Chapter 7 Coco
Coco
“What’s this about a man yelling at you on the street?” Mom asks over the phone.
Turns out, Mrs. Malfree and her wheezing pug didn’t disappoint. Mom called five minutes after Stone confronted me, and I put off phoning her back until late—long after I’d inspected the earth with Stone, and well past when I’d dropped my grandmother’s ring off at the jeweler’s.
My gaze floats over the tiny cottage I rent at the edge of town.
The payment is cheap and the roof leaks often (okay, every time it rains), but it’s my own space and it’s painted yellow, my favorite color.
Plus, the old woman who lived here before left all the furniture.
Which means doilies protect the surfaces.
“Sorry I didn’t phone earlier. I’ve been busy.”
“It’s fine, sweetheart. I was worried the man did something to you. Your father asked if we should head over and make sure you’re still alive.”
“I’m good. Tell Dad thanks, though.”
I plop onto the velveteen couch. The material is great during the winter—soft and snug—but awful in summer. In August, I can’t even look at the thing because the idea of peeling my body off it makes me want to break into hives. But in early spring, the cushions are cozy enough to curl up on.
So I do.
“So, this man?” she prods again.
“It was nothing. Just something to do with work.”
“Did his license expire?”
My chest wobbles like it’s about to burst into tears. I inhale sharply and instantly stop the sensation.
“Yeah, something about his license. We got it worked out, though.”
What’s the point of correcting her? She won’t remember—not on purpose, but because Brittany takes up all her headspace.
“Well, since it’s nothing big, I’ll let you go. Oh wait—do you have camo you can wear on Saturday?”
No, I don’t, but instead I fib. “I’ll check.”
“Great. Brittany wants to tape our annual hide-and-seek.”
Awesome with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Can’t wait. See you then.”
“Love you, hon.”
“Love you.”
As the call goes dead, there’s a knock at my front door, which is about ten feet from where I’m sitting.
What now?
Through the window cut into the door, I spot a figure.
Who in the world knocks at eight o’clock at night? For goodness’ sake, I’m wearing French poodle–themed pajamas. I’m not fit to receive visitors.
The knock comes again. “I can see you. I know you’re in there.”
The voice is low, gravelly, and bears a strong resemble to Stone Maddox’s.
No way.
Stone Maddox cannot be here.
On my doorstep.
At night.
Wanting to come in.
My stomach twists, and just to accentuate it, blue sparks pop on my fingers.
“Ouch,” I hiss, shoving my fingers in my mouth.
“It’s Stone,” he confirms.
What does he want?
The power surge fades, so I get up and flip the lock, but keep the chain latched. Then I open the door two inches.
“Hey.” It sounds like a nice greeting, but his jade eyes are cold as liquid stone.
At his feet, the lambicorn also greets me. “Baaaaaaa.”
I refuse to melt just because a small, adorable creature has attached itself to the devil. “Yes?”
“I was wondering if we could talk.”
“About what?”
“The resort.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I throw my hands up. “I’ve filed my report and the recommendation has been accepted.”
“I know,” he explodes. Then stops. Taps his fingers on his hips and tries again, this time in a calmer voice. “I know. It’s just, I realize we—you and I—got off on the wrong foot, and I was wondering if we could maybe change that.”
“How will we change it?”
“Let me in and I’ll tell you.” His jaw works overtime before he whispers, “Please.”
I want to say no, I really do, but there’s an earnestness in his voice that suggests he’s telling the truth. “You smell like mojitos.”
“I may have had one at Sparkle Bar. It was poker night.”
“And they serve mojitos?”
“Clarice Sinclair’s running the bar tonight. Do you know her?”
I burst into laughter. “Of course. Everyone in town knows Clarice. She has a habit of wiggling into my private life.”
“Just yours?” he says, his voice teasing. “I think she likes to be in everyone’s.”
We stare at each other for a moment and I soften. It couldn’t hurt to hear him out, right? I shut the door and unlatch the chain.
I open it and gesture for Stone to enter. The lambicorn steps inside, looks up at me, and bleats as if it longs for connection. I pick up the baby sheep and hug it, reveling in its warmth and melting at how soft its fleece coat feels against my neck. I rub my chin over the back of its head.
I just love this little guy.
Stone surveys the tiny house. “I never pegged you for someone who decorated like my great-grandmother.”
“I never pegged you for someone who liked lambicorns.”
“I don’t,” he says wryly.
“Me neither.”
The tension is back as we stare at one another. My hackles rise, but I quickly remind myself that he’s here to be nice.
So he says.
“Would you like some water?”
“Sure.”
“Please. Make yourself at home.”
As he sits in one of three options in the cramped space, I pour him a glass from the filtered pitcher.
“Spells and Craft,” he murmurs.
Shoot. I hadn’t realized the book was out. I’d brought it home from work wondering if it could offer insight into my blue sparks and the ley-line-seeing thing. But I haven’t had a chance to read it. My stomach has been too tied up in knots over everything that happened today.
I hand Stone a glass of water and take the book from where it sits on the coffee table. Then I shove it in a small bookcase.
“It’s just a bunch of folklore,” I tell him dismissively.
His gaze remains glued on the book for several beats before it drops to his glass. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I set my own water on the coffee table doily and sit on the couch, tucking my legs underneath me. “I would ask how you found out where I live, but this is a small town.”
“It sure is.” He takes a long sip of water, watching me so closely over the rim of the glass that a shiver squirms down my spine. “You know, for a small town, there sure are a lot of secrets.”
