He glanced between the buildings, taking a second to orient himself. She wasn’t focused enough to do the same, but trusted he would get them to the location they needed to be.
Trust. It was an interesting concept between the two of them. A fragile thread. Barely enough to keep them together and focused on this assignment.
Carver took her hand, clasping it tightly, and pulled her along with him. He wove them in between the buildings, pausing only to reassess landmarks, and after a few minutes stopped in front of a dark purple door. The sign above the door read “The Midnight Quill,” in bold black letters, outlined in metallic ink. Clara recognized the name from their debrief.
“Should we knock?” It was the first time he’d hesitated since they had reached the city, and Clara felt herself step back into the position of control.
“No. It’s a public bookstore. Knocking would be weird.”
Clara opened the door and stepped inside, pausing for a moment to let her eyes adjust as Carver followed her in. A small water feature trickled on the counter, and the lights flickered almost like candles. The shelves were crammed with books. Most of the spines were facing outward so it was easy to browse, but some were so full they were jammed in however they would fit.
Clara reached out to trace the spine of one of the books but startled when a woman said, “May I help you?”
“Ah, yes.” Carver cleared his throat as they both turned to face the friendly voice. She was beautiful. That was the first thing Clara noticed. Dark auburn hair curled gently around her shoulders. Her eyes were a muted green, but in a way they made you look twice to see the hints of gold.
Carver straightened, and Clara felt both amusement and a hint of jealousy, but she ignored both. He looked awkwardly at her and after she looked around to ensure no one else was in the store she said, “Is it better to trash or burn books?”
“Neither, information should be preserved.” The woman replied softly, a questioning look in her eyes.
Carver jumped in with the second response, “Yes, but some information is too dangerous for that.”
The woman smiled. “So you’re who they sent.” Her voice remained soft, every word finding its own melody.
“That we are.” Carver confirmed, still observing the woman. Clara wanted to smack him, if only to make him unglue his eyes from the her.
“I’m Marsh.”
“Marsh,” Carver repeated, taking her outstretched hand and gently shaking it, “Carver, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I’m so freaking sure it is.” Clara muttered under her breath, amusing herself with the aggression in her tone and Carver’s eye roll as he dropped Marsh’s hand.
He shook his head, “And this is my clearlyfriendlypartner, Clara.”
Clara dropped her tone, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Before Carver had a chance to respond, Marsh jumped in. “Okay. You guys have been traveling for awhile, neither of your auras are happy, and I’m definitely picking up on some kind of unsettled vibe.”
“Auras? What are you some kind of psychic?” Clara cut herself off before she added freak to the end of her statement like she wanted.
Marsh’s polite smile didn’t falter, and Carver gaped at her for her rudeness. “Clara—” but once again Marsh jumped in.
“It’s been a long journey for both of you,” she reiterated, “I have a room ready for you to stay in. Let me escort you there, and perhaps we can have a more civil conversation in the morning after you both get some food and sleep.”
32CARVER
“You didn’t have to be so rude.” The statement had resounded in his head since Clara’s comments to Marsh. Now that they were shown to their room, the door securely closed behind him, he could call her on it.
Marsh gave them some jerky, and though it wasn’t a meal, sleep suddenly felt more important. She had led them to the third floor, and their small room felt more like an attic than a bedroom. The bathroom was just as tiny, but it would suffice. He could practically feel the energy radiating off Clara as she moved around the room. There would be no personal space here.
It would be fine. As long as they were smart and followed the rules.
Clara sighed heavily. Setting down her bag and stretching out her shoulders before she deigned to respond, “You actually want to get into this.”
“Yeah, I do. You don’t always have to be a bitch.”
She grinned and Carver almost took a step back at the look in her eyes, “You’re right. I don’t have to be a bitch. I get to be.”
She started to unbraid her hair, winding pieces around her fingers. He stood there, exhaustion setting in, mesmerized by the simple act of her undoing her hair. He shook off thedistraction and brought himself back to the conversation. “You can be a bitch to me.” He exhaled, forcing himself to keep his tone calm. He didn’t want to fight. “But you should try to be nicer to other people.”
