Chapter 9 #2
He grinned. “Look at you. Hair’s all shiny.”
“Don’t make fun,” I said, even though I knew he wasn’t. “That was the closest I’ve come to dying.”
He shook his head, set his coffee down, and poured a second mug—mine, already doctored the way I liked it. He slid it across the counter. I took it, warm between my hands, and tried not to let my heart show on my face.
“Eat something else?” he asked. “I made extra toast.”
I sat at the table, folded my hands around the mug, and nodded. “Yes, please.”
He set a fresh plate in front of me. Toasted bread, buttered to perfection with just the right amount of strawberry jelly sat on top of it. I bit into it and closed my eyes, letting the taste anchor me.
We sat in companionable silence for a minute. I could feel him watching me, waiting for the right moment to bring up the thing I least wanted to talk about.
“You want to tell me what you were thinking last night?” He asked, voice low.
I took another bite, chewed slow. “About the bar?”
He nodded.
I set my fork down and tried to remember the moment it had all gone sideways. “I just wanted to feel… normal,” I said. “Like everyone else. Not the weird girl with the haunted past. Just a person who could laugh and dance and drink a little too much and maybe get hit on, but in a fun way.”
He nodded, but the lines around his eyes deepened. “You know why I was mad, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Because I scared you.”
He let out a huff. “Not the word I’d use, but close enough.” He ran his hand over his mouth, then looked me dead in the eye. “You’re not just the weird girl, Aspen. You’re a target.”
I wanted to protest, but the memory of the man in the bar—his hands, the way he looked at me like I was something to be owned—killed the urge. I stared at my plate, appetite gone.
Papa reached across the table, curled his hand around my wrist. “I’m not saying you can’t go out, or that you have to change. But I need you to promise me something.”
I nodded, eyes stinging. “What?”
“Don’t go alone. Not for a while.” His grip was gentle, but there was steel in his voice. “Let us keep you safe, at least until we figure out what’s really going on.”
I nodded, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat. “Okay.”
He squeezed my wrist and then let go. “Good girl.”
Warmth spread through me, chasing away the shame. It was nice, I realized, to have someone care enough to scold you. Not because they wanted to control you, but because they gave a damn if you made it to tomorrow.
He leaned back, expression softening. “Now. First thing. Who is Oscar?”
I froze mid-sip. “Oscar? I mentioned Oscar?”
“Yeah, you did. Said he was your prairie dog friend.”
I needed to tell him. He’s not a secret after all.
“Oscar is my familiar. He showed up after the weird dream when the book heated up. He said the book called him. He’s here for me. To help me.”
Papa stared at me for a second. “Can I meet him?”
Just like that, Oscar was sitting on the kitchen counter. Only this time, the little sucker spoke out loud. “Oscar B. Wilde, at your service.” He gave a small bow.
Papa startled and then gave him a nod. “Good to meet you.”
He returned his attention to me. “Now, you tell me about the guy in the green jacket.”
The shift was abrupt, but I was grateful for it.
I rolled my mug between my palms and tried to summon every detail.
“He came in right before close. Didn’t say anything, just stared at me.
He had these… I don’t know, dead eyes. He bought a scone and paid in coins.
Then he sat in the corner for almost an hour, watching me. ”
“Did he eat?”
I shook my head. “Never even touched it. When he left, he left the scone on the table, but the bag had a symbol drawn on it.”
Papa straightened. “Describe the symbol.”
I closed my eyes, trying to picture it. “It was a triangle, I think. Maybe a stripe through it? Or dots inside?” I opened my eyes, frustration rising. “I threw it out without even thinking. I should have paid more attention.”
He nodded, not judging. “Triangle with a stripe, or dots. Anything else?”
I shook my head. “That’s all I remember.”
He drummed his fingers on the table. “You said he looked at you like he knew you. Not like a customer. More like…?”
“Like he was studying me,” I said, the words coming out cold. “Like I was a puzzle or something. I didn’t really notice it at the time, just that he was odd. I had a bunch of other people here.”
He nodded, accepting it.
“You think it’s a witch thing?” I asked, voice small.
Papa stared out the window, jaw tight. “More like it’s a hunting thing, that’s for damn sure. Could be witch, could be demon, could be something else. But the fact that he left a symbol means he wanted you to see it.”
