Chapter Four
That afternoon, I moved my things from my parents’ house to the one on Snapdragon Drive that now—apparently—belonged to me. The envelope was tucked safely into my bag, the key already on my keyring, cold and solid against my fingers whenever I reached for my car keys.
My mother had gone from icy to permafrost in record time. Every look said how dare you be the one Alice chose even though I hadn’t asked for any of this. Gladys had all but stopped speaking to me, which made lugging my luggage past her a special kind of awkward.
Willow padded after me from room to room, tail high, as if personally overseeing the relocation. I hadn’t set foot back in the greenhouse since meeting Tani. I wasn’t sure if I was avoiding the fairy, the truth, or both.
It was… not what I’d expected from the girl who looked like she fronted a goth band.
Running the shop was easier than I thought it would be—phone orders, walk-ins, sympathy arrangements, birthday bouquets.
I learned how to work the temperamental cooler, how to place rush orders, how not to murder delicate blooms with too much water.
The work was steady, my hands were always busy, and for the first time since Manhattan imploded, my brain had something to focus on besides failure.
Not that I had a choice. This was my life now, at least for the foreseeable future. Florist. Small-town business owner.
Every customer seemed to remember me. Hickory Hollow never forgot anyone. There were the inevitable questions.
What are you doing back in town, Piper?
Why didn’t your mama get the shop?
Why didn’t Iris?
You gonna stay?
I smiled, deflected, lied by omission. Just helping out… Still figuring things out… We’ll see. No way was I unpacking the “your aunt might have been murdered” part of my life over credit card receipts.
By the third day, Rylyn declared me “mostly competent” and took a hard-won day off. I opened alone, answered the phone without panicking, filled two orders for anniversary arrangements, and even managed not to maim any roses.
Late morning, when there was finally a lull, I grabbed a watering can, filled it, and stepped outside to tend the blue roses spilling from the long window box. I’d ditched the heels for flat leather sandals and rolled the sleeves of my linen blouse, the fabric already clinging in the Texas heat.
The sun beat down on my shoulders like it had a personal grudge. It wasn’t even noon, and the pavement shimmered like a mirage.
I tipped the can, watching the water darken the soil. The simple, repetitive motion was weirdly soothing—until a shadow crossed the street.
My heart did a ridiculous little hop.
Owen McAllister crossed from the antique store, hands in his pockets, the morning sun haloing his messy hair. He smiled, slow and easy, and the hop in my chest turned into a full-on dance.
His shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows like he was ready to pitch in if I asked. Faded jeans. Scuffed work boots. Nothing tailored, nothing precious. He looked like someone who knew how to fix things instead of billing by the hour.
He was the opposite of Wall Street polish—and I found, to my surprise, that I liked this far better. Especially on him.
“Morning,” he called. “Aren’t you giving those a bit too much water?”
I jerked my attention back to the window box. Water was spilling out the bottom and running over the lip like a tiny waterfall. I yanked the can upright.
“Great,” I muttered.
He stopped a few feet away, all rumpled good looks and stubble and unfairly broad shoulders. Up close, he smelled faintly of soap and sun-warmed cotton, like he’d stepped out of the day instead of a boardroom.
“First day alone?”
“Yes.” That came out way too bright. I tightened my grip on the can.
“How’s the house?” he asked.
I shifted, suddenly aware of sweat trickling down my spine and the fact that my hair was probably doing something tragic in this humidity. Small talk. He wanted small talk. Why did small talk with him feel like an oral exam?
“How’d you know I moved in?” I asked.
He tipped his head, amused. “Everyone knows. Small town, remember?”
Right. Hickory Hollow. Where privacy went to die.
He nodded at the planter again. “You only need to dampen the soil. If the water’s running off, you’re drowning them.”
“How do you know that?” I challenged.
He shrugged, unbothered. “I’m no florist, but I do a little gardening. Light gardening,” he added, flashing that grin that made my stupid knees consider giving out.
He was drawing me in without even trying. I hated that. I hated that I liked it.
“I have to get back to work,” I blurted, before my brain could betray me any further.
I flung open the door and strode inside. The bell chimed brightly, foiling my attempt at a dramatic exit. A moment later, footsteps followed. Of course he came in.
“Me too,” Owen said easily, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got to get back to the store. But first—would you like to have lunch with me?”
I froze mid-step.
Lunch. With him. The town hottie. My stupid heart swooped, and heat flashed through my whole body before I could stomp on the feeling.
