The Darkest Midnight. R. A. Finley

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      She frowned, considering. She’d had time to reflect on every event in that crazy, hectic time, and she had begun to wonder if they might have met the night before. There had been a man outside Lettie’s home, and Thia had felt a strange pull—she wouldn’t necessarily go so far as to call it attraction, but she had felt drawn to him. And, in the next moment, she had been literally drawn to him when he had grabbed hold and tried to pull her over the picket fence.

      If that had been Cormac in disguise, then he had been entirely un-charming their first meeting. He had, in fact, assaulted her.

      She thought that their eyes might have been similar—that man’s and Cormac’s—but lighting and memory made it difficult to say for sure, and she hadn’t had a chance to ask Cormac about it.

      Not that she could trust him to tell the truth. He had misled (if not lied outright) to her more than a few times. For his benefit, mostly, but not always. It would be easier if she could think of him as entirely selfish. But one of his deceptions had led her to believe that she could pull out the knife that had been stabbed into his gut without risk to his life, and so she used it to cut the ropes that bound her legs.

      But the powers that normally would have enabled him to heal had been taken from him. He could have bled to death—would have if he hadn’t managed to get his powers back. He had put himself in grave danger for her.

      And that hadn’t been the first time.

      Yet in the end, when the battle was over and there was the possibility of something between them, he had left.

      She climbed the stairs to the café, found Abby chatting with Zoe, its manager and chief baker.

      “Hey, Thia,” the latter greeted on her way to the light switches behind the counter. She was small in stature, nearly a foot less than Thia’s five-foot-eight, and prone to bright smiles and quick motions, the better to showcase her collection of Bakelite bracelets.

      “You okay?” Abby looked at Thia with concern.

      Her friend was frequently too perceptive—something that was referred to as both a gift and a curse.

      Thia forced a smile. “Just thinking some things over. How did we do?” she asked Zoe.

      “Great,” the young woman replied, turning off overhead lights. “We had a run on the new biscotti. I took advance orders for a dozen tomorrow.” She tipped her head toward where the café’s deposit pouch lay by Abby’s elbow on the counter.

      “Congratulations,” Thia said. “I’m sorry I missed them.” And she was, too. Zoe was a phenomenal baker.

      “I had one when I came in,” Abby said, taking up the deposit as she stood. “And it was all I could do not to go back for more.”

      “Thanks.” Zoe laughed, held open the door. “It’s the butter.”

      “The chocolate didn’t hurt,” Abby said, going outside.

      “True.”

      Thia stepped past them into the patio. “Save me one tomorrow, would you? And I promise, I’ll be on time.”

      “Like I care what time the boss gets in?” With another laugh, Zoe closed the door, got out her key. The wind ruffled her wispy, white-blonde hair. “I’ll set aside two.”

      “Thanks.”

      While Zoe locked up, Abby walked to the vine-covered arbor of the patio entrance and peered out. Being protective of the store’s deposit pouches, or was it something more? Thia shoved the unsettling thought aside. Tried to, anyway, and went to join her.

      “We’re meeting Kendra at the Landmark for dinner,” she told Zoe. “You’re welcome to join us.”

      “Oh, thanks.” Zoe dropped her key into her vintage clutch began walking toward them. “I’d love to, but I need to pick up a few things for tomorrow’s menu. Plus all those biscotti to bake.”

      “You’re sure?” Abby asked.

      “Yeah. Regrettably.” Zoe exited into the alley.

      Quickly, Thia used the Sight to check that the wards were in place, shimmering just outside the fence. They weren’t easy to see, being the weaker set. Since Eclectica depended upon a high level of traffic, two sets of wards were used. A set of only basic protections, enough to keep out anyone intent on doing harm, was in place one hour before business hours until one hour after, when it switched to a much stronger set.

      Cassie had been specifically warded against. No matter her intent, no matter the time, she couldn’t get through.

      “Have you ever seen our transient?” Zoe asked casually and closed the gate.

      Concentration blown, Thia’s enhanced vision winked out. “Who?”

      “Our what?” Abby looked equally shocked.

      “I think there’s a guy taking shelter back here.” Zoe pointed. “Behind the dumpsters.”

      Abby was already halfway there.

      “No,” Thia called, too late. “Don’t—”

      “He’s not here,” she announced, checking behind.

      “Only in the mornings,” Zoe said. “Really, I don’t think it’s a big deal. He seems harmless—not that I’ve actually seen him. I think he’s too shy to come out.”

      Abby straightened. “We can’t have someone—”

      “I’m not even sure he exists. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was just a feeling I’ve had lately…and the food I’ve been leaving there has been disappearing.”

      “Food?” Thia asked. “You’ve been leaving food?” If someone was sleeping behind the store, that was terrible and something needed to be done to help; but not by facilitating his presence.

      And why there, anyway? When Granite Springs had several very nice shelters and just as many programs to help people get back on their feet, why had he chosen Eclectica?

      “Just leftover food. Mostly.” Zoe bit her lip.

      It was an answer to Thia’s spoken question and maybe the unspoken as well: He could have chosen Eclectica for its kind-hearted café manager.

      “You need to stop that.” Abby used a piece of the chalk she had pulled from her purse to write on the dumpster. “It’s not safe. If he’s here tomorrow, you come get me and we’ll deal with it. There are shelters. Programs,” she said while she chalked. “I’m giving the address of a meals program.”

      Zoe let out an audible breath. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. I wasn’t thinking. Obviously. I don’t know, it just….Never mind. I’m so used to the Usuals”—a reference to the organized panhandlers that congregated along Main Street and by the Shakespeare Festival—“that I didn’t see how this СКАЧАТЬ