil said, and dumped milk into the coffee.
"Anyway, I hope you're hungry because I seem to have fried up half a pig. And the eggs are fresh from the O'Dell farm. I got the paper. " Layla gestured toward the table. "Why don't you sit down and have your coffee while I finish this up?"
Cybil took that first mind-clearing sip. "I'm forced to ask. What are you after, Darnell?"
"Transparent as Saran Wrap. " With a wince, Layla broke the first egg in the bowl. "There is this little favor, and I'd be bribing Quinn with breakfast if she were here instead of at Cal 's. I have the morning off, and a fistful of paint samples. I was hoping I could talk you and Quinn into going over to the shop with me this morning, helping me decide on my color scheme. "
Cybil pushed her hair back, drank more coffee. "Here's a question. Why would you think either of us would let you get away with deciding on the color scheme for your own boutique without us badgering you with our opinion?"
"Really?"
"Nobody escapes my opinion, but I'll be eating bacon and eggs. "
"Good. Good. It just seems crazy, worrying about paint chips when we've got life-and-death issues to worry about. "
"Color schemes are life-and-death issues. "
Layla laughed, but shook her head. "We've got a demon who wants us dead, coming into full power in about six weeks, and I'm pursuing the wild hare of opening my own business in the town it wants for its personal playground. Meanwhile Fox has to interview and train-or I have to train-my replacement as his office manager while we figure out how to stay alive and destroy ancient evil. And I'm going to ask Fox to marry me. "
"We can't stop living because. . . Whoa. " Cybil held up a hand, and waited for her morning-fuzzy brain to clear. "In my journalism classes, that's what we called burying the lead. Big time. "
"Is it crazy?"
"Of course, you never bury the lead. " Since it was there, Cybil reached over and took a slice of bacon. "And yes, of course, marriage is insane-that's why it's human. "
"I don't mean marriage, I mean asking him. It's so unlike me. "
"I would hope so. I'd hate to think you go around proposing to men all willy-nilly. "
"I always thought when everything was in place, when the time was right, that I'd wait for the man I loved to set the scene, buy the ring, and ask. " Sighing, Layla went back to breaking eggs in the bowl. "That's like me-or was. But I don't care about everything being in place, and how the hell can anybody know, especially us, if the time's right? And I don't want to wait. "
"Go get him, sister. "
"Would you-I mean under the circumstances?"
"You're damn right I would. "
"I feel. . . Here he comes," Layla whispered. "Don't say anything. "
"Damn, I was planning to blurt it all out, then toss a few handfuls of confetti. "
"Morning. " Fox sent Cybil a sleepy smile, then turned a dazzling one on Layla. "You're cooking. "
"My boss gave me the morning off, so I've got time to spare. "
"Your boss should always give you whatever you need. " He reached in the fridge for his usual Coke. And, popping the top, looked from one woman to the other. "What? What's going on?"
"Nothing. " And thinking of his ability to read thoughts and feelings, Layla pointed her whisk at him. "And no peeking. We were just talking about the boutique, paint chips, that sort of thing. How many eggs do you want?"
"A couple. Three. "
Layla sent Cybil a satisfied smile when Fox leaned in to nuzzle her and cop some bacon behind her back.
THE BUILDING THAT WOULD HOUSE LAYLA'S BOUTIQUE had an airy feel to it, good light, good location. Important pluses, to Cybil's mind. Layla had years of experience in fashion retail, as well as an excellent eye for style-other major advantages. Added to them was her shared ability with Fox to sense thoughts, and that sense of what a customer really wanted would be an enormous advantage.
She wandered the space. She liked the old wood floors, the warm tones of it and the wide trim. "Charming or slick?" Cybil asked.
"Charming, with slick around the edges. " Standing at the front window with Quinn, Layla held one of the paint chips up in the natural light. "I want to respect the space, and jazz it up with little touches. Female, comfortable, but not cozy. Accessible, but not altogether expected. "
"No pinks, roses, mauves. "
"None," Layla said decisively.
"A couple of good chairs for customers to sit in," Quinn suggested, "to try on shoes, or wait for a friend in the changing area, but no floral fabrics, no chintz. "
"If this were a gallery, we'd say your stock would be your art. "
"Exactly. " Layla beamed over at Cybil. "That's why I'm thinking neutral tones for the walls. Warm neutrals, because of the wood. And I'm thinking instead of a counter"-she waved the flat of her hand waist-high-"I might find a nice antique desk or pretty table for the checkout area. And over here-" She pushed the chips into Quinn's hand, crossed the bare floor. "I'd have clear floating shelves in a random pattern, to display shoes, smaller bags. And then here. . . "
Cybil followed as Layla moved from section to section, outlining her plans for the layout. The image formed clearly-open racks, shelves, pretty glass-fronted curios for accessories.