Oscar spoke up. “I agree with Big Papa. I believe he is associated with whoever is hunting you. I don’t know if he is aware. His eyes seemed empty. He may be under someone else’s control.”
I shivered, hugging my arms around myself. “What does it mean?”
He shrugged, but there was nothing casual about it. “Not sure yet. But we’ll find out.”
I looked at him, searching for the part of the conversation where he’d say something reassuring, or promise it would all be okay. He didn’t. He just kept his gaze on mine, steady and unbreakable.
“You’re not alone,” he said. “We’ll figure this out together.”
Something loosened inside me; a knot I hadn’t even realized was there. “Thank you,” I whispered.
He gave me a half-smile, the kind that creased the scar on his cheek. “You’re welcome.”
We finished in silence, but it was the good kind, like a peace treaty between two people who’d finally admitted they needed each other.
After the dishes were cleared, he poured another round of coffee and set his mug down with a deliberate thump. “We need to figure out that symbol.”
My heart lurched. “You think that will tell us who is stalking me?”
“I think it will tell us something more than we know right now.”
He looked at Oscar. “You have any ideas?”
Oscar shook his head. “Sadly, I do not. I didn’t know about it until after she had thrown it away. And what she has described doesn’t sound familiar to me.”
He grinned, all wolf. “Well, you’ve got an entire pack behind you now. And I know someone who’s very good at finding the answers people don’t want found.”
I blinked, surprised. “You do?”
He nodded. “Wrecker and his mate, Parker. She’s a tech genius, best hacker in the county. If anyone can figure out what that triangle means, it’s her.”
My stomach flipped. “You really think she can help?”
He looked confident. “If anyone can it’s her. But you’ll have to tell her everything you know.”
I nodded, heart pounding. “Okay.”
Papa finished his coffee, then stood and stretched, all six-foot-five of him filling the little kitchen. “Get your coat,” he said. “We’ll head over there in ten.”
I watched him move around the apartment, cleaning up. He never stopped moving, as if he were afraid the universe would catch up if he stood still too long.
But when he came over, coat in hand, he stopped in front of me and bent down so we were eye to eye.
“You did good today,” he said, voice low. “I’m proud of you.”
I just smiled, and let the warmth of his words carry me into whatever came next.
The drive out to pack land was oddly soothing.
The road wound away from town and into a wide sweep of prairie, then dipped through a patch of winter-brown woods, the sun flickering through bare branches and some evergreens like a strobe.
Papa kept his hand resting on my knee, thumb tracing slow circles while he hummed along to the radio.
I could have spent the whole day in that truck, just listening to his deep, steady breathing and the rumble of the tires on the old caliche road.
But then the houses started to pop up—one after another, each one a little different but all with the same look: strong, practical, but built for family.
We pulled into the drive of a pale blue ranch with a big porch and a battered mailbox in the shape of a motorcycle.
There was a big Harley and a fabulous sports car parked out front, shining in the winter sun.
We got out, boots crunching on the gravel, and I had just enough time to smooth my skirt before the front door opened and a woman stepped out, propping her hands on her hips.
She was shorter than me, with a compact, athletic build and the kind of presence that made her seem taller.
Her hair was spiked short, brunette with streaks of pink, and one side was buzzed close to the scalp.
Her eyes were a blue so blue they looked like someone had Photoshopped them.
She wore black joggers and a t-shirt that said, “Nerd? I prefer the term Intellectual Badass.”
She smiled wide and a little wicked. “You brought the bakery girl! Knew it.”
Papa put his hand on my shoulder, like he was introducing me at a debutante ball. “Aspen, meet Parker. Parker, this is my friend Aspen.”
She yanked the screen door open and ushered us inside.
The house was warm and smelled like toasted bagels and cedar.
The great room boasted a large sectional that sat in front of a grand fireplace that had a giant TV mounted on the wall above it.
A wall of bookshelves anchored the opposite wall.
There were piles of books everywhere: romance novels, code manuals, ancient histories, thrillers with bright, torn covers. I felt at home instantly.
I was about to say something when a dog bounded out of the back room—a shaggy Yorkie mix, compact, with one ear up and the other flopped over like a soggy taco shell.
He skidded to a stop in front of us and gave a little yip.
I crouched down, and he licked my hand, tail whipping so hard it thudded against the wall.
“That’s Rocket,” Parker said, fondness softening her voice. “Ugliest dog in the world, but he’s family.”