Chapter 12 #2
Vale stopped outside a doorway and gestured for me to enter first. I half expected a bucket of pig’s blood to empty on me as I crossed the threshold.
For as large as the library was, the room was surprisingly cozy. There were multiple upholstered lounge chairs and settees plump with colorful cushions. The bookshelves were floor to ceiling and packed with leather-bound volumes.
“No mass market paperbacks?” I asked.
“I prefer hardcovers. More durable.”
“You know they make special editions with sprayed edges now. The colors would really pop on these shelves.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.” He waved a hand. “Sit anywhere you like.”
I chose a deep purple chair and sank into it. I felt like I was being slowly digested by a giant Muppet. I struggled to sit upright.
“Your home is nice,” I said, pushing my tailbone to the back seam of the chair.
“Nice,” Vale repeated without any intonation. He sat in the brown leather club chair and looked far more at ease. To be fair, it was his library; he knew which chairs didn’t make him look like Muppet food.
“And cozy,” I added.
“You make it sound like a blanket.”
“Nothing wrong with that, unless it’s wet.”
He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I think you’ve been on that island too long.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’ve forgotten how to have a normal conversation.”
“We’re here to discuss the murder of a mermaid and a werewolf. Is that normal to you?”
“We’re not discussing them right now.” He motioned between us. “This is considered small talk. Your skills in that particular department seem rusty.”
You can’t forget a skill you never had. Not a lot of small talk was necessary in my previous line of work. In fact, the less talk, the better my chances of survival .
“I said your house is nice and cozy. What more would you like me to say?” The sooner I finished kissing his ring, or whatever the hell he hoped to accomplish with this summoning, the sooner I could escape to Evermore. The mainland was making me twitchy.
“Never mind,” he said. “I know it’s early. Before we get started, can I offer you any breakfast? An omelet or a pastry?”
Sounded like Vale had lots of practice cooking for overnight guests. I wouldn’t blame a girl for staying the night. The house and its owner were equally alluring, not that I was in the market for either one.
“I’ll take coffee if you have it,” I replied.
I expected Vale to snap his fingers and summon a servant—he seemed the type.
Instead, he stood and walked to a bookcase.
He pressed a button and the bookcase swung open, revealing a recessed bar that also included an espresso machine, a French press, and a variety of other caffeine-related items. When I was younger, I’d loved the idea of a secret door in a library, but this was so much better.
“I can make anything you like, really. Cappuccino. Cortado. Any preference?”
“Coffee is fine, thanks.”
“Cream and sugar?”
“A teaspoon of each.”
“I appreciate a woman who knows what she likes.” He opened the mini fridge below and retrieved a small bottle of cream.
While his back was still turned, I let myself gape at the luxurious setup.
The library was already impressive without the hidden bar, but this moved the room straight to my top ten all-time favorites.
Not that I would tell Vale. I had a feeling he was well aware of his good fortune .
My host crossed the room and set an oversized mug on the small table beside me, then reclaimed his leather chair.
“Here’s what I know about the investigation so far,” he said, then proceeded to rattle off every detail I’d shared with Justine, including the missing fate-thread. Traitor. “Did I miss anything?”
“No.” I excluded the tidbits about my nighttime intruder and the woodland scents. I still wasn’t sure how to interpret either one. Could be completely unrelated.
Vale stared at my face like he was memorizing each and every feature.
“What?” I prompted.
“I can’t tell if you’re being truthful.”
“You invite a guest into your home and accuse them of lying? Looks like I’m not the only one who needs to brush up on my conversational skills.”
“I can usually tell definitely one way or another,” he said. “With you—I can’t tell. It’s disconcerting.”
“That’s a big word. Did you learn it in one of these books?”
“I learned it from my father. He had an extensive vocabulary.”
“Was he a teacher?”
“He liked to think so.”
Father-son friction. A tale as old as time. I was tempted to pry, but I knew that would only lead to reciprocal answers, so I sipped my coffee and moved on. “How old is this house?”
“1892. Only considered old by American standards.”
He could say that again. The U.S. was still in its infancy. “I take it you didn’t grow up here.”
“What gave me away?”
“No Southern drawl, for starters. ”
“I was going to say the same about you.”
“No. I’m also a transplant.” I enjoyed another mouthful of liquid gold. I hated how good it tasted. No doubt Vale was one of those blessed people with a Midas touch. Life was so unfair. “How long have you been the Protector of the Region?”
“Longer than I’d like.”
