Chapter 3
The bell above the door jingled as Robbie Cain stepped into The Siren’s Song, a local vintage shop owned by his friend, Jory.
Esther MacLaren stood behind the counter, leaning on her forearms and staring at her phone with one hand while sipping what was undoubtedly an iced coffee through a metal straw.
He stood on the opposite side of the counter, enjoying how quiet the store was, how good it smelled. Jory had worked with a local candlemaker to develop a signature scent for The Siren’s Song.
“Hang on,” Esther said, not looking up. “I’m almost done with this level, and then we can get started.”
Esther and Robbie were taking care of the shop while Jory gallivanted around Scotland with her husband, Callum, Robbie’s best friend and roommate.
The cabin had been so quiet, and Robbie missed him.
It was hard to resent them for taking a long vacation, though.
Not when they’d found each other after nearly nine hundred years apart.
Time was a weird thing when you were friends with vampires and selkies.
Robbie fished into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a tiny, canary yellow creature that looked very much like a dandelion head.
His name was Walter, and he was a Brightling Beetle, a species that Robbie would never have believed existed until he was attacked by one.
Walter belonged to Magda Nutter, an older woman in town who was, at the very least, a powerful witch and, more likely, some sort of minor goddess.
That was one mystery he’d accepted he’d probably never solve.
Magda had asked Robbie to keep Walter for her for a few weeks while she “worked on some projects,” whatever that meant, and hadn’t given him any room to refuse. It wasn’t a hard job, but Robbie couldn’t help but feel like Walter was keeping tabs on him for Magda.
Walter bumbled off of Robbie’s hand and landed on Esther’s wrist, rubbing his tiny face against the thick cable knit of her sweater sleeve.
“Almost done,” Esther said, her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth in concentration. “Almost… Almost… Almost… Okay, done.” She dropped her phone to the counter and looked up. “Fuck. You got bangs.”
Robbie rubbed his hand over his newly shaved head.
“What?”
She tipped her chin at the top of his head and took a long drag from her straw. In her syrupy thick southern accent, she said, “Well, sometimes when a girl is having an emotional crisis and doesn’t have a good group chat, she’ll go get bangs thinking they’ll solve the problem.”
“And do they?” he asked, feeling a blush rising up his neck.
Her laugh was a rifle shot in the otherwise quiet store, the pre-dawn light filtering through the front windows and the antique green glass lamp on the register counter burnishing Esther’s curls to an otherworldly red. “Never.”
She was right, of course. He’d shaved it the night before in a moment of genius that had felt so very inspired.
But it hadn’t made him feel any less anxious than any of the other things he’d tried over the past few weeks.
He’d done yoga—or attempted it, anyway. He’d meditated, done breathing exercises, counted, and “practiced mindfulness,” whatever that meant.
He’d walked. He’d masturbated. He’d abstained.
He’d masturbated some more. He’d even tried crocheting when their friend, Niamh, had suggested that keeping his hands busy might keep his mind busy, too.
It hadn’t worked. He was still anxious but now also in possession of a too-long scarf in a color he hated.
Esther stared at him in that uncanny way of hers.
“What?” he asked, feeling like a bug under a microscope.
She bit her lip and reached for the tarot deck she kept below the counter.
“Don’t,” he blurted.
“But—”
“I don’t wanna know,” he said, dropping to his forearms on the counter and hanging his head.
Esther rubbed her hand over the shaved back of his head. “So soft!”
He smiled in spite of himself. Walter landed clumsily next to Robbie’s hand and nuzzled him. He sighed.
“You can’t keep on like this, you know,” Esther said.
“Like what?” Robbie said, like he didn’t know.
“You look like shit.”
He laughed humorlessly. “Well, don’t sugarcoat it for me, now.”
Esther crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re not sleeping. You’re not eating like you usually do. You never leave your house except to come here, and I know that’s just because you’d feel guilty if you didn’t help.”
“That’s—”
“You’re not okay, Robbie,” she said.
It was a harsh truth, but true nonetheless, and delivered with love. He knew this, even if it made him want to throw something because, goddamnit, he already knew he wasn’t okay. What he didn’t know was how to fix himself.
The doorbell rang again, and Robbie looked sideways to see Hank Dove, Esther’s partner, walk in.
