Page 20 of Awakened Ash and Alchemy

Out front, Aunt Claudine’s voice was bright and welcoming. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a book on dreams,” an elderly man’s voice replied.

Dreams. Really? Wiping her hands on a cloth, Angela entered the main showroom.

The shop looked the same as always, sunlight washing through the windows, highlighting shelves crowded with books and jars of herbs. Dried bundles of rosemary and lavender hung near the register with other trinkets.

Claudine stood near the esoteric section, smiling at an elderly man. He removed his hat, revealing silver hair. He hooked his cane casually over his wrist and tugged at his bow tie in an old gentlemanly kind of way.

Angela noticed the scent again, stronger now.

It was Zarek.

But it wasn’t Zarek, only an echo of him, the way smoke clings to fabric long after a fire has gone out, like a thumbprint of power that didn’t belong inside this store.

“Is this book for you?” Claudine asked, leading the man toward the back corner. “Or a gift?”

“For research,” the man replied. “Pete Macrombie.”

“Claudine Deveraux.” Claudine glanced at her niece. “Angela, this gentleman is looking for a book on dreams. Maybe you can recommend a title since you’ve been going through them for that nightmare of yours.”

Yeah, right, and none of the books had helped. But she couldn’t say that to the customer.

The man turned, and their eyes met. Of course, there was that expected flicker of surprise, then that look of something wrong. Her mismatched eyes did that every time.

“You know Zarek.”

It caught Pete off-guard. His cane tapped softly against the floor as he shifted his weight. “Who—”

“Did Zarek send you?” Angela pushed for answers.

Claudine’s smile faded as she straightened and faced Pete. “Answer her.”

“Yes.” Pete meekly shrugged.

“Well, tell Zarek that he can come and talk to me himself. There are privacy and stalker laws you know.”

“Angela, this is a customer,” Claudine warned, only to glare at the man. “Are you? She mentioned stalking laws?”

Again, Pete cleared his throat, tugging on his collar as if his bow tie had become too tight. “I meant no offense. I’m a professor who studies—”

“I’m going to get coffee. Do you want anything, Auntie?” Angela turned away before either of them could respond.

Claudine hesitated, her eyes never leaving the man. “No, thank you. But—”

“Back soon.” Angela grabbed her coat and left, the bell ringing behind her.

The cafe down the street was busy, loud, and blessedly normal. She was such a regular that she only had to nod and the staff took her order while she took a seat in the back corner, flicking through the magazines or the newspaper that did the rounds.

Pete arrived a few minutes later, no doubt running from her aunt’s interrogation. Aunt Claudine may seem all whimsical and flirty-fun, but she was protective.

“I owe you an apology from before.”

“Accepted.” Wait? Who was she to speak like this? But then again, this man was snooping about her. “Do you get paid to do this? Like, are you a private investigator?”

“No. I’d fail if I were, obviously.” Pete chuckled, removing his hat before sitting opposite her. “I did this as a favor for someone who never asks for favors.”

“For whom?” Although she could already guess.