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I knew I was preoccupying myself with silly concerns like the car because I didn’t want to think about this face-to-face with Lucien. While I had to hope he wouldn’t make too much of a scene in a public place — my entire reasoning for asking him to meet me at the Flatiron in the first place — I couldn’t know that for sure. It was entirely possible he’d cause some sort of commotion embarrassing enough that I’d be forced to leave Globe just to avoid the fallout.
Or not,I told myself as I headed down Broad Street toward the restaurant.What do you care what people think? You’ve already outed yourself as a witch, so who cares if Lucien starts haranguing you about your powers or whatever? This isn’t high school.
No, it wasn’t, thank the Goddess. All the same, even a functioning adult generally wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of creating a scene around the people they had to live and work with.
My nerves were fairly vibrating with anxiety by the time I pulled into The Flatiron’s parking lot. I didn’t see Lucien’s car — a big black Mercedes S-Class sedan with California plates would have been pretty conspicuous amongst all the pickup trucks and SUVs — but I had a feeling he wanted to be late on purpose so he could make an entrance.
Whatever.
I touched the amulet of black tourmaline I carried in an inner pocket of my purse, hoping that its ability to absorb or even repel negative energy would be enough to protect me. Right after I’d gotten up that morning, I’d lit a protection candle and uttered an invocation to Cerridwen, goddess of the earth, that she might give me the strength I needed for this confrontation, but I still wasn’t feeling all that confident. Ordinary people I could deal with…but Lucien Dumond was a whole order of magnitude beyond ordinary.
Since it was later in the morning, the restaurant wasn’t too crowded. I managed a smile at Ingrid, the owner, who was doing hostess duty.
“Any place you like, Selena,” she told me as she handed me a menu.
“Thanks,” I replied. “Can I have another menu? A friend is meeting me.”
Interest sparked in her light blue eyes. “‘Friend’?” she echoed. “Anyone I know?”
I supposed at some point I’d get used to the casual nosiness of small-town dwellers. “No,” I said, trying to sound casual. “A friend from L.A.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding a little disappointed. I couldn’t be sure, but I was starting to get the feeling that a bunch of the local busybodies had started a pool to see how long it would take before I started dating someone.
Well, if that was the case, they were going to be waiting a long time. Not that I had anything against dating, per se, only that it hadn’t worked out so well for me in the past. Over the last couple of years, I’d spent my energies focusing on the craft and my practice, since I’d gotten the distinct feeling that a happy love life was not something I was destined to enjoy during this particular lifetime. Maybe my dismal love life was merely karma…or maybe just really bad luck.
I took the menus over to a table that overlooked the parking lot, figuring at least that way I could see when Lucien pulled up and steel myself for his arrival at the table. No sign of the black Mercedes yet, though.
A waitress I didn’t recognize — and who looked barely out of high school, if even that — came by and asked if I wanted anything to drink. Since I didn’t know how long I’d be waiting for Lucien to appear, I asked for some hot water and a basket of herbal tea. It wasn’t that I avoided caffeine altogether, but I was already on edge and didn’t see the need to make myself even more jangly.
Ten o’clock came and went. My tea arrived, and I wasted some time in the ritual of choosing which variety I wanted from the little basket provided, then pouring hot water over the bag I’d selected. While I waited for it to cool down enough to drink, I got out my phone and frowned at the time stamp.
Ten fourteen.
Hmm. I didn’t have any missed calls or texts, so it wasn’t as though Lucien had tried to reach out and let me know he was running late. I supposed he could have gotten lost, although that wasn’t such an easy thing to do in Globe, especially in a late-model Mercedes that I assumed had a top-of-the-line navigation system.
A big white SUV with some sort of logo on the door pulled into one of the empty parking spaces. I couldn’t tell what was on the logo, since the vehicle was nearly pointed dead on toward the table where I sat. A minute later, the door opened, and Calvin Standingbear got out, black hair shimmering in the bright morning sun.
If possible, he was even more impressive in full daylight.
The logo on his SUV was probably the badge of the San Ramon tribal police department. I wondered what he was doing here, then thought he probably had stopped in to get a cup of coffee to go or something. After all, the restaurant was located right on Highway 60, and he could come and go from here more easily than heading over to Cloud Coffee, the coffee shop located just down the street from my loft and store.
I picked up my tea, extracted the bag, then blew on the hot liquid within the mug. The sharp, clean scent of peppermint drifted up to my nose, and I breathed it in. If nothing else, it would probably help calm me a bit.
The door to the restaurant opened, and Calvin walked in. He greeted Ingrid, but his eyes were already tracking to the various tables inside and their various occupants.
Until his gaze landed on me.
He walked over to the table, stride purposeful. At once, my heart started hammering away in my chest. What was he doing here? Had he decided that he’d blown it by not talking me up a bit more at the store opening? Was he at The Flatiron because he realized he wanted to ask me out on a date?
Even as I chided myself for allowing those ridiculous thoughts to churn away in my head, he came to a stop next to my table. For someone on a social call, he looked awfully grim.
“Selena Marx?” he said, voice brisker than it had been the night before. Actually, it was downright abrupt.
“Hi, Calvin,” I responded, hoping it was okay to address him by his first name. I knew if I tried to call him “Chief Standingbear,” I’d sound like an idiot.
He didn’t blink. Instead, he withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and slid it across the tabletop toward me. “Do you know this man?”
I looked down at the paper. On it was a fuzzy picture of Lucien Dumond, one that looked as though it had been enlarged from a driver’s license. “Ye-es,” I said, my voice shaky. Cold went over me, and as though from very far away, I heard the harsh squawk of a raven.
