CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I stared after him, brain still struggling to understand what he meant by that. My gaze found Cyrus's amused one from where he stood next to the door still.

"What did he say?" I asked him.

Broad shoulders lifted. One hand slid out of his coat pocket and gestured vaguely at the small chunk of heaven around us. "It's yours."

I stared harder at him. Maybe I fainted and this was some weird dream.

"I don't understand," I said at last.

He moved away from the doorway when it opened and a couple of young girls ducked inside. It brought him closer so I had no difficulty understanding him when he said, "Boss said it's yours."

I laughed, albeit weak and slightly dizzy. "I'm sure he didn't mean that. That's crazy. He can't just give someone a bookstore."

"It's also a café," he offered, nodding to the long, thin bar carved of the same dark, cherry wood as the rest of the place.

A woman stood behind it, leaning forward to hear the two girls' orders. Behind her was an entire wall made up entirely of broken shards of a mirror held together by tangled branches and creeping vines. Shelves containing an assortment of colorful bottles hung in either side with a bigger counter across the bottom holding a series of gleaming machines and a variety of cups.

"And the boss never says anything he doesn't mean," Cyrus finished.

I turned to him, my heart thumping with unimaginable excitement and a steady rise of panic. I didn't know what to do with a bookstore. Plus, there was a whole lot of paperwork required. Father was constantly complaining about it whenever he had to sell something off. I didn't even have a real name.

"I really don't think I can accept this," I said, mainly to myself, but Cyrus answered.

"You'll have to take it up with Mr. Lacroix. In the meantime, we're already here. Why don't you look around. Maybe get a drink."

He was right. I had to talk to Thoran, but in the meantime, it wouldn't hurt to have a peek.

"Will you come with me?" I asked the man.

He shook his head. "I'll wait for you there." He pointed to what must have even the stiffest, hardest, high back chair in the place.

"Why don't you sit in one of the softer chairs?" I asked.

"I like getting up quickly if I need to," was his response, and I didn't press.

Jittery with excitement all over again, I started through the room. There were piles of books on the odd table, but the vast majority of the store's collection lined the walls, much like Thoran's office. Even much of the carved patterns in the railings mirrored the ones cut Thoran's windowpane. I was strongly beginning to believe the same person had created both when a voice interrupted my browsing.

"Poe."

I jolted and turned to the girl from behind the counter. "I'm sorry?"

Eyes the softest green I'd ever seen outside a painting of an open field narrowed. "No..." she tapped a long finger against her small mouth. "Austen." She reached past me to a collection of Jane Austen novels bundled together in soft pink velvet. "That's the one."

I stared from the book to the girl with her short, pixie cut, locks the color of wet sand and her small, elfish features. She could have been a character from a children's fairy book.

"I'm Ivelle. Resident barista and psychic." She paused to roll her eyes. "Well, book psychic. I can usually tell what kind of book a person likes." She shot hopeful glances between my face and the book I held. "Am I right?"

I traced the looping, gold font etched into the cover. "I do like Austen," I whispered.

Ivelle beamed. "Still got the touch." But the smile dimmed. "But that's not what you really like, is it?"

I started to assure her it was. Of the approved list of books I was allowed, Jane Austen was number three.

But Ivelle had moved away from me to scan the shelves several bays down. She was muttering to herself and she bent and rose, scooting further along.

"Ah ha!" she announced, yanking a black and gold volume free and running over with it. "This. This is the one you need."

The title was gone. Faded with time to a mere smudge against the fabric. I could just make out an O. Maybe a U, but everything else was illegible. Even the spine kept its secret. So, I had to wonder how Ivelle knew what to look for.

"It's one of my favorites, too," she said as if reading my thoughts.

"What is it?"

The other girl put up her hands in feign uncertainty. "You'll just have to read it."

Jane Austenwas taken from my arms and returned to the shelf. Ivelle grinned and motioned me to the counter. I followed her, not sure what else to do. She pulled a stool out for me and hurried around to the other side.

"Macy, tables!" Ivelle called over her shoulder to a cloth door I hadn't seen just tucked in the far corner of the counter.

It slapped open and a sulky blonde marched out with a rag.

Ivelle sighed and rolled her eyes before facing me with her bright smile. "What's your poison?"

I stared at her. "My what?"

"Poison," she repeated. "Your drink. What do you like?"

"Oh." I tried to find something on the list that I recognized but with names like Zeus's Thunderbolt, and Voldemort's Nose, I was lost. "What do you like?" I asked instead.

