“Jade! Luther!” The library yard’s gate swung open in the distance with softly creaking hinges, and in bustled Mayor Lizzie Hightower, her warm smile carrying the force of a diplomatic avalanche. All her gray curls haloed her still-unlined face, while multicolored bangles dangled around her wrists, clattering together in time with her footsteps. The scent of patchouli and fresh hay preceded her. I could see her approach from the corner of my eye, but Jade had not yet noticed her.
Saved from coming to blows by the one woman in town capable of bossing around both wolves and vampires. Wonderful. Belfry should have kept his big ears to himself and his always-moving mouth shut… While I had the chance, though, I needed to make sure this woman knew I meant business.
Chapter 3
Jade
“I...I wasn’t doing anything,” I said, which was a lie, and we both knew it. My cheeks burned. “I mean, nothing illegal. I’m supposed to be here, I just…” I’d already told him that I was the new restorer, but he had not believed me, that was carved in every line of his too-handsome face.
I’d pushed back, dared to get close enough to invade the shadow of his hedge with him, but now he turned the tables. He stepped closer—much closer—and suddenly that was too close. I found myself stumbling backward until my back brushed the wall. His presence was like standing near a very elegant glacier: cold, dangerous, and likely to judge me for my posture.
“This property is closed,” he said softly, and it wasn’t a whisper; it was more like a warning purr. “You should leave. In fact, you should just leave town.” I opened my mouth to argue, I had plenty of arguments ready, but it was at that exact moment salvation arrived in the form of jangling bracelets and a warm, familiar voice.
“Jade Whitaker? Is that you over there bothering my residents?” Yes! I knew that voice anywhere, even though I had never met the owner. She was such a force to be reckoned with that she made a very big, very lasting impression. Just like this guy was making a very lasting impression right now, pressed tightly into my space, smelling of rich spices and richer fabrics. If he spoke again, I might not hear him, on account of being too busy melting into a puddle at his feet.
Relief hit me with the force of a sugar rush. “Mayor Hightower!” She swept into the yard like a technicolor hurricane, rainbow shawl, silver curls, and a smile wide enough to shame the sun. She squeezed past the imposing figure of my not-welcome committee and pulled me into a hug that smelled like patchouli and fresh hay.
“Call me Grandma Liz, dear. Everyone does,” she said as she stepped back. Her hands remained on my shoulders, warm and gentle, grounding me in the moment. Perhaps even settling me firmly back in the land of safety and normal conversations, rather than rude confrontations with strangers who didn’t want you there and acted like you were the scum beneath their fancy shoes.
“I...sure,” I said weakly. Grandma Liz hugged me again, muttering, full of cheer, about how excited she was to have me here at last. She exuded this womanly presence that made me feel like I was one of the ducks she mothered while, at the same time, like she fully expected me to stand on my own two feet. It was a very confusing combination, but it felt good.
The stranger with the suspicious nature had slunk back, as if he hadn’t just tried to pin me against the library wall and threaten me. I’d nearly forgotten he existed for a short, blissful moment, which said something about the mayor’s presence. Now she turned to him with a bright grin that displayed pearly teeth, sharp like a beast’s. No—I blinked—they were perfectly straight and normal. It must be the stress getting to me, making me see things. “And you’ve met Luther!” she said, with a mouth that was normal, absolutely normal.
Luther. Of course his name would match the sharp edges. He inclined his head. A gesture so refined, it looked like he was some lord gracefully allowing us into his domain. “We’ve… spoken.” Spoken. Right. If interrogating me counted as speaking.
Nothing about our conversation implied we had been friendly, but the mayor either did not notice the hesitation in his sentence or did not care. Grandma Liz clapped once, bangles clattering in punctuation. “Wonderful! You two will be working closely together.”
I choked. “We...we will?” Excuse me? Working with him? I didn’t think so… This guy would throw a wrench into everything, he was probably worse to work with or work for than my last boss had been. I could already see the writing on the wall, the disaster this was going to spell. There was absolutely no way working with this guy wouldn’t result in another clash... or two... or three. And how many would it take before even Mayor Hightower had had enough?
Luther’s eyes flicked to mine, surprise and horror flickering there for just a moment before he schooled his expression. It had to mirror my own, and I didn’t think I was as fast masking mine as he was. “Will we?” he drawled, slick, dangerous. He wasn’t above slicing with those words toward the Mayor either, and again, she ignored it.