An interesting admission. Was he letting his guard down, or simply trying to lower mine? “What interest do you have in Evermore?”
“You mean aside from the murder of two of its residents?”
“Why not let the matter be handled internally? Save yourself the trouble.”
“I would have, except for the mermaid’s fate-thread. That fact puts it squarely in my jurisdiction.”
His tone caught my attention. “You sound frustrated.”
“I had no plans to become a Protector,” he admitted. “Unfortunately life doesn’t always play by our rules.”
“No, it doesn’t.” I knew that firsthand.
“The more time I spent here, though, the more I sensed the old magic that Savannah has to offer. There’s plenty of ancient power to draw from, if that sort of thing interests you.”
“I prefer my power neat.”
He smiled. “Better than shaken or on the rocks.”
I rose to my feet. “Mind if I admire your collection of books up close?”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
I walked to the nearest set of books and began to explore the spines. Ancient waterways. Maps of Mesopotamia. Theogony of Enlil.
“See anything of interest? ”
My blood ran cold. These weren’t simply library books. They were family history.
Crap on a cracker. Vale was a demigod.
I tugged a book from the shelf and thumbed to the relevant chapter. “You must be one of the Seven Sons of Enmesharra.”
“Incorrect.”
My head jerked up. “This seat has been owned by Enmesharra’s family since its inception.”
“True, but Enmesharra had eight sons.” Vale crossed the room to join me at the bookshelf. “Ten years ago, his seventh son died unexpectedly.”
“Which is when you were forced to take his seat.”
Vale nodded. “Like I said, I had no plans to become a Protector. I’d been living a quiet life out of the spotlight.”
A demigod who wasn’t given a choice. I could relate.
“Did your brothers know you existed?”
“Yes, but not all of them believed I was legitimate.”
Laughing, I slid the book back on the shelf. “Who would risk claiming to be the son of Enmesharra?”
“How much do you know about my father?”
Enough to know the primordial god wasn’t someone you wanted to be associated with if you could help it. “Not much,” I told Vale. There’d be no reason for a half Gorgon, half mage to know anything about Enmesharra. I noticed Vale’s scrutiny again. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
I pointed to the spot between his eyebrows. “Like I’m speaking in a language you don’t understand.”
The Wrinkles of Bewilderment smoothed. “You’ve confused me.”
“The investigation? ”
“No, you. Miss Maya August. I have a particular set of skills, but with you they don’t seem to work.”
Oh. “Not to worry, Vale. I’m sure most men and women find you charming. I’m just not in the market to be seduced.”
He cocked his head. “Now I’m truly baffled. You think I’m hitting on you?”
Okay, apparently I misunderstood. Now we were both confused.
“It’s your aura, for lack of a better word.” The Wrinkles of Bewilderment returned, this time with more intensity. “Why can’t I read you?”
“Because I’m not one of your library books.”
“Do you wear any enchanted jewelry? Maybe somebody put a protective spell on you?”
Right. Now he was wading into dangerous territory. “My father was a mage,” I said, as though my parentage explained it. I hoped my casual sidestepping of the question didn’t trigger more curiosity.
Vale contemplated me for another moment, then switched gears. “You must be hungry. If you won’t eat from my kitchen, at least allow me to take you somewhere local.”
“What makes you think I won’t eat from your kitchen?”
“You don’t trust me. I take no offense. In your shoes, I’d feel the same.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he was right—I was hungry, and I didn’t trust him. Apparently, he could read me better than he gave himself credit for. “How far is this place?”
“Not even two blocks. The Mad Harriet.”
Good name. I liked it already.
The Mad Harriet was channeling its inner Wonderland.
The front door was designed to resemble a looking glass.
As we entered, my eyes were dazzled by the bright pinks, greens, and yellows that dominated the small but charming space.
The black-and-white checkered floor had a dizzying effect. I loved the whole vibe.
I practically sprinted to the counter to ogle the selection of pastries. Tea cakes. Scones. Cornbread. I was hungry enough to order the entire shelf.
“Good morning, Vale.” A woman emerged from a back room wearing a pastel pink taffeta dress with a puffy knee-length skirt that offset her midnight skin. Her dark hair was styled in Bantu knots.
Vale greeted her with a warm smile. “Maya August, meet Harriet Jefferson.”
I didn’t need to shake her hand to sense her magic. “Nice to meet you, Harriet. I take it this is your place.”
“Sure is. All the teas are my own custom brews.”