Ivelle smirked. "Spit of the Sanderson Sisters it is!"

I blanched. "The what?"

The girl burst out laughing as she dug out a long, slender glass. "It's not real spit. I created it myself so I can promise it's good ... and health inspector friendly."

I sat and watched her line the inside of the cup with caramel and fill it was something cold, thick and chocolate. The top had whipped cream and more caramel with chocolate shavings.

It was pushed across the counter at me.

I hadn't witnessed any spitting, but my first sip was still tentative.

The level of sweetness nearly had me gagging. It was thick sugar in a cup. It must have shown on my face because Ivelle grimaced.

"I guess I should have mentioned I have a serious sweet tooth..." She took the glass from me. "How about some tea?"

Relieved I actually understood that one, I nodded.

It was rose tea with a drizzle of honey and three biscuits. The cup and saucer were placed in front of me and Ivelle left me to read and enjoy the tea without being asked. I really appreciated that as I opened the first page.

I was about three chapters in when the bell above the door tinkled, jarring me from the scene unfolding across the pages. It had been so quiet up until that moment. Even Ivelle and Macy had ducked into the back room when no one else came in. Cyrus, the single time I'd glanced up at him, was on his phone. Still in that uncomfortable piece of furniture in the very far corner, tucked nearly entirely out of sight.

So, when the women stormed in with a clatter of feet and high voices, it was impossible to miss.

There were three of them. I could just make out their distorted features in the collage of glass over the counter. The thin redhead seemed to be the leader as she clapped on teetering heels in the direction of the orange sofa in the middle of the room. The other two followed, both talking at the same time to each other. Their words overlapped and buzzed together but neither seemed bothered.

"I'm telling you," the redhead huffed, dropping gracelessly onto the middle cushion, leaving her friends to gather in either side of her on the mismatched armchairs surrounding the coffee table. "It's obscene the way that man carries on."

"What did Jennifer say exactly?" The dark haired one leaned closer to squint at her friend over the red cat eye glasses perched on her short nose.

The redhead was saved from answering when the curtain was thrown back and Macy clumped out, looking no happier about her situation. She ambled over to the women.

"Hey Mom. Mrs. Roberts. Mrs. Hollis. The usual?"

"Macy love, can you bring out some of those little cakes? You know the ones," carpet bag asked, smiling up at the girl.

Macy's face deadpanned. "You told me to tell you no the next time you asked because it wrecks your diet."

The smile faded off carpet bag's face. "Macy! That is not at all what I said. Just bring us the cakes, please."

I didn't think anyone missed the warning in the woman's eyes as she bore into her daughter.

That look sent a chill down my spine. I knew it well. It promised pain and punishment when I ... when Macy got home.

But where I could feel my stomach flipping, Macy rolled her eyes and stalked back to the kitchen. Ivelle emerged a moment later, a broad smile on her face.

"Hello ladies, I'll get those drinks to you in a tick."

No one paid her any mind as they resumed their conversation. Ivelle and I locked gazes and she shot me a sly roll of her eyes before turning to prepare drinks.

"Margie says she saw him with some girl," the third woman hissed, pulling a carpet bag into her lap and rifling inside. "Just another poor soul no doubt."

The cat framed woman clicked her tongue and nudged the red plastic higher on her face. The tiny gems along the edges glinted with the shake of her head. "That poor thing."

The redhead scoffed. "You can't know that. Those people all intermarry each other. She was probably groomed like the others to be here as some exchange for beer or something. Who knows what goes on over there, except the whole thing is vile. These girls are bartered like cattle."

"Maybe she's not like the others," the one with the carpet bag decided, unearthing a pack of gum and sliding a foiled strip free. "He never brought the others to the village. Not once and how many were there? Four? Five?"

"Five," cat glasses chirped.

"That we know of," redhead muttered. "People conveniently go missing over there. He could be picking them off one by one once a year."

Cat glasses gasped. "It really is once a year!"

Redhead nodded. "Just like his father and grandfather. That entire family is a walking curse."

"Or a family of serial killers," cat glasses hissed.

The other two nodded.

I had a heavy feeling in my gut the longer I listened. I recognized dread and confusion, but beneath all that was something else. Something hot and prickly I had never felt before, but it was making my skin itch.

"He'll kill her, too. Mark my words. Sheriff Handley will go up to that house in a few days because they found her hung, or she has fallen into a hole or down the stairs. Handley will cover the crime as always because he's in Lacroix's bottomless pockets just like the mayor and every other influential person. In a week, another girl will take her place and around we go."

