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I barely noticed Andrea’s grumbled “I will never be as smart as Jane Jameson-Nightengale” from the end of the bar.
“See, you’re adjusting to the corporate culture already,” Gabriel said brightly, tossing me a midnight-blue Specialty Books T-shirt.
“I’m glad we have that settled.” I sighed, leaning back in my chair. Jane gave my shoulder a little squeeze and handed me a cup of chamomile tea. “But it doesn’t get me any closer to finding the other Elements. And I’m running out of places in the shop to look.”
“Well, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” Jane said. “I thought we might try asking Mr. Wainwright.”
“The deceased Mr. Wainwright?” I asked while Jane cringed and nodded. “I swear to all that’s holy, you lot, if I find out that Mr. Wainwright is a vampire, or in the witness-protection program, or any condition other than dead, I will throw a hissy and destroy that very expensive display of crystal figurines over there.”
“See what happens when you hire people without a background check?” Andrea asked Jane.
“Shut it, you,” I retorted.
Jane was back to twisting the tea towel between her hands. “Look, I wasn’t quite sure how to tell you this, but your grandfather only moved onto the next plane a few months ago.”
“Next plane?”
Jane nodded, clearly trying to choose her words carefully. “He died here at the shop. I found his body a few hours later. His spirit was already haunting the shop. He said that he was far too interested in what was happening here on earth to move on just yet. Of course, I didn’t know at the time that part of ‘what was happening’ was his dating my aunt Jettie, who was also a ghost.”>“Hey, the nice man in the unmarked panel van said the nudity will be tasteful!” I exclaimed, making him laugh.
“Well, congratulations on your new Internet porn job,” he said. “Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow night to celebrate?”
“I have plans tomorrow night.”
I really did have plans. I had to retrieve my car keys and make up for lost research time. But he didn’t need to know that.
“Plans.” He frowned. “Like a date? So the very serious boyfriend crashed and burned already?”
I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. Why would he be worrying over whether I was dating? Unless . . . “You like me!”
“Me? Like you?” He shook his head. “Can’t prove it.”
“You like like me,” I singsonged.
“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” he said, scowling as he stepped forward, trapping me between his body and the wall. I could smell that forest-and-field scent rolling off of him, and the heat of his skin made me feel as if his hands were rubbing against my arms. He bent his face toward mine, and warm, minty breath feathered over my cheeks. “If I like liked you, trust me, you would know it.”
My eyes locked with his, light meeting dark, and I couldn’t move. This was completely unfair. He was a human thought scrambler, sent to make me lose all semblance of dignity. His lips were just a few heartbeats away from mine.
“I don’t have a date. I’m working,” I told him softly. Sorting through the contents of an occult shop to find magical knickknacks could be considered working, right?
The crescent moon rose slowly over his shoulder, giving him a faint halo around his shadow-cast face. I shivered. He looked down at me for a long, silent moment. I could feel his breath moving against my cheek like a caress. I honestly thought he was going to kiss me. And then he gave me one of those warm molasses smiles. “Well, good luck to you.”
He stepped away and sauntered back to his door. He knew what he was doing, walking like that. It was patently unfair to leave a girl high and not quite dry and then walk away with his buns twitching under skintight denim. I called after him. “Thanks.”
He waved his hand over his shoulder without even looking back at me.
Completely. Unfair.
* * *
Over the next week or so, I fell into a routine. I worked at the clinic each day until five and then researched at the shop until just before sunset to avoid uncomfortable interactions with certain vampire landlords. Then I hightailed it home, leaving Jane detailed notes on what I’d searched through that day and any materials I’d taken home for the night. Occasionally, Jolene would drag me out of the shop to Southern Comforts, the vampire-friendly restaurant she managed with her friend, chef Tess Maitland. Jolene was apparently worried that I wasn’t getting enough smoked pork in my diet. I’d discovered that this was a grave concern for Kentuckians.
I enjoyed working at the clinic. I’d tamed the chaos of the front desk and organized the patient records into a more user-friendly configuration. I wore scrubs for the first time since nursing school, as Dr. Hackett didn’t believe jeans were a professional look for a medical setting. I had to pass a background check, which was disturbingly easy considering that I hadn’t lived in the country for more than ten years.
I explained my dilemma to Dr. Hackett, and he helped me apply for the paperwork I would need in order to help people rather than just run the office. Until my papers came through, I would not be responsible for patient care. It was just too risky. In the meantime, he was happy to listen to my “instincts” about a patient’s condition based on my observations and the intake questionnaires. After hearing him referring to some of his contemporaries as hippies, I decided not to bring up my diagnostic abilities. But if I noticed something about a patient, say, black radiating pain flaring out from his stomach, I would advise Dr. Hackett that the patient was most likely suffering an ulcer.
It was a little bit of a relief, not being entirely responsible for treatment. And I found I had a talent for the administrative duties that I wasn’t allowed to do back home.
After hearing so many “free clinic” jokes over the years, I expected to see nothing but patients with questionable rashes. But each day was much like the first: sick kids and overwhelmed adults. There were a lot of young mothers with children who didn’t have health insurance. And seniors who couldn’t afford to see doctors without the free services Dr. Hackett provided. Like any other doctor, he had “regular” patients he saw frequently, and their files were kept in a special filing cabinet separate from those of the walk-in patients. It was a sad commentary on the state of the health-care system, but I was glad that the patients were getting the help they needed.