“Oh yes,” Liz said breezily, a hand flapping, bangles clanking together cheerfully. “Luther’s the de facto caretaker of the library since it closed, and now that you’re here to restore it, you’ll need access—keys, context, all that good historical stuff.” She gave the guy a stare so firm, so commanding, that I halfexpected him to wilt on the spot. He gave her a dark smirk instead, one that said he knew exactly what she was up to, then inclined his head again in a graceful manner.
I fully expected him to vanish back to wherever brooding men came from, but he didn’t leave. Not even when the mayor pulled a set of ancient-looking keys from her pocket and unlocked the back door. Instead, he dipped into a half bow and held out his arm, indicating that I was to go first. A gesture that could be construed as polite, old-world manners, but it didn’t feel like it.
He glided in behind me, so silently I barely heard the leaves crunch under his shoes. I felt him follow, close enough that the hairs on the back of my neck rose, heat clashing against my spine, making me aware of the panic sweat that had cooled against my skin. Sensual tension was not something I had penciled into today’s schedule, but apparently, Hillcrest Hollow had other plans.
The door had creaked open and the smell of age rolled out in a sigh, dust, wood polish long faded, and something faintly metallic that reminded me of old typewriters. I stepped inside and froze. “Oh,” I whispered.
It was… breathtaking. Not the decrepit, small-town mess I’d expected—no, the library was grand. Vaulted ceilings, ornate ironwork on the balconies, and stained-glass lamps hung like forgotten planets. Sure, the bulbs were dead, and cobwebs hung like delicate curtains, but the bones of the place were magnificent.
And books. Books everywhere—stacks and shelves and antique presentation cases, some properly sealed, but many left to themercy of time. A harpsichord leaned against one wall. A brass telescope stood guard in a corner. Someone had collected more than literature here; they’d curated history.
“Not too terrible, is it?” Grandma Liz asked, her bangles chiming as she nudged a fallen book with her toe. It was another leather-bound volume, like the ones I’d seen lined up on a shelf as I peered through the window. Greek letters in faded gold marched down its spine. I ducked to pick it up, unwilling to leave it on a possibly damp floor.
“It’s…” I swallowed. “It’s stunning.” It was far more than just a little small-town library, and I wondered how they’d come by it. Who had invested all this money in the building and the collection? I itched to get started now, unwelcoming boss/coworker be damned. I wanted to work here, on these books.
A soft noise sounded behind me, Luther. I didn’t turn, but I felt him, like a cold star hovering at my shoulder. Though his gaze felt like ice, his body stood close enough to also radiate heat. Warmth that was pleasant and dry inside the cool, slightly-too-humid state of the library itself.
“Many of the more valuable items are already protected,” he said. “I moved them myself when the roof began leaking twenty-three years ago.” He indicated, with an elegant hand, toward the tall, vaulted ceiling. It was not leaking now, as far as I could tell, but the walkway that formed the library’s modest second floor held only empty shelves. Deeper in the library, stacked high on a large mahogany table, were boxes, probably filled with all the books the shelves on the walkway once held.
I blinked. “You moved all this alone?” Those were a lot of stacks of boxes, and more loomed on shelves in the distance, carefully covered by a tarp so thick with grime and dust that it had obviously been there for a very long time.
“Yes,” he said simply. Okay, show-off. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at his body and taking note of the sleek muscles beneath the suit. Then my mind stalled. Did he say twenty-three years ago? That was a very precise number for it to be incorrect, but this man couldn’t possibly have been around long enough to do such a task on his own. That made him a liar, twenty-three years ago, at most, would put him in his early teens…
Liz tugged me forward, oblivious to the turmoil I was feeling. “Let’s get the tour going, dear. Tell me what you see.” That was easy, at least, I switched into professional mode, my comfort zone. I pointed out water stains (minimal!), aging wood floors (salvageable!), and evidence of pests (concerning but manageable!). As I explained, Grandma Liz asked warm, encouraging questions about my background, my preservation methods, and even my favorite libraries back home.
But Luther… he interrogated me. Of course he did. I wished fervently the blasted man would just vanish back to where he’d come from. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be far enough, Grandma Liz had pointed out he was the library’s neighbor. That made him my neighbor of sorts for the next little while.