“Hi, babe!” Esther said, her face lighting up as Hank approached.
Esther was tall and yet Hank still towered over her as he slipped an arm around her waist and bent down to kiss her forehead. She beamed. Of course she did. If Hank gave Robbie a forehead kiss, that might actually cure him.
“You forgot your wallet,” Hank said, pulling it out of his coat pocket and setting it down between them.
“I’m not buying anything. You didn’t have to bring it in!” Esther said.
“You drove here without your license,” Hank replied, his deep bass somehow soft sounding. “And what if you had needed something? What if something had happened—” He broke off.
Esther rested her head on Hank’s chest and wrapped her arms as far around his burly waist as they would go.
“You’re right. Thank you for worrying about me.”
“I always worry about you, sweetheart,” he said.
Esther looked at Robbie without lifting her head. “And I worry about him.”
Robbie’s stomach knotted. Hank looked at Robbie for the first time since entering the store. His eyes went wide.
“You got a haircut,” Hank said
“He got bangs,” Esther said.
Robbie groaned at the same time Hank said, “What?”
“Never mind, baby,” Esther said. “But this haircut is a cry for help.”
“I’m going to throw you off a bridge,” Robbie muttered under his breath, and Esther snorted a laugh.
But Hank was all earnestness. “You okay?” he asked, his brow lowered in concern.
“I’m fine,” Robbie said, more out of habit than fact.
“He’s not fine. Look at him,” Esther protested.
“Sweetheart,” Hank warned. She rolled her eyes.
“Give him Nadja’s number, Hank.”
“Who’s Nadja?” Robbie asked, curious. Nadja. He liked that name.
“Nadja Stonebreaker,” Hank said. “She’s my therapist.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I want to go to therapy.”
Hank nodded. “I didn’t want to go either. But it’s really helped me.”
“He’s going,” Esther said to Hank, before Robbie had a chance to reply. She turned to look at him. “You’re going.”
“I don’t think therapy is gonna help me, Red,” Robbie said. “I’m not anxious about any one thing. I’m not talking about my mom, and I never knew my dad. So I don’t know what we’d talk about.”
Esther’s eye roll was seismic. She reached across the counter and plucked his phone out of his pocket and had it unlocked in seconds.
“Can you share her contact with Robbie, honey?”
Hank sighed gustily but pulled out his own phone. Moments later, Robbie’s phone vibrated in Esther’s hands, and she clicked a few times before handing it back.
“There. I added her number to your contacts. I’m not calling to schedule your appointment because I’m not your mom. But I will hound you relentlessly—and I do mean relentlessly—until you do. I’ll be in your ear fifty times a day. I’ll be the biggest pain in your ass.”
“I’ll just block you.”
“No, you won’t. Callum may be your best friend, but we all know I’m a close second.”
He knew she was right. He also knew that she would do it, too. He would get no peace until he called.
Hank cleared his throat. “Nadja replies to texts,” he offered.
“Thank you, Hank,” Robbie said dramatically. “That was actually helpful. Take notes, you shrieking harpy.”
“Shrieking Harpy is my job title on my business card,” Esther shot back with a smile.
Robbie fought his own grin. But he clicked on the contact for Nadja Stonebreaker and opened a text message.
My name is Robbie Cain. I got your information from Hank Dove. He says you might be able to help me with some anxiety I’ve been having.
He turned the phone around and showed Esther. “There. Happy?”
“Deliriously,” she said, leaning back against Hank, who wrapped his arms around her shoulders and chest, holding her close.
The phone vibrated in his hand, and he flipped it to see that she’d replied.
I actually have an opening tomorrow morning. Does 10AM work for you?
Robbie swallowed against the lump in his throat, the panic rising higher and higher. He could feel his breathing get shallow.
He closed his eyes. Something rustled in the background, and then he smelled Esther.
Peppermint and rosemary from her shampoo.
Baby powder from her deodorant. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her for a hug.
They were nearly the same height, so it was nothing for him to rest his chin on her shoulder and let her hold him.
He wrapped his own arms around her and held on tightly.
“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.
“How do you know that?”
“I’m psychic, remember?” She squeezed him tighter. “Trust me.”
“If you say so,” he said, doubtful.
“But before it’s going to be okay, it’s going to get worse. Because we have to do inventory today.”