There was a break in the conversation as Ivelle brought over their drinks and set them down with plates of tiny cakes. She smiled sweetly at the three.

"Anything else for you guys?"

"No, thank you, Everly," redhead muttered, not once glancing at her.

Ivelle's smile never faltered and I had a feeling she wasn't surprised by the mistake. "Great. Give a shout if you need anything—"

Redhead cut her off. "We're fine."

Ivelle inclined her head and hurried back to the counter.

"They're awful," I blurted when she got closer.

Ivelle rolled her eyes. "Oh, they're worse than that. I'd like nothing more than to offer them a Spit of the Sanderson sisters with extra spit, but I wouldn't. I love my job too much and they're not worth it. Besides, I actually feel a little bad for them. Like how sad is your life that you have to be that miserable, you know?" She gave me a grin. "Just ignore them." She nodded to the book. "Do you like it?"

"I do. Thank you."

She slapped the counter with her fingertips with glee. "Excellent. Want a refill?"

I assured her I didn't just as the trio started talking again.

"Do you guys think we should warn her just in case she doesn't know?" cat glasses asked. "Like a public service announcement."

"I'm telling you she knows. Everyone knows. The man is a monster who lures women into that monstrosity with the promise of marriage and kills them. It's been all over the news. You'd have to be living under a rock to miss that kind of thing."

Or living with an overbearing Mother who wanted nothing of the outside world tainting you for a man who wanted you pure and naive. I knew nothing of Thoran's past, except what he'd told me. His corridor of dead family members with their horrific deaths. He hadn't once brought up any wives. Dead or alive. There weren't even photos of them.

"Someone should do something," carpet bag murmured. "He can't go on hurting these women."

"And someone will," redhead muttered, picking up her teacup and taking a dainty sip. "I know for a fact that men like that will never live long. That's why he needs a woman to have his child who will one day take over and continue the cycle. Thoran Lacroix will meet his gruesome end. It will be bloody and violent just like he deserves, and we will hopefully get the privilege of reading all about it in the paper."

The candid way she laid out Thoran's death, with such disgusting delight had the hot thing in my belly spike. It coursed through my veins to fill the space between my ears with a buzzing that muffled all else.

Except their laughter.

Their sickening, riotous laughter as if Thoran's brutal end was the very joy that gave them life. The heinous sounds reverberated with the bells already clanging against my system. My fingers twisted on either side of my forgotten book as I willed the feverish heat to subside, but it only exploded when the redhead, the vile creature with her high, nasally cackle calmed enough to add fuel to my fire.

"Once that hideous beast is dead, we'll throw a party in that grotesque manor of his before we set it ablaze."

I was out of my chair before even my brain could register my actions. My stool slammed into the hardwood with a resounding clang that shattered the silence.

The women.

Their attention was on me now. Eyes round against their monstrous faces, but I only saw the redhead with her dissolving smile as I descended on her with the vengeance of a demon.

A jagged shard of glass I had no memory of grabbing cut into my hand. It pressed into the soft tissue of her jugular. Forcing her head back against the sofa.

Her terror fed me.

It soothed something deep inside me.

I would have smirked if I could without baring my teeth.

"Laugh," I hissed, the snarling voice foreign even to my own ears. "Go ahead. Tell me just how funny you think Thoran's death is. How happy you would be." I pressed harder, my hand oddly steady even as the sharp edge drew a droplet of blood. It trickled, a harsh contrast to the pallor of her ashen flesh. "Like I would ever let you or anyone else near him." Wild brown eyes swung from side to side, silently begging someone to help, but no one did. "If you ever mention his name again, even when you think you're alone, I will find you and make you watch as I gut every person you love in front of you before hanging you by your intestines. Do you understand?"

"Blue!"

The familiar bark had me jerking back and whipping around. The shattered piece of my ruined teacup slipped from my fingers and hit the ground at my feet as I stood facing Thoran's frame silhouetted by the soft glow of light from the door behind him.

All that fire pulsing in my head vanished at the sight of him. The heat went from my limbs, leaving me cold and numb. I twisted my slick fingers together to keep them from shaking as he advanced. His strides were wide, closing the ten feet between us in three.

"What happened?" he took my face between his warm palms. "Are you hurt?"

I started to shake my head when we both glanced down at the blood smeared across my palms, staining my coat cuffs, and running down my fingers.

"Jesus Christ!" Thoran hissed, dropping his hands to cradle both of mine. "Your hands. Get me a kit," he shouted to a stunned Ivelle.