It was lunch. Not a proposal. Not a forever. But still—
“Stop looking at me like that,” I said, setting the watering can in the sink a little too hard.
“Like what?” His smile softened into something shy.
Like he already knew my answer.
“All that smiling. It’s unnerving.”
He immediately sobered, though the corners of his mouth still wanted to curve. “Sorry. I can’t help it when I look at you.”
I snorted, because the alternative was melting into a puddle. “You’re ridiculous.”
“No, really. You have this… thing.”
“Absolutely not,” I said. “I do not have a thing.”
“Well, I think you do, and my opinion is the only one that matters. So. Lunch?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” I folded my arms.
“That’s not a reason.”
“It is for me.”
“It’s a lunch date, Piper. Not a life commitment.”
“Date is a four-letter word, McAllister. I’m not ready for that.”
He held my gaze, unoffended. Understanding flickered there instead.
Before he could reply, the temperature in the shop plummeted.
One heartbeat it was Texas-in-late-June hot, the next a cold draft slithered across my skin like someone had opened a walk-in freezer. My teeth chattered. My breath fogged in front of my face.
Black smoke seeped under the front door.
It crawled along the tile in a thick, unnatural wave, moving with intent—smoke that didn’t drift so much as hunt.
I sucked in a sharp breath and instinctively backed up, bumping into the sink. Nowhere to go. No escape.
The smoke coiled up, twisting, stretching—and solidified into something straight out of my worst nightmare.
The thing that stood in front of me was massive, its horned head nearly brushing the ceiling. Coarse fur matted its body. Two curved tusks jutted from either side of a broad snout. Where hands should have been, it had cloven hooves.
It leaned in, bringing with it a wave of rancid breath that smelled like rot and brimstone.
“Piper—” Owen started.
The creature swatted him aside like he weighed nothing. Owen crashed to the floor, the impact rattling the card rack beside him.
The beast planted both hooves on the tile and leaned over the counter, bringing its glowing blue eyes level with mine. The pupils were slitted like a snake.
“Where is Alice?” it rumbled, its voice deep enough to vibrate in my bones.
My throat closed. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
It inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. “You smell like her. Where is she?”
“Alice is dead,” Owen said hoarsely.
My gaze jerked toward him. He was on his feet again, hands fisted, jaw locked. Gone was the charming, easygoing guy. In his place was someone hard and dangerous.
“Get away from her,” Owen ordered.
The demon snarled and drool flung from its tusks.
“I said, get away from her.”
“Owen—” I whispered.
The creature charged him, head down like a bull.
Owen sidestepped at the last possible second. The beast plowed into the card rack, sending cards flying in a confetti explosion. The metal stand toppled with a screech as the creature crashed to the floor, dazed.
It shook its head, snorting, then fixed me with one last hateful look. In the space of a blink, it dissolved back into black smoke and vanished, sucked away as if through an invisible drain.
The room was suddenly, horribly quiet.
Only the faint sulfur stink lingered.
I stared at the place where it had been, heart pounding in my ears. The cards lay scattered like fallen leaves. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
“What just happened?” I managed. “What was that?”
Owen straightened the card rack, then turned to me. The professor-serious expression on his face sent another chill down my spine.
“It was looking for Alice,” he said. “That means someone sent it. I think we need to talk.”
I flipped the sign to closed and locked the front door. Forget lunch rush. I needed answers and possibly a gallon of tequila.
We drove to a Mexican restaurant on the highway, far enough out of town that nosy Hickory Hollow eyes were less likely to peer over their chips and salsa.
As soon as I slid into the booth, I ordered a frozen margarita.
Owen lifted a brow. “Don’t judge,” I said.
“It’s barely noon.”
“It’s noon somewhere,” I shot back. “Spill your guts, McAllister. What was that thing?”
“That,” he said, no hesitation, “was a demon.”
I froze, chip halfway to my mouth. “I’m sorry, what?”
My drink arrived, all salted rim and artificial lime. I took a long pull, bracing for the brain freeze as much as the answer. It hit hard and sharp. I winced.
“I mean, I heard you,” I said through the ice pick in my skull. “And normally I’d say there’s no such thing as demons, but I met a fairy in the greenhouse, so apparently the universe is done pretending to be normal.”
Owen blinked. “There’s a fairy in the greenhouse?”
“Yeah. Little, mouthy, insults my wardrobe. Her name is Tani.”
One eyebrow climbed. “And you didn’t think to mention this?”