I’m still stuck on Eloise’s hmms.
The hmms chase me through the rest of the morning and through the streets of Havenwood Falls. It’s too early for my meeting at the plaza when I leave my aunt’s shop, so I am in no hurry when I hit Main Street on foot, my hands tucked deep within my coat pockets. I have a bad habit of facing my weaknesses while also avoiding them. This is why I find myself standing in front of Shelf Indulgence, a bookstore on Main Street, the smell of coffee wafting from Coffee Haven next door.
My eyes drift over the large showcase window so quickly that everything inside is merely a blur, before my gaze falls to my feet, puffs of air the only thing between me and the ground. Shelf Indulgence is my own personal hell. A place full of everything I wish I could touch and see. A place full of everything I wish I could be. The owner, a witch named Sedona Mathews, always decorates the showcase window with wildly creative displays. I’m both tempted and afraid to look at it. I am blind without being blind, my mind used to counting steps and knowing exactly where everything is, so that I can avoid anything new and potentially dangerous. My mind hates change, but my heart craves it.
“Harper?” a familiar female voice calls.
A pair of small brown boots settle next to mine on the sidewalk, and I let my gaze slide up them, over Thanksgiving-themed leggings and a long burgundy tunic to a pale face surrounded by silvery blond hair. Her skin positively glows. Concerned turquoise eyes stare at me. Willow Fairchild, the owner of Coffee Haven, and as of a few months ago, a new mother. Motherhood agrees with her.
She smiles. “It’s been a few days since I saw you down this way. Do you have any new photographs for me? Your last set was popular with the customers.”
I try to talk and can’t, my words caught somewhere between the emotions building within me and the desire to walk inside Coffee Haven to see the new artwork Willow has displayed.
Silence stretches between us.
Reaching out, Willow squeezes my shoulder gently. “You let me know when you do, okay?” Profound understanding colors her eyes a deeper shade of turquoise, and I know she senses my unease and troubled thoughts. Willow, like many of the town’s residents, is a supernatural, an empathetic fae with the power to sense emotions.
Throwing me a final smile, she enters Coffee Haven. A blast of warm air and the smell of blueberry scones hits me. I inhale, sucking in the scent and the warm feeling that comes with it.
Cars and pedestrians meander slowly around my spot on the sidewalk, and I turn away from the bookstore and coffee shop, my gaze settling on the town square across the street and a sparkling fountain in the distance. A work truck is parked near the curb, and a man leans against it, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands. Like with most of the locals, I’ve seen him before, but I don’t know him. I’m not a social person, even though I think I could be if things were different.
This man is broad, a beard protecting his face from the cold, and he sips the coffee, watching me. When my eyes catch his, he pauses, dips his head, and lifts his cup. There are secrets lurking in his gaze, and even though it’s unnerving to find him observing me, I don’t feel threatened. I have a strange feeling he’s studying me for the same reason I study him back. Secrets. There are secrets everywhere in this town.
Today, however, secrets are the least of my concerns. Today, I’m making Harper history. Giddy excitement fills me, the emotions overwhelming everything else, and I slip down the street. Away from the stranger. Away from Shelf Indulgence and my wishes. Away from Willow Fairchild and her empathetic understanding.
Away from everything I know and toward something new.
Chapter 2
The minute I walk into the Turner Real Estate office, I know I’m in trouble.
There isn’t much to the small space. Part of Miller’s Plaza on the west side of town and right off of the street, it is basically a king-sized cubicle. A large desk rests against the back wall with two burgundy-cushioned chairs positioned before it and bookshelves flanking it. An area rug is thrown over old wooden floors, and a small hallway off to the side leads to whatever is kept in the back.
It’s not the office that bothers me. It’s the stack of papers fanned out across the desk.
I let my gaze slide quickly over the pages before dropping it to the floor.
Jeanine Turner, a tall, slender, raven-haired woman, greets me at the door, her smile a little too perky, her eyes way too sharp.
“Today is your day, Harper Sinclair!” She high-fives the air. “I just have one place we missed in the paperwork the other day that I need you to sign. Nothing serious. It’s mainly for my own personal records.”
My mouth turns to sawdust. “My aunt takes care of my paperwork.”
Jeanine waves away my words. “It’s one signature. We got the legal stuff in closing. This is for my records. I don’t know if the pages stuck together or if Eloise overlooked it. You can sign your name, can’t you?”
Her condescending tone stiffens my spine. I’m not illiterate, and she knows it. What she doesn’t know is what’s actually wrong with me. Because Jeanine is mortal, I’m not at liberty to discuss my demon-possessed writing skills.
Jeanine slides behind her desk, steeples her fingers, and says, “We can wait on your aunt, but I leave for vacation in,” she checks a clock on the wall, “ten minutes.”
I don’t check the time. Even though my abilities don’t seem to include a problem with numbers, I only look at them when absolutely necessary, and usually only long enough to keep track of the day.
As for Jeanine, she’s lying. I can smell it on her, and I’m not even a shifter. Technically, I am just as human as she is. Just with extrasensory abilities.
This is what I get for using a mortal agency. The Court has ways of working around my issues, which is why I’m still in Havenwood Falls. I can’t risk leaving.
I start to sit in one of the cushy chairs, and then decide against it. “I need this done now.”
I want this done now.
“Then I suggest you sign on the dotted line. I’d hate to hold the keys on a technicality.”
I make my living as a nature photographer. Vintage cameras. Old film. Hours spent inside a darkroom. Days spent hiking in the mountains. Jeanine reminds me of a buzzard, a scavenger reeking of decay. I’m the roadkill.
For business and financial matters, I gave power of attorney to my aunt, but I’m legally able to sign if necessary.
I don’t want to wait a week to move into my home, and because I’m terrible with confrontation, I don’t call her bluff on the vacation. Honestly, I don’t want to call her bluff. I want this home in every sense of the word. I want it to be mine. Something with my actual signature on it. Not my aunt’s or someone’s from the Court. Mine.
Sitting, I lock gazes with Jeanine. “I need a pen.”