10. Maisie

Chapter ten

Maisie

The next day, the bookstore is closed, much to my relief. I don’t have to avoid it just to keep from seeing him.

I’m tired of moping around. I need to recover this vacation somehow and start over—without Barnaby Hallow on the menu.

Feeling determined, I go on a long hike and find my stamina has already improved quite a lot. I make sure to stretch plenty, and my new boots are holding up well. This time, when I reach the squat little peak at the top of the very first hike I did, I’m barely winded. Feeling emboldened by this small success and driven by my fury at Barnaby, I continue on to the next peak.

It’s a difficult trek, and I meet some scree along the trail that makes the way especially treacherous, but I relish the challenge. Making my muscles burn has me feeling strong and powerful. It hurts now, but I’ll emerge on the other side a much better hiker for it. Maybe by the time I’m ready to leave, I could even attempt the highest peak in my tourist brochure, which would take me all the way up to the ski resort and even past it. It’s a seven-mile hike to get to the top of Twilight Peak, while all I can manage right now is two miles each way.

That’s when I decide that will be my goal. I’m going to get to the top of this damned mountain and scream. I’m going to conquer this place before I go home. No matter what happens with the investigation, if I can reach that point high up in the sky, I’ll know that I accomplished something during my time here.

When I reach my destination for today, I pull out the fantasy book I’ve nearly finished. Great. I’m going to have to go back to the bookstore, or crack open that Anne Hadron novel I bought, as boring as it sounds.

After reading for a while under the beating sun, I shove everything back into my pack, sling it over my shoulder, and head down the mountain again. The scree is even more challenging going this direction, but I can tell I’m developing new muscles I never even knew existed. Maybe I’ll go home with ripped legs and a great ass.

When I’m finally back on flat ground, my calf muscles are shot, and I hobble to my car. I stop at the diner on my way and absolutely devour a chicken-fried steak with extra gravy, then I order a piece of cream pie on top of it. I feel like I could eat an entire cow myself.

When I reach the apartment after the streetlights have come on, the bookstore is still closed, dark, and locked up .

Something aches in my chest. I’m trying to stay mad about what happened with Barnaby to cope with how rejected I feel, but deep down, I’m sad, too. I wish I knew what happened so I could have tried to fix it. I wish we could have talked it out instead of Barnaby running from me.

I don’t like how lonely I feel walking up the stairs by myself, knowing I have no one in this town to even call a friend anymore. Perhaps I should try a little harder. Maybe with some outgoing, extrovert energy I could make friends with the sweet faun who works at the diner, or one of the two wolven behind the counter at the coffee shop.

And there’s always the bar, too. I’m not much of a drinker—just a beer here and there—but alcohol makes great social lubricant, and it might embolden me enough to approach a stranger.

Instead of going up to my apartment to work on my video game project, I meander down the block to Killy’s Bar. Just hovering outside the door, I can tell it’s loud inside. The part of me that stays locked up in my apartment most of the day flinches at the idea of going in, but I need to get past that.

I push open the door and step into the noise. The lights are low, and a few people sit at the bar, while others are scattered around at small high-top tables. There are a number of obvious monsters here, from the minotaur, Rick, who helped move my furniture, to a white yeti with blue skin. He’s chatting up a little fairy woman with glittery wings. There are a few humans mixed in. Surely with this variety of people available, I’ll find a conversation partner.

I sit down at an open spot at the bar between the fairy woman and a scruffy blond man sipping a beer. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in weeks, and there are dark spots under his eyes.

“Would you like something to drink?” The bartender approaches me, drying a glass. She would appear human if it weren’t for the actual living snakes on her head, which hiss and move on their own.

“Just a beer. Something light.”

She nods and walks away to pour it. The man next to me remains unmoving, not looking up from his drink.

“Do you live here?” I ask him, since the fairy woman is already engaged in conversation with the yeti.

His eyebrow lifts and his eyes flick over to me.

“Just moved here,” he grunts.

“Gotcha. I’m on vacation.”

He searches me for a moment longer. “Good for you.”

“What brought you here?” I ask. He appears to be human, so I wonder how he ended up in Hallow’s Cove.