Why’s he looking at me like that? “Really? I’ve never noticed.”
“I bet you haven’t.”
The lilt in his voice suggests the opposite. “That’s funny. It sounds like you’re suggesting I might know some of those secrets.”
“Don’t you?”
“Don’t I, what?”
“Have some of your own?”
“Secrets,” I deadpan.
“Yes.”
I run my fingers through my long hair. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
Trying to kill some of the tension in the room, I glance down at the lamb, who sits by his feet. “Your dadda has gone crazy. He’s suggesting I have secrets.”
I bring the glass to my mouth and sip the water just as Stone says, “I know about the ley lines.”
“You know about the ley lines? That’s great! When will you start fixing what’s broken?”
“You don’t understand.” He leans back and stretches his legs in front of him lazily, as if he suddenly holds all the cards. Then he levels a gaze on me that spears straight through my throat. “I know you can see them.”
The room goes so quiet you could hear a feather fall.
The second his words slam into me, blood pounds in my ears. Under me, my legs lock. I wrestle down a lump in my throat. “What are you talking about?”
He tucks his arms behind his head. “I figured you’d try to play this off, but here’s the thing: No one mentioned a word about ley lines until you showed up. Then you appear, the ley lines are a problem, and somehow a roll of police tape ignites in your hand.”
“I told you, the sun.”
“There was no sun,” he snaps, so hard that I clamp my lips shut. Stone drops his hands and says in a low, dangerous voice, “I know what you are, Coco. And I know what will happen if people find out. Some things don’t go over well in small towns, do they?”
They don’t. People get kicked out. Shunned. Worse.
Much, much worse.
I lift my nose. “You know what I think?”
“I can’t wait to hear this.”
“You’re delusional. You’ve hit a roadblock and can’t accept that maybe you have to change something in order to fix the resort. Instead of doing what you need to, you’d rather railroad, threaten, and destroy me.”
“Destroy you?” He laughs. Darkness flashes over his eyes when he adds, “How can I destroy someone who doesn’t even matter?”
His words slice me in half. He must see my reaction, because he flinches, and for half a second his gaze flicks to the lambicorn. The creature whimpers softly, brushing against his boot like it felt the wound, too.
Stone shifts in his chair like the floor beneath him has tilted. But then he blinks, shakes it off, and turns back. It makes me wonder whether his words were so harsh that they hurt him as well.
“You can see the lines and you don’t want anyone to know. But I know because you can’t hide from me.”
Beneath my feet, the earth pulses, shudders. I reel my emotions back in and shake my head. “You don’t see anything about me.” I rise. “You’ve had your fun. You’ve shown up. You’ve drunk some water. Time to go.”
His jade eyes sparkle with victory. The emotion is so thick it makes a knot clog up my throat. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to tamp down the fear churning like a tide in my gut.
Stone rises. He towers over me, signaling a reminder of exactly how small I am. I don’t feel physically threatened. I’m not worried for my safety. But he is big, powerful, and rich.
And I’m a shadow in his path.
He slides his hands into his pockets. “If you don’t pull the paperwork and tell city hall you made a mistake,” he warns, “then I will make sure everyone in town knows what you are.”
I fold my arms, trying to muster every ounce of false bravado bouncing around in my body. Trust me, there isn’t much. “It’s not true.”
“Right. And that’s why you don’t have that spell book over there.”
“That’s just a . . . that’s a . . .”
I can’t find an excuse because all the words have disappeared from my head.
He nods. “That’s what I thought.”
Stone moves past me to head out, but before he reaches the door, he turns. “You have until tomorrow morning. Thanks for the water.”
He pulls a dollar from his pocket and drops it on the bookcase. His jaw flickers briefly as if he’s weighing this choice. But then he leaves with the lambicorn following close behind.
I flip the lock and slide the chain back in place before collapsing into the chair and dropping my head in my hands.
What am I going to do? If he tells, I’ll be a . . . No, I can’t think about it.
But of course I have to think about it. That’s what we do, consider all the terrible consequences, tell ourselves somehow it makes things better to know the worst in any situation.
So what I’ll be is a freak, a social outcast, a spawn of Satan.
Stone Maddox can’t say a word. I can’t let him reveal my secret.
But how can I stop him?
Just as I give up hope, a quiet hum fills the room. It’s not coming from the fridge or any other appliance. I rise, searching it out.
Is Stone still outside, humming to destroy my sanity?
Totally possible, but the sound originates from inside the cottage, and it grows as I approach the bookcase.
My gaze drops to the spines lined up in a tidy row. They look normal, but something is vibrating.
Curious, I run my fingers across the leather-bound books, wondering whether I’m going batty. But when my fingers brush the spell book, it throbs.
I shriek and jerk my hand away.
The spell book.
Its humming intensifies as if it’s not just calling—it’s waiting.
For me.
It wants me to open it. No, that can’t be. Or can it?
Ever so slowly, I reach for it, my hands quaking as they slide the tome from the shelf.
I’ve almost got it out when I change my mind. “No.”
I push the book back in place, but it continues humming. I hug my arms and stare at it. It seems to stare back.
“I won’t use you.”
But what if it could help? What if the book could solve this problem? What if it could save me from Stone Maddox? It probably can’t, right?
But what else can I do? Wait for him to tell the town what I am? Wait for people to show up at my door with pitchforks?
The hum grows. It slides across my skin like goose bumps prickling my flesh.
It won’t hurt to take a tiny peek, will it?
No, it won’t.
Slowly, I slide the book from the shelf.
Ready or not, here I come.