The girl blinked out of her shock. She spun and bolted past a horrified Macy into the back.

There was a lot.

I must have shattered my cup without realizing. The liquid was running across the counter and over the edge to pool next to my upended chair. The rest of the ceramic lay in jagged shards in the puddle ... with the ruined book.

Thoran pulled me to a nearby chair and knelt in front of me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to Thoran.

Ivelle hurried in then and pressed the first aid kit into Thoran's hands.

"What did I tell you about that word, sweetheart?" He set the kit down on the floor next to his knee and flipped it open.

The high chatter I'd mistaken for my own thoughts rose in volume and ferocity. I realized a moment later the sound was the redhead wailing while clutching her throat as if I'd cut her open.

Had I?

I didn't think I got her that badly.

Maybe I had. Maybe she would need stitches.

I hoped so.

"Blue?" Thoran touched my face, drawing me back. "What did they say to you, love?"

"What we said to her?" redhead shrieked. "We weren't even talking to that—"

"Pick your next words very carefully, Mrs. Roberts," Cyrus advised calmly. "My advice, stop talking entirely."

Mrs. Roberts meshed thin lips together, but her defiance, her hatred blazed in her eyes. "She threatened me. Threatened my family. I don't care who you are, but I will—"

"Jeannette!" cat glasses hissed before her friend could get herself killed.

"Listen to your friend, Mrs. Roberts," Cyrus pressed evenly, but with the serrated edges of a dagger. "Get up. Get your things and leave. I'll cover your bill."

Her companions were already on their feet. Carpet bag had waved Macy over who didn't hesitate rushing to her mother's side. Cat glasses edged towards her smarter friend.

Jeannette struggled to her feet with her hand still covering her neck. "She's unhinged. She put a knife to my throat and cut me. I want to call the Sheriff. I want her arrested."

Thoran nodded without taking his eyes off the cloth he dampened with the water bottle Ivelle handed him. "Cyrus, you heard Mrs. Roberts. Call Handley and Mrs. Robert's husband, her father-in-law, and her son."

Jeannette froze. Her brown eyes widened. They flicked from Thoran to Cyrus, then back. "Why would you—?"

"Because they should be here, don't you think? By your accounts, you were gravely injured." Gently, he brought the rag to my injured hands. "They should be here to look after you, and since all three of them work for me, I feel inclined to speak to them personally."

"Jeannette, let it go," carpet bag stressed, shoving Macy towards the door.

"This is ridiculous," Jeannette sputtered, but seemed less sure as her support system started out without her. "Typical!" she croaked before bolting after the pair as if the devil were trying to snatch her soul.

Then it was just the four of us.

"Please leave." Thoran said to Ivelle.

Ivelle hesitated. Her green eyes drifted from me to Thoran, then back. "I can stay," she told me softly. "I have a million things I need to do around here anyway. I'd be just in the back..."

I didn't understand the statement or why she thought she had to stay on my account.

"I think she's worried about you, sweetheart," Thoran murmured, never raising his dark head.

I blinked. "Oh! I'm fine. Thank you, Ivelle."

The other girl glanced at Thoran again. Lingered on Cyrus before facing me once more. "I basically live in this place so if you ever want to finish that tea ... I promise not to let the troll brigade in again."

I offered her a weak smile. "Thank you, and I'm so sorry about the book."

Ivelle glanced over to where the cloth and cardboard cover had soaked up most of the tea. She pursed her lips. Her pain palpable.

"It's ... fine." She groaned a little. "I can probably just air dry it."

"I will pay for the damages," Thoran said, carefully inspecting my palm for stray pieces of glass.

Ivelle waved away the offer. "I think it gives it character. At best, I might put it high on the shelf as a trophy to always remember that look on Jeannette Robert's face. It'll help me get through the next time she comes in."

"You can always ban her," Cyrus offered.

Ivelle barked a laugh. "Ban her high and awfulness? I'd get flogged at dawn. Besides, if I ban Jeannette, Mrs. Walden will forbid Macy from returning and its already hard finding people who want to work in a bookstore."

I frowned. "Why wouldn't anyone want to work at a bookstore? I would think it would be the best place to work."

"I agree!" Ivelle cried, throwing her arms open wide. "It's the most magical place on earth, next to Disneyland. But it's a lot of downtime and dusting, and people want exciting jobs."