“None of your business.” The man turns back to his beer, glowering even more.

“Oookay,” I say, leaning away. So much for making friends. “You don’t need to be rude.”

The man suddenly spins on his stool, and his very hair is bristling. “And you don’t need to be fucking talking to me,” he snaps, eyes wild.

I shrink back in my seat, and his outburst has caught the fairy woman’s attention .

“What’s going on over here?” she says, tilting her head.

“Nothing!” The angry man gets up, and now he’s simply shaking with rage. “Everyone needs to mind their fucking business!”

“Whoa now.” The yeti gets out of his seat, too, holding his hands up. “Chill out, Jeremy.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” the man—Jeremy—roars. “If this woman hadn’t been prying into my business—”

“Calm down.” The yeti puts a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, and the blond man grows even more enraged.

“I’m perfectly calm!” His eyes are blazing.

With a sigh, the yeti grabs him by the arm and tugs him to the entrance to the bar. Jeremy snarls, but some of the fight drains out of him.

“I know this werewolf stuff is all new to you,” the yeti says, “but if you can’t keep it together, you shouldn’t go out.”

Werewolf stuff? I wonder. Perhaps that’s why he’s so out of control.

“I’m doing fine!” Jeremy snarls.

He’s clearly not doing fine, but he follows the yeti out the door, anyway, and it falls closed behind them, leaving me gaping at what a mess I just caused.

The fairy woman turns to me with pity. “Don’t worry. That’s not your fault. That guy... he’s new to town and just had some recent, um, trauma .”

I blink at her. “Oh. That’s too bad.”

“Not that it excuses what he said to you,” she clarifies. “But new werewolves have a hard time at first after they’re turned. ”

A shudder runs down my spine at the thought I might have been in real danger just now. I take a few more sips of my beer before I get up and slap some bills down on the table. I need to get out of here before something else happens.

“You’re leaving?” the bartender asks, her snakes all rising on her head to look at me.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

I flee the bar as fast as I can. So much for making friends.

My legs are horribly sore when I wake up, so I decide to give myself a day off from hiking. But that means finding something else to do, instead. I try not to mope about the bar event last night and decide I’ll give it another shot—maybe somewhere more casual.

By the time I’m finished with my morning coffee, I find the street has been blocked off and vendors are setting up tables along the sidewalks. There’s a sign that reads HALLOW’S COVE STREET FAIR hanging between two lampposts.

Hmm. That’s convenient. Maybe if I’m friendly and outgoing, I could try again today.

Curious, I look around. The diner is putting out a variety of pies, while the flower shop has vases full of gorgeous, sweet-scented arrangements covering the table. Even the coffee shop is setting up a station to serve pour-over coffee and cold-brew coffee. A stall from the Hoffman farm has already set out coolers full of fresh milk and eggs, and I browse the adorable displays they’re putting out about each of their animals.

Then I spot him: in front of the bookstore—and my apartment—Barnaby is slinging a tablecloth over his table. I can’t make out his expression from this far away, but his shoulders are hunched as he unboxes a puzzle and dumps out the pieces.

Making a note to avoid that part of the street fair, I keep walking until I reach the end, and then turn back around.

I’m going to have to go past him if I want to get into my front door, but I’ll delay that as long as possible, even if I’m not pleased with my long sleeves in the growing heat. But after I’ve browsed the entire fair twice, and my hands are sticky from the candy I bought outside the chocolate shop, the sun has risen higher in the sky, and I desperately need to go inside and change.

I watch Barnaby’s table until he’s occupied with some children, and with his head turned, I sneak around the side. But just as I make it to my front door, and safety, he whips around to look at me. His dark eyes catch mine, and his eyebrows rise high on his forehead.

Quickly I shove my key into the doorknob, but the stupid thing is so ancient that it takes a lot of fiddling. I focus on it, trying to pretend that Barnaby isn’t staring at me, but it just won’t fit. Damn it. Today, of all days?

“Let me help.”

