Chapter 40 #2
Her entire body language shifted. The bitterness and hostility I’d seen every time I was in that house disappeared. Something softer took its place. Eager. Almost nervous.
Like she knew him. Like she’d been waiting for him.
The man reached the booth and stopped.
His eyes went to Lettie’s mother first. A smile. Small. Private. The kind of smile that said they had history.
She smiled back.
I’d never seen her smile. Not once. Not at Lettie. Not at anyone.
But she smiled at him.
And then she stood.
Stood up from that chair without complaint. Without needing help. Like she’d been doing it all along.
Lettie’s hands stilled on the jar she was holding.
I felt the shift in her body before I saw her face. The tension that had been coiling tighter all morning suddenly released. Not into fear. Into recognition.
“Oh,” she breathed. Quiet. Almost to herself.
My hand found Lettie’s back. Instinct. Possession. Warning.
But she didn’t tense. Didn’t pull away.
She exhaled. Long and slow. Like she’d been holding her breath for days and finally remembered how to let it out.
“Zander,” she said. Her voice was steady. Almost relieved.
The man turned to her. His smile widened. Friendly. Warm. The kind of smile that belonged to a man who sold insurance or coached little league.
“Violet,” he said. “Good to see you again.”
“You too.” She set the jar down carefully. “It’s been a year.”
“Has it?” He glanced around the booth. “Time flies. Your products look wonderful as always.”
“Thank you.” She gestured to the display. “Same lavender salve you liked last time. And I added a new chamomile blend if you’re interested.”
“I’ll take both.” He pulled out his wallet. “Best salve I’ve ever tried. Worked better than anything the doctor prescribed.”
Lettie smiled. Genuine. The kind of smile she gave customers who appreciated her work. “I’m glad it helped.”
I watched the exchange. Watched Lettie relax into the familiar rhythm of a sale. Watched her mother stand beside Zander with that soft, eager expression.
And every instinct I had screamed danger.
Not loud. Not obvious.
Quiet. The kind of danger that wore a friendly face and waited for the right moment to strike.
Zander’s eyes flicked to me. Brief. Assessing. Then back to Lettie.
“This your boyfriend?” he asked. Casual. Polite.
“Yes.” Lettie’s hand found mine where it rested against her back. She squeezed it once. “This is Hades.”
“Nice to meet you, Hades.” Zander extended his hand.
I took it his hand. He had a firm grip—not aggressive, just confident.
“Zander,” he said.
“Zander.” I released his hand but kept my body angled between him and Lettie. Subtle. But deliberate.
He noticed. I saw it in the way his smile tightened at the corners. The way his eyes flicked to the patch on my cut.
“Well.” He turned back to Lettie. “I should let you get back to your other customers. But it was good seeing you again, Violet.”
“You too.”
He paid for the products. Lettie wrapped them carefully and handed them over. Professional. Friendly. Nothing unusual.
Then Zander moved to the edge of the booth where Lettie’s mother sat. He leaned down slightly, saying something quiet. Her entire face transformed with a soft, eager smile.
She stood again, and they spoke in low voices. Too quiet for me to hear over the festival noise. But I watched the way her hands twisted together. Nervous. Excited. The way she leaned toward him like he was the only person who mattered.
Lettie exhaled beside me. This time it sounded like frustration.
“That’s why,” she muttered.
“Why what?” I kept my voice quiet.
“Why she’s been acting strange.” Lettie turned to face me, eyes bright with anger. Not fear but anger. “It’s him,” she hissed. Her voice dropped even lower. “Every year she transforms into someone I barely recognize. Now I know why.”
“You know him?” I asked.
“Not really.” Lettie shook her head. “He comes every year. Buys products. Makes small talk. I never thought...” Her words trailed off as she looked at her mother, jaw tightening. “The change only happens when he’s here. One week a year. Because of him.”
I watched the pieces click into place for her. Saw the relief and fury war across her face.
Relief that the strangeness had an explanation.
Fury that the explanation was a man.
“She’s pleasant for him,” Lettie said, her voice flat. Cold. “She gets dressed. Leaves her room. Smiles. For him. Not for me. Never for me. But for some man who shows up once a year.”
I pulled out my phone and texted Zeus.
Need you at the festival. Now.
His response came immediately.
On our way.
“Brock?” Lettie’s hand found my arm. “He’s harmless. I promise. Just a customer who makes my mother act human for one week.”
“Want to make sure he’s just a customer.”
“He is.” But she didn’t sound certain anymore. “Isn’t he?”
I watched Zander step back from her mother. Watched him glance toward the booth. Toward Lettie.
His eyes found mine across the distance.
And he smiled.
Not friendly. Not warm.
Knowing.
Like he’d been expecting me to be watching. Like this was all part of some plan I couldn’t see yet.
Then he turned and walked away. Slow and casual, he disappeared into the crowd like he’d never been there at all.
Lettie’s mother sat back down in her chair. That soft expression faded, replaced by something harder. Satisfied.
Like she’d accomplished exactly what she’d come here to do.
I spotted Rykard and Apollo cutting through the crowd from the north side—Apollo in his wheelchair, Rykard pushing with single-minded focus. Both heading straight for the booth.
My body wanted to follow Zander. Track that knowing smile, corner him somewhere quiet, and find out what the fuck he thought he was playing at.
But backup was arriving.
And Lettie was here.
Unprotected.
I made the only choice I could. My arm wrapped around Lettie’s waist, pulling her close. Keeping her grounded. Keeping her mine. I kept my eyes on Rykard and Apollo as they approached, but my body locked around Lettie like a cage.
Rykard was supposed to meet her naturally today.
Assess her, watch her, figure out if Apollo’s theory held any weight.
Establish if she was Colette. If she was the child they’d been searching for since she was almost two years old.
The weight of that reality pressed down on me like something physical, because I needed Rykard here for the Zander threat, but I also knew what he was really doing.
And I wasn’t ready to let her go.
Not to them.
Not to anyone.