23. Chapter 23
Chapter 23
Cedric
F ive hours later, four and a half of which included various stages of Myrta complaining about my cleaning technique (which was more efficient than any of said complaining), the shop looks somewhat back to normal.
I suggested it stayed closed, at least until we were done with cleaning up the utter chaos the floors and entrance were in, but Myrta was adamant her customers didn’t care about, and I quote, ‘a bit of a mess ’.
Since I wasn’t the only one unable to get a wink of sleep, Delilah’s dead on her feet as she swipes the counter, locks of hair escaping the braid she’s put her hair in.
“You need to rest,” I tell her.
“I’m not that tired,” she says, a yawn immediately betraying her. I shoot her a look, and she puts her hands up in surrender. “Okay, I’m a little tired, but my shift ends in two hours. I can resist for two hours.”
“Let me cover for you,” I say, knowing damn well she’s going to refuse.
She puts the cloth down and walks closer, unexpectedly taking my face in her hands.
“Stop being so nice,” she says with a small smile. “You’re going to spoil me for anyone else.”
I don’t mean to, but I can feel my entire face falling at those words. She must see it, because she scrambles to say, “I didn’t–that’s now what I meant. Gosh, maybe you’re right. I’m rambling more than usual.” She lets go of me abruptly, her eyebrows furrowing.
I swallow, overcome with an emotion I can’t be bothered to name, and I clear my throat before saying, “It’s alright.”
Is it?
“If you’re sure, then, I’ll go talk with Myrta,” I add.
“About the plant supply?”
“Right,” I nearly sigh. I thought it would be exceptionally easy, being dishonest about my reason for being here–if anything, because I’m doing it for Marcus’s sake. Of course, I couldn’t have anticipated meeting someone like Delilah.
She nods, biting her lip. “You don’t have to wait for me when you’re done,” she says .
I can’t gauge her tone, and because I feel confused by everything that’s happened in the past twelve hours, and overall tired, too, I nod. “Alright then.”
I retrieve my blazer from Myrta’s office as I take a seat in the uncomfortable chair facing hers, and wait for her to walk me through updates on the arrangements she’s been helping make for my brother’s impending move.
Delilah
When my shift is done, Cedric is nowhere in sight.
Which is fine, since it’s exactly what I told him to do. Maybe some time apart will do us good–though the prospect makes me entirely miserable, and that’s not a good sign.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do?” I ask Myrta, whose eyes are narrowed on a stack of documents. Before working here, I had no idea how much paperwork a flower shop requires, though I know Myrta owns a lot of properties in Fern Port. Maybe that’s what it’s all about.
“No,” she drawls without looking at me. “Sit. There’s something else we should discuss.”
She’s going to fire me. I can feel it. It’s only fair, after all; I’ve wrecked true havoc last night.
“I’ll pay you back for the door,” I say, again , because it’s the least I could do. “Keep my paycheck for this month? I have no idea how much it–”
“Sit,” she repeats, mildly annoyed.
I do as asked, hands in my lap, ready for the blow. I wonder if the bakery could use some help. Maybe I could ask the hardware store, too? I doubt they’d let me wear my dresses, but at least –
“Someone will be coming to town soon,” Myrta says, interrupting my thoughts.
“Uhm… what?”
“Did you hit your head while you were busy trashing my shop?” she asks dispassionately, and I cringe at the blurry memories. “Someone is moving here.”
“I’m sorry, did you not want to talk about letting me off?”
“Believe it or not, you’re not the worst option around here,” she says, resting her brown-gray mane of hair against the headrest.
I should be offended, but after what I did, I can’t find it in me to feel anything except tired and ashamed.
“Thank you?” I say dumbly, because ‘I don’t understand your thought process’ doesn’t seem polite. “So, this person who is moving here, what do they have to do with me?”
“The young man is like you. I suppose not like you , but… not entirely human.”
“Not human?”
“That’s right.”
“So what is he? Why are you telling me this? Have I been made head of the supernatural welcoming committee?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, as if the notion of supernatural beings wasn’t ridiculous enough. Will I ever get used to this being my actual life? I wish I had even a quarter of Myrta’s aloofness sometimes.
“He’s a dhampir. Are you familiar with that?”
I am, for the most part. Willingly or not, I have absorbed a lot of information about vampires from Faye. Dhampirs are supposed to be half human and half vampire. They are less dangerous to people, they can be in the sunlight for some time and don’t need human blood to survive.
Not every day, at least .
Even so, a shudder crawls up my spine, and an odd sense of guilt and worry gnaws at me. What right do I have to be afraid?
“I’m sorry to be repetitive, but… is there a reason you’re telling me this?”
“I thought I would give you a warning.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary, but–”
“To avoid incidents.”
“Incidents?” I repeat. “What, like we’re going to fight over who gets to kill who?” I ask, my heartbeat increasing, my temper suddenly getting the best of me. I’m never angry. Not toward other people. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating.
“I did not–”
“That’s not what– who I am, Myrta, I thought you knew that.”
“Even still, child. I am doing you a courtesy.”
I shake my head, taking a deep breath to calm myself. I can’t afford to lose control, certainly not after what happened last night. I clench my fists, bunching the fabric of my dress. Breathe, Lila.
“What’s his name, then?” I ask, focusing on a different detail.
“That is not for me to disclose,” she says, tapping her forehead with one sharp nail.
“I’m going to inevitably find out when he gets here, right? Why should I be made aware that he’s coming, but not what his name is?”
Myrta gives me a long look, eyebrows low. Aka, this conversation is over. Aka, I only get the answers she wants to give me. I rise with another breath, smoothing the creases in my dress.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say with a nod, forcing a smile.
“Delilah?” Myrta calls when I’m almost out her office’s door .
“Yes?”
“I know exactly who you are,” she says, and maybe for the first time since I’ve met her, there’s something like compassion in her voice. “We all do.”