"I need Fox's father to build in a couple of dressing rooms back here. "
"Three," Cybil said. "Three's more practical, is more interesting to the eye and it's a magickal number. "
"Three then, with good, flattering lighting, and the tortuous triple mirror. "
"I hate those bastards," Quinn muttered.
"We all do, but they're a necessary evil. And see,
the little kitchen back here. " With a come-ahead gesture, Layla led the way. "They kept that, through its various retail incarnations. I thought I could do quirky little vignettes every month or so. Like, ah, candles and wine on the table, some flowers-and a negligee or a cocktail dress tossed over the back of the chair. Or a box of cereal on the counter, some breakfast dishes in the sink-and a messenger- or briefcase-style handbag on the table, a pair of pumps under it. You know what I mean?"
"Fun. Clever. Yes, I know what you mean. Let me see those chips. " Cybil snatched them from Quinn, then headed back to the front window.
"I've got more," Layla told them. "I've sort of whittled it down to those. "
"And have your favorite," Quinn finished.
"Yeah, I do, but I want opinions. Serious opinions, because I'm as scared as I am excited about this, and I don't want to screw it up by-"
"This. Champagne Bubbles. Just the palest gold, really just the impression of color. Subtle, neutral, but with that punch, that fun factor. And any color you put against this will pop. "
Lips pursed, Quinn studied the chip over Cybil's shoulder. "She's right. It's great. Female, sophisticated, warm. "
"That was my pick. " Layla closed her eyes. "I swear, that was my pick. "
"Proving the three of us have excellent taste," Cybil concluded. "You're going in to apply for the business loan this week?"
"Yeah. " Layla blew out a breath that fluttered her bangs. "Fox says it's a slam dunk. I have references from him, Jim Hawkins, my former boss from the boutique in New York. My finances are-hah-modest, but in good order. And the town wants and needs businesses. Keep revenue local instead of sending it out to the mall and so on. "
"It's a good investment. You've got prime location here- Main Street only steps from the Square. You were raised in the business, as your parents owned a dress shop. Work experience, a canny sense of style. A very good investment. I'd like a piece of it. "
Layla blinked at Cybil. "Sorry?"
"My finances are healthy-not bank-loan healthy, but healthy enough to invest in a smart enterprise. What have you projected as your start-up costs?"
"Well. . . " Layla named a figure, and Cybil nodded and wandered. "I could manage a third of that. Quinn?"
"Yeah, I could swing a third. "
"Are you kidding?" was all Layla could say. "Are you kidding?"
"Which would leave you to come up with the final third out of your modest finances or the bank loan. I'd go with the loan, not only to give yourself breathing room, but for tax purposes. " Cybil brushed back her hair. "Unless you don't want investors. "
"I want investors if they're you. Oh God, this is-wait. You should think about it awhile. Seriously. You need to take some time, think about it. I don't want you to-"
"We have been thinking about it. "
"And talking about it," Quinn added. "Since you decided to go for it. Christ, Layla, look what we've already invested in each other, and in this town. This is only money-and as Gage would probably say, we want to ante up. "
"I'll make it work. I will. " Layla brushed away a tear. "I will. I know what we are to each other, but if you do this, I want it all legal and right. Fox will. . . He'll fix it, he'll take care of that part. I know I can make it work. Now, especially, I know I can. "
She threw her arms around Quinn, then opened up to pull Cybil into the hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. "
"Not necessary. Remember what else Gage might say," Cybil reminded her.
"What?"
"We could all be dead before August. " With a laugh, Cybil gave Layla a pat on the butt, then stepped back. "Have you thought of any possible names for the place yet?"
"Again, are you kidding? This is me, here. I have a list. In fact I have three lists, and a folder. But I'm tossing them because I just thought of the perfect name. " Layla held her hands out to the sides, palms up. "Welcome to Sisters. "
THEY SEPARATED, LAYLA TO THE OFFICE, QUINN to have lunch with Cal 's mother to discuss wedding plans, Cybil back home. She wanted to pursue the bloodstone-as-weapon angle, and push deeper into the idea of it being a fragment of a larger mystical power source.
She liked the quiet and the solitude. It was good for thinking, reshuffling thoughts, for moving them around like puzzle pieces until she found a better fit. Because she wanted a change of venue, she brought her laptop and the file of notes she'd printed out that dealt specifically with the bloodstone down to the kitchen. With the back door and windows open to the spring air, she made iced tea, fixed a small bowl of salad. Over lunch, she reviewed her notes.
