Page 43 of Violet

“So do you,” I blurt out. “I mean you look great this morning, too.” And he really, really does. Even with his suit pants and dress shirt wrinkled from sleep, and his cheeks covered with stubble, he looks absolutely perfect. I’m really going to miss him when I go.

“How are you feeling?” he asks gently, taking my hands in his, and I’m suddenly struggling to hold back tears.

“F-Fine.” I swallow hard. “I just need to get to work. Try to talk to Nole.” Keep him from telling anyone who I am, so I can stay in Silver Springs for however long Violet has left.

“He’s had the night to cool down. I’m sure you’ll get through to him.”

“But what if I don’t?” I ask as a single tear slides down my cheek. Because I can’t stomach working next to Nole every day for however long I’m in town while he still hates me.

“Then I’ll talk to him, too.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course.” Cash pulls me into a tight hug, not seeming to care that my hair is dampening his dress shirt.

He holds me until I know that if I don’t get a move on, I’ll be late for work. I quickly wake Violet and make us all breakfast—fruit and oatmeal, which I realize I’ve had every single morning since moving here. Once Violet is settled on the couch with my sister’s book and the TV remote, I grab my purse and walker and race to the door. And shift.

“It’s going to take a while to get used to that,” Cash murmurs as we head past the still broken elevator to the stairs.

I don’t reply, since I can’t risk having any of the neighbors overhear.

The blood mage carries me, my walker, and my purse downstairs and right up to his company car. Because, apparently, creators of popular social networks travel in style. He has his driver drop me off around the corner from work, helps me out of the car, and reminds me to call him any time if I need to talk.

Once he’s gone, I slowly make my way toward the library. Not because I have time to spare, but because slow’s the only pace I got.

Hopefully, Nole showed up to work early today. He can do the entire opening procedure in five minutes, while it takes me thirty and I’m huffing and puffing. But it’s not opening the library I’m really thinking about—it’s being able to talk to him. To explain.

I’m almost at the wheelchair ramp I always use with my walker when I realize something’s wrong. Really wrong.

None of the seniors are waiting outside, not even Betty. She might be avoiding me if she found out about Liam, but where did everyone else go? And why are all the lights on inside?

Did Nole forget to lock up last night? Did someone break in? Did they ambush Nole when they’d come for me?

I almost shift on the spot, ditch the walker, and race inside. Almost! A year of practice and self-preservation keeps me in check... keeps me shuffling up that ramp one slow step at a time.

My mind races the entire time. Images of Nole dead, of the library trashed, of an entire army of them holding all the seniors hostage, assail me. I don’t stop for my usual halfway up the ramp breather, and almost pass out. If it wasn’t for my walker, I think I would. But somehow, I manage to keep going.

When I reach the front doors—the unlocked front doors—I force myself to go inside. And the sight that greets me isn’t anything I could have predicted, not in a billion years.

There’s a group of seniors gathered in front of the librarian’s desk—my desk—talking among themselves in a mix of hushed whispers, indoor voices, and loud shouts. I think it mostly depends on how good their hearing is.

Nole’s there too—I can just make him out, towering over the crowd—and I let out a sigh of relief. He’s okay. Nole’s really okay!

“Violet!” Betty separates from the edge of the crowd and speed-walks toward me.

“Betty.” Who may or may not hate me right now.

I brace myself for whatever’s coming. I half expect her to slap me across the face and tell me to stay away from her grandson. Instead, her face fills with relief.

“Thank goodness you’re here. Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

Before I get the chance to reply, someone clears their throat. The crowd parts and the town mayor steps forward, flanked by two officers. For a split second, I think one of them might be Liam, and my heart leaps, but neither looks familiar.

“Hello, Violet.” The mayor’s beady little eyes land on me, their red pupils sending shivers of dread down my spine.

He’s wearing a white suit today, which brings out the blueness of his ogre skin and accentuates all the splotches of brown. In other words, it makes him look even weirder than he already does.

He moves to stand next to Nole, and he suddenly doesn’t look quite so big. The bear shifter’s actually got a few inches on the ogre, but the mayor still manages to look menacing. He gives the bear shifter’s shoulder a squeeze, and though Nole doesn’t so much as flinch, my stomach rolls.