I expect you to eventually become one of my most loyal friends.
You might even turn out to be perfect for Ordinary…especially if you take over judging that damn rhubarb contest.
He didn’t sign it with his name, he never did. He just drew a circle with two curving lines hashed across it and a star in the middle. O for Ordinary, the lines for his job as the bridge, the star for his place as Chief of Police.
I closed the journal, leaving the yellow ribbon marking the place.
Harold arrived with more tea. “I brought a few more cookies.”
I took three. “Thank you. Do you know where Dad met with Bathin?”
I could thumb through the journal until I found whichever entry Dad had recorded that information into, but Harold would find it much faster.
“Down at Cape Perpetua. Cook’s Chasm.”
South of Ordinary by several miles, it was one of my favorite places Dad used to take us. The coastline of rugged basalt showcased three natural attractions that drew in curious sightseers.
To the north was Cook’s Chasm—a deep fissure where waves bashed violently against the stones to spray upward hundreds of feet in a boomingwhooshof salt water. To the south, Spouting Horn—a hole in the stone—blasted like a geyser at every pounding wave. In between those two sights was Thor’s Well, a weird sinkhole that swallowed up incoming water and appeared to drain the ocean dry.
Thor’s Well was sometimes called Hell’s Gate.
So, yeah. It was a fitting place to meet a demon.
I stood and handed Harold the journal. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “My pleasure, Myra. Always.”
I gave him a hug, and he hugged me back, his hand a comforting weight between my shoulders.
“What will you do now?” he asked, as I stepped away and looked around for my things.
“I’m going to go talk to a friend.”
~~~
The vampire was sitting in his living room sipping a very small cup of a very dark coffee.
The lighting in the room was warm and yellow—cozy—and from the big dresser-sized record player against one wall Ethel Waters crooned about bread and gravy and goodnight kisses.
If there were vampires in the large, sprawling house other than Leon who had answered the door and made himself scarce, they were giving Old Rossi his space.
“Myra. Come on in, have a seat.” Rossi gestured to the very formal, uncomfortable-looking chair across from the curved love seat he was lounging in.
I glanced at the chair, decided it looked too much like a job interview, and took the couch next to him instead.
A smile flitted over his lips. “So this is personal business then?”
I sighed. “I’m thinking about doing something really foolish.”
“You?”
Yeah, I couldn’t believe it either.
“I could use someone at my side who can give me an unbiased, unvarnished opinion.”
“Why me? Why not your sisters?”
“I know Jean and Delaney’s opinion. They’ve been on me about this for over a year.”
