"No." Clint's voice was firm. "I meanourproblem. I don't know what's going on, but when I claimed you – when you said you didn't want me to set you free – my problems became yours and vice versa." He smiled gently. "I sure as hell don't intend to give up on us this easily."
"Not..even if it's what I want?" I swallowed hard.
Clint ran a hand through his already mussed hair. "Not unless you can give me a reason," he said firmly. "Not until I can be sure it is really what you want."
That was how I found myself belted into the bench seat in the front of Clint's pick up, leaning against the door as we rattled down the highway. Except, that wasn't where I was when the truck came to a stop, waking me up a few hours later.
"What..?" I stared up at the ceiling of the truck, unable to remember how I ended up lying across the backseat, covered by a soft blanket with a sweatshirt bunched up under my head for a pillow.
"Hey you," Clint greeted me warmly, opening the rear door to the king cab. "How'd you sleep?"
"Umm..good?" I yawned and stretched, automatically accepting his hand and allowing him to steady me as I climbed down from the ridiculously high cab. "You moved me?"
"Yeah," Clint shrugged. "Sorry if that was an invasion. You were out cold and bumping your head against the window, so I thought you'd be more comfortable in the back." He reached behind me to grab the sweatshirt and pulled it on over his thin t-shirt.
"Thanks."
"Sure." Clint clicked the key fob, shoved the truck keys in his pocket, and reached for me. I hesitated for a brief second, but it was long enough for Clint to pull back and shove both hands in his pockets. "Rafe texted me while we were on the road. They're already in the library." He stared at the ground for a moment and then took a deep breath. "Let's not keep them waiting."
~*~
Hidden Dale was bigger than I was expecting. Although, that could have been only because I'd never heard of it and didn't have anything to base my assumptions on.
The central downtown area seemed to be designed as a walking village circling the large parking lot that Clint had parked the truck in. Pedestrian paths wound outward in much the same way that the original cottages in the Coruscation compound spoked out in a wheel pattern from the packhouse.
It was weird to be walking in a strange place without my hand in Clint's or his arm around my waist and, from the way he hesitated before heading down the path, I knew he felt it too. He was walking more slowly than usual, a concession, I suspected, to the fact that I was trying to follow him through an unexpectedly large crowd.
"Day dwellers," Clint murmured under his breath, stepping to the right as a group of college-age beings suddenly swarmed off of a bus. "The shifters here are mostly diurnal."
I nodded and focused on staying close behind him. A few short minutes later we stepped into a modest three-story building that housed the public library. The center of the rectangular room was dimly lit with lamps shedding a cozy glow over the couches bunched together into reading nooks. Brighter lights burned over the tables and chairs that were partnered to create workspaces for studying and such, and track lighting glowed over the shelves themselves, giving a warm feel to the books that were grouped on them. It should have seemed an odd layout, but it was oddly comfortable.
Lost in the sight before me, I forgot to catch the door and it clattered closed behind us. The young woman behind the librarian desk shot us a look, her close-setgreen eyes narrowing in annoyance.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes. We're looking for Dr. Paul." Clint met her gaze directly, his shoulders lifting slightly back. His top lip pulled back into a slight snarl. "She said she would be in the paranormal section."
"In there." She pointed one long, blood-red nail toward a small doorway hidden in the shadowy corner of the room. "Up the stairs."
I smiled my thanks and she responded in kind, her deep dimples beautifying her face, but Clint turned without a word, his back stiff and unyielding.
"What was that?" I hissed under my breath. Clint was almost never rude and, while the woman may not have been overly friendly, she hadn't been impolite. "Do you know her?"
"No," he said shortly, pulling open the door and revealing a wrought-iron spiral stairway that was dusty with disuse. At the top was a smaller door – the arch too low for Clint to pass under without ducking. That door opened into a large, round room with stone walls. Half-height curved shelves bursting with books hugged the walls. The hazy glass of the large, rectangular windows allowed some light to shine in, highlighting the dust on the books that were stacked and piled haphazardly throughout the room.
Rafael, Colby, and Adalwolfa Paul sat around a rickety table in the center of the wooden floor. There was a small leather-bound book in front of the old woman and a grim expression on her face.
ChapterFour
Clint
The class that Adalwolfa Paul taught at Hidden Dale's private college was a collaborative affair with several other professors, so she only left the mountain for six weeks each year. For that reason, it had been many years since I had seen the bog witch in her professor persona and the sight made me pause.
The gray hair that I was used to seeing tangled and windswept was pulled tight in a severe bun at the back of her head. The flowing, raggedy patchwork clothing was replaced by a floral button-down blouse, sensible brown pencil skirt, and low-heel pumps. Ridiculously, I took comfort in the familiar black bag that I knew housed her magic supplies peeking out from under the table.
"I suppose you'd both better have a seat," Adalwolfa said quietly, pushing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses higher on her nose.
"You know why we're here?" I stared into her eyes, searching for some sort of clue.
