Page 92 of Hallowed Bones

“Underwear?” Reyes eyes me. Then he shrugs and grins my way. “Sure, I’d love to be a fly on the wall when you go back to the house and present her with a pack of thongs and bras. I bet she’d love that.”

“Who said she wears thongs?” I ask. “What if she prefers bikinis?”

“What if she prefers going commando?” he shoots back.

I have no response for that other than to imagine Haven, standing before me sans anything covering her delicate flesh. My cock rises against the back of my zipper. Damn it. Now is not the time to be getting distracted.

“I’m going to check out,” I snap, walking away and heading toward the front of the store.

The clerk watches me through narrowed eyes as I lay down the pile of clothes on her counter. Reyes moves over to the rack of key chains, spins the carousel.

“Do you think we should get her one of these?” he asks.

“A key chain?” I frown back at him as the clerk begins to ring up the selection we’ve made.

I’m sure Haven is expecting her actual clothes, but grabbing a few things from the general store is easier than making another stop at Ipswich. I’d rather keep my distance until the rumors start to die down—the less she knows about what people are saying, the better. If it’s not about Reyes carrying her out of her dorm while she was delirious with fever, then it’s the questions about why she’s staying at Bishop Manor and what that could possibly mean. I know Haven hadn’t intended to hide her connection to our families, but now—thanks to some loudmouth—everyone knows. I doubt it’s her roommate, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was someone close to the other woman.

“Yeah, she’ll need her own key to the house,” Reyes says, picking out a metal key chain that looks as if it’s a replica of those old skeleton keys from the Victorian age. He looks it over before putting it back and spinning the carousel to look at something different.

“Do you think she’ll actually move in permanently?” I ask, perking up. Hopeful.

Beep. Beep. Beep. The register’s rhythmic scanning noises are loud to my sensitive ears. The clerk continues to watch the two of us with barely hidden suspicion.

It’s true that it’s rare for Reyes and me to be seen in town together and never for mundane tasks like buying a woman clothes. Still, one might think that after a lifetime of living here, the people of Salem would grow accustomed to our presence—together or not. An annoyed huff escapes me, and the clerk ducks her head in response, her hands moving faster.

BeepBeepBeep.

I sigh.

“Hold on. She needs this too,” Reyes says, stepping away from the key chain carousel as his eyes catch on one of the hoodie racks. He pulls down an overlarge black sweatshirt and turns it around for me to see.

GETTING WITCHY IN SALEM is printed in bright, bold letters across the front. I snort and reach for one of the sweatshirts I’d already grabbed from the pile the clerk is currently speeding through in an effort to get us out of her store and on our way as fast as possible. I turn it around for Reyes to view. As soon as his eyes scan the saying, he bursts out laughing.

The saying: IN MY RESTING WITCH FACE ERA.

In the end, we decide to get both. After all, autumn is coming in quickly, and before long, winter will be here too.

The clerk clears her throat. “That’ll be…” She rattles off the number, and I pull out my card, swiping it against the machine as Reyes starts loading his arms with the bags. As we head for the exit, several sets of eyes follow us—including the clerk’s.

It’s always easy to tell who’s a tourist and who’s not based on who watches us as we move through town. Those with wary glances are almost always townies—people who know who we are. As we approach my Hummer, I unlock the car and toss the bags into the back seat before glancing over at Reyes. He stands, hands on his hips, and scans the street with a dour look on his face.

“Is it just me,” I ask, “or does it feel like they’re watching us more than usual?”

Reyes shakes his head. “It’s not just you.” The looks cling to us like flies to rotting flesh. “Everyone’s on high alert. Jonah was one thing—but that couple they found on the hiking trails has made everyone think something else is going on.”

“And of course, they’re looking at us.” A low growl hums in the back of my throat. “Three hundred years and they still don’t learn.”

“Humans.” Reyes scoffs. “They never change.”

“Come on,” I say, gesturing for him to follow me as we head down Main Street. “We’ve got one more stop before we can head back.”

A bell chimes above the door to the final shop we enter. The scent of incense and cinnamon is thick in the air. Unlike the general store, though, this place is far smaller and darker. No other customers are inside to stop their shopping and stare at us. We move farther into the narrower space, heading toward the back as we search the shelves for what we came for.

Fifteen minutes later, we’ve paid and the door chimes for a second time as we step back into the sunlight. Flashing lights have appeared across the street, two cop cars and an ambulance pulling into the parking lot of a diner as crowds of onlookers gather around. We don’t cross the street toward the people but instead move back to where the Hummer is parked. Halfway there, though, I halt. A scent tickles the inside of my nose.

Smoky. Burnt flesh. Rust and iron.

“Ly?” Reyes stops too, glancing back at me with a frown.