"You okay? You look tired." Mike, as always, got straight to the point.
He was wearing black eyeliner today, and his hair was different. Instead of black with purple undertones, it was blond on one side and red on the other. It looked good on him, and I'd told him so when he'd walked in that morning.
I gave him a smile. "I'm fine. But you're right. I didn't sleep very well. I kept having these weird dreams." I shrugged. No need to mention how I had a hard time getting settled enough to sleep in the first place because I couldn't stop thinking about a guy who made me equal parts horny and nervous. I felt like I was thirteen again.
"There's a spell for that, you know." He leaned back against the counter and put his leather clad elbows up on the counter.
I laughed. "You don't really believe in this stuff, do you?" I asked him, waving one hand at the mishmash of trinkets and candles closest to me.
He didn't laugh along with me. "I do. And you should, too, Lizzy. Especially if you're going to be running a store. Voodoo"—he nodded at the shelves closest to us, stuffed full of books on one side and voodoo dolls on the other—"it's nothing to mess around with. And neither is magic."
"Is there a difference?"
"Hell yeah. Absolutely."
"But don't you have to have some sort of inner ability to make it work?"
He cocked his head as he studied me, and I could tell he was trying to decide how much he should say. "You have it, Liz."
I scoffed, rolling my eyes at the very idea, ignoring the tiny seed of doubt that maybe I was wrong and he was right. "Now you're just messing with me."
He was messing with me, right?
Giving me a tight smile, he buttoned up his long, black leather coat over his lean torso. As he headed to the door, he pulled up the hood. The temperature had dropped rapidly into the forties as soon as the sun went down. A huge difference from the pleasantly cool nights we'd been having. But at least it wasn't raining.
Mike stopped to straighten a shelf and I'd turned around to add creamer to my coffee when the front door chimed. My heart stopped, then began to race. As casually as I could, which I was pretty positive was not casual at all, I turned to see who it was.
A pretty woman with stick straight red hair—the exact same shade as Mike's—that ended at her sharp jawline, was standing next to him talking. Her skin was as white and smooth as porcelain, her lips the same red as her hair, and she was dressed all in black from her short jacket to her Han Solo boots. She smiled big at something he said, showing off perfect white teeth.
As she waited for him to finish what he was doing, her eyes shifted over my way.
I smiled, offering her a little wave. One she didn't return.
Mike looked up and noticed her staring. "Oh, sorry. Angel, this is Lizzy. My boss." He emphasized the last sentence just a bit. Was it a warning?
"Nice to meet you," she finally said. It was the right thing to say, but the greeting lacked enthusiasm.
"You, too," I told her as I wandered closer.
I noticed her eyes were a pale hazel. An unusual color. The expression on her face didn't get any friendlier as I approached. Quite the opposite, in fact. She eyed me from the top of my head to the tips of my shoes and back again, like I was a tiny gnat she wanted to swat at. It was the second time someone had done that to me in as many days, only with completely different intentions.
Was this wave of hatred I felt coming from her for real? Or was I was just being overly sensitive because I was tired?
Without taking her eyes from mine, she tugged on Mike's sleeve. "Come on," she said. "Let's go."
With an apologetic look, he followed her out. I caught a glimpse of a large black man in a King Tut costume playing a trumpet solo to an enthralled crowd before the door swung shut. It was Halloween night, and the Quarter was alive with celebration.
After they left, I stood there, confused, staring at the closed door, the celebration outside now muted. What the hell had I done to that woman? I knew I'd never met her before. That red hair would be hard to forget.
An unexpected wave of loneliness overtook me. Just because some chick a good ten or fifteen years younger than me had given me attitude. It was stupid. I'd make my own friends here soon enough. It's not like I was some huge socialite, anyway. My idea of a good time was a nice dinner out. Maybe a movie. And if I was feeling really crazy, I'd order a second glass of wine.
Shaking it off, I turned around to go get Wiggles packed up for the cold walk home, belatedly remembering I hadn't locked the door. Turning on my heel, I went to do that before any unwelcome strangers wandered in, and then realized I didn't have my keys. With a frustrated sigh, I headed back to the counter to get the keys from my purse. Wiggles saw me getting my purse and thumped his tail in excitement.
I gave him a smile. "We might as well just go," I told him, getting his leash out from under the counter. I hooked it to this collar and waited while my old boy got up from the floor. It was a slow and painful process for him these days, and my heart hurt to watch him. "Come on, big boy. Let's go home." With one last look around the store, I shut off the lights and set the alarm. Opening the door, I waited for Wiggles to hobble out. "Hang on a minute, buddy," I told him as I pulled the keys out of my purse and locked the door from the outside, double checking it before dropping them back into my bag.
"I see I'm too late to do any trick or treating."
I jumped, my breath catching in my chest, my heart pounding. Even with the noise from the crowd all around me, I knew without looking who it was. And not just from his accent.