I thought that was ridiculous, but what did I know? I'd never worked a day in my life and was raised to never have to. My skills consisted of throwing lavish parties and matching drapes with duvets. I wasn't the person to judge what was exciting.

"What do you want to do, love?" Thoran asked, glancing up at me.

"Sorry?"

He leaned back slightly to meet my gaze more evenly. "It's your store. If you want to ban them, that's your call."

Both Ivelle and I stared at him with matching expressions of surprise, and horror on my part.

"You own Elysium Plains?" Ivelle asked me.

I immediately shook my head, eyes never leaving Thoran's. "I do not. You were not serious about that."

"But I was very serious. This is one of the places my father specifically built for my mother. It belonged to her. After her death, I inherited it. She would want someone who loves books as much as she did to look after it."

Tears blurred him into a smudged outline. "I can't take your mother's bookstore."

Carefully, he turned the hand he was holding over and brushed the back with his lips. "It's already done. It's yours. I'll even bring you here every day to learn the ropes. Consider it my bribe to get you to stay."

My laugh was as wet and shaky as the tears that slipped down my cheeks. "I wasn't going anywhere."

He leaned up and brushed my mouth with his. "Good."

There was a long moment where I could only stare at the man holding every piece of my heart in his hands and I could only marvel at my turn of luck. It was too good to be true.

Too easy.

"So, what's the plan ... boss?" Ivelle hazard, watching me.

I glanced at Thoran to tell me what I was supposed to do, but he merely shrugged and went back to my hands.

"Your call."

My heart was thumping as I tried to do something I had never done before — make a decision. An independent one that didn't involve shoes or clothes, or the swapping of the summer and winter furniture. This was a serious decision. My first as a business owner.

Oh my God! I was a business owner. I owned a business. Maybe not officially yet, but it was mine.

"No, you don't," Thoran murmured when my fingers started their reflexive curling in, nails waiting to anchor into flesh.

I let my fingers relax and took a deep breath.

"Yes," I said at last. Then firmer, "yes, they're banned."

Ivelle squeaked a sound of excitement. "Thank you! I can't wait to tell them when they come in tomorrow for their morning gossip."

I felt myself smile at the sheer bliss on the other girl's face. "I'm sorry you had to put up with them for so long."

Ivelle waved a hand. "That's my job. Most of the other customers are wonderful."

Both hands washed clean of all traces of blood, Thoran looked up. "I need a word with Blue."

Ivelle grimaced and took several steps back. "Sorry. I'll head out." She dug into the pocket of her pale jeans and unearthed a set of keys. She unhooked one of the bigger keys and held it out to me, realized I couldn't take them and held them out to Cyrus instead.

"Won't you need that for tomorrow?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I have three sets. I keep one here in the office. One at home and one on me just in case."

"Are you the manager?"

Ivelle raised a hand and rocked it slowly side to side. "Not officially. Old Man Walker lives upstairs and he runs..." she caught the glance Thoran shot her and quickly shut her lips. "A story for another time."

With a wave, she hurried out of the shop.

"That wasn't necessary," I said. "I really like her."

"Then give her a raise and promote her officially to manager. Right now, my only concern is you. Cyrus."

The other man quickly took a step forward. "Sir?"

"I gave you one job. To look after Blue and make sure she's safe."

"No," I protested. "Please, it was my fault."

Both ignored me.

"I accept my punishment," Cyrus vowed.

"No, Thoran, please," I pleaded. "Please don't. I will take—"

"Oh, we will be discussing your part in this, but he let you get hurt and I will not—"

"He didn't!"

Thoran's head came up, eyes hard chips of amber. "I'm cleaning blood off your hands, Blue. Your blood."

"I would do it again!" I shot back, despite the knot in my chest at the thought of arguing back, but I meant it.

I meant it with an all-encompassing fire that threatened to swallow me whole because the thought of anything happening to Thoran. The very idea of anyone celebrating his death enraged me to the point of madness.

Rage.

I hadn't recognized the feeling when it was building in my stomach at the time, but that must have been what that was.

Rage.

Fury.

That wild insanity that blinded a person to everything, except destroying the thing responsible.

I had never felt rage or anger.

I had never had anything to protect with such a violent passion. But the heat, the sheer weight of my feelings for Thoran left no room for clarity. I cared about him so much it was a physical pain in my chest.

"Cyrus, check the store then wait outside," Thoran said without taking his eyes off me.

I didn't watch the other man go. My whole world was staring back at me and all I wanted was to have his arms around me so I could assure myself he was okay.

"All right, my Little Blue. It's just you and me now."