After what happened at the bar last night, the unexpected voice over my shoulder scares the living daylights out of me. I leap back from the door, panting, and find Barnaby standing there with his hands up in surrender.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Moving slowly, like he’s trying not to frighten me further, he takes the key in hand and gently wiggles it into the mechanism before turning the knob.

Obediently, the door opens, and I glare at it. So it won’t work for me, but it rolls over dead for the vampire?

“Thanks,” I grind out, endeavoring not to look at him. No, if I look at him, I might get weak for that stern chin and proud nose, the streaks of gray and the dark eyes, and I don’t want Barnaby to know that he hurt me. I don’t want him to see on my face just how sad I am and give him the gratification of knowing he caused it. I flipped him the bird, after all, and made it very clear where we stand with each other.

That’s the final image I want him to have of me.

I push the door open and step in, then try to kick it closed behind me. But it thumps as something stops it.

“Maisie.”

I swing around, wondering what’s in the way, only to find Barnaby has placed his foot in the door to keep it from closing.

“What are you doing?” I snap. “I could have hurt you!”

“No, you couldn’t.”

When I don’t try to close it again, Barnaby withdraws his shoe from the gap.

“What do you want?” I cross my arms. “Don’t you have a booth to run? ”

He glances over his shoulder at the table covered in puzzle pieces, where kids are picking through them, then back at me. “Yes. But this is more important.”

I scowl, but don’t answer. If he’s got something to say, he can say it now.

“Maisie, I’m sorry.”

I frown even deeper. “You said that already. The other night. I get the picture.”

Barnaby pauses and his lips screw up, like he’s tasted something bad. “And I’m sorry for that, too. I shouldn’t have left without explaining myself to you.”

I laugh. “Don’t worry. The message was received.” I reach for the doorknob again to close the door. “Can I go now? I’m sweating like crazy.”

“Not the right message,” he says. “Not the one I should have given you.”

“What does that mean?” I’m not in the mood for guessing games right now.

“It means...” Barnaby trails off, then swallows hard. He looks away from me, down at the floor, before finally steeling himself. “It means that I’m very attracted to you, Maisie. Too much.”

My gaze darts up to his. Those black eyes are focused intently on me.

“You are?” I ask, wondering if I heard him right. Why would he have left the other night if he was actually into me?

“Very much so.” His voice drops lower, deeper. “And sometimes... I cannot control my urges. I was afraid of what I might do to you. ”

As if to demonstrate his point, his sharp white fangs protrude from his lips. He leans closer, and a new prey instinct inside me strongly suggests running away. This is a creature made to kill humans and drink our blood.

But I’m not scared of him. I may not know Barnaby all that well, not yet, but I don’t believe he would hurt me even if he lost control.

He’s far too stoic for that.

“Bullshit.” I grab the door again. “I don’t believe that for a second. Now will you let me go?” I want to get away from him because the scent of his cologne is fucking hot. The top two buttons of his shirt are open, probably to increase airflow in this heat, and the skin underneath is wonderfully pale and smooth. I wonder if he looks like that all over.

I shake my head and try once more to close the door. Barnaby doesn’t stop me.

“Of course I will let you be,” he says, taking a step back. His brows crease. “I just wanted to make sure that you knew that... you’re a beautiful woman. An exquisite conversationalist. You have a bright and curious mind.”

I hover with the door halfway closed. “That’s a lot of compliments.”

“I know. And I mean all of them.”

I peer at him through the gap, still suspicious. “What are you after? Why did you tell me all this?”

Barnaby straightens his vest. “I’d like to start over and try again, if you would let me.”

“Try what again? ”

He fixes a stern, serious gaze on me. “I would like to try wooing you.”

I gape at him. Wooing me? Who uses a word like that?

Besides, I’m already wooed. I’m already stupidly attracted to this man, no additional wooing needed. But I don’t want him to know how pathetic and needy he makes me feel—not to mention how much the idea of him losing control appeals to me.

What would he do? Would he drink from me? Bury those sharp, dagger-like teeth into my throat and suck on me, just the way I’d like him to suck elsewhere on my body?

I am curious what this wooing entails.

“Fine,” I finally say, attempting to keep my excitement in check. “What did you have in mind?”