“Ear infection.” He wrote a prescription on his pad for a regimen of antibiotics. “Make sure he takes all of them. Are you his legal guardian? I’ll need a signature of consent for the medicine.”
Joanna felt a rush of relief flood her. “No, I’m not but I’ll get it to you as soon as possible. They should be back in town by tonight.” Tyler finally stopped crying and was now sniffing and blinking. The nurse gave him a sticker, as well as a teaspoon of Children’s Tylenol for the pain.
“Ice cream?” Joanna suggested, kissing him on the cheek.
The little boy nodded, too tired to speak. Joanna hugged him close. Tyler was going to be okay. She had never felt so grateful for mundane medicine.
chapter twelve
Library Fines
When Ingrid arrived at work the next day, there was a message in her e-mail in-box. She stared at the computer screen. She had sent the photo of the design key only yesterday afternoon and already he had replied. She had expected it, but it still surprised her to hear from him so soon.
<<good to hear from you. interesting thing you’ve got there. will get back to you with analysis. been a long time. i assume this means you received my letters?>>
Yes, she got his letters. She was almost tired of reading them, really, although she wondered how she would feel if they stopped coming. If a week went by and no letter arrived, would she be happier or sadder? She massaged her temples. She shouldn’t have responded to him. Her mother and sister would never approve. But this wasn’t about her or them or even him. There was something in those ornately decorated design keys. Something important, she could feel it, something that she had forgotten, and he was the only one who knew how to decipher it. The only one who could help her unlock the mystery of the code. She wrote him back.
<<got yr letters. not sure this is the right time to get together. but am hoping you can still help me with this?>>
The reply was instantaneous.
<<of course. you know you don’t need to ask.>>
She sighed and did not send a response. It was time for her “witching hour,” as Hudson called it. The line in front of the main desk was out the door. Some of the women had been there since before the library opened. They had been waiting patiently all morning, some perusing the shelves, some reading books, most content to merely stand and wait. The impressive results from Ingrid’s work kept pouring in: the nightmares that stopped, the strange aches and pains that were cured, the rash of positive pregnancy tests.
Becky Bauman, who had recently reconciled with her husband, was one of her first clients. Becky took a seat across from Ingrid’s desk.
“How can I help?” Ingrid asked.
“I don’t know if this is the right place to ask or if you can help. I just . . . I feel like our place is haunted. I get the weirdest feeling at night, like there’s someone there. Ross said I should come here even though he’s never felt it. But I’m quite sure there’s another presence in the house. The lights go on and off. The television turns on at odd times. Do you believe in ghosts?”
“No,” Ingrid replied slowly. Ghosts did not exist, but she also knew that what humans referred to as ghosts—phantom specters and wraiths seen in shadowy light as well as other supernatural phenomena—was usually due to proximity to the edge of a seam, where the physical world and the world of the glom came so very close that those on the other side would be able to sense the presence of another world just beyond their sight. The edges of the seam were supposed to be held by a powerful binding spell Joanna had set long ago when they moved to North Hampton. It seemed only natural, Ingrid supposed, that spells would lessen and weaken with age, although it had never happened before. She fashioned Becky a talisman that would help keep the boundaries tight and get rid of the pesky paranormal inconvenience—no more blaring televisions at three in the morning, in any case.
Ingrid attended to the usual mix of unexplainable grievances until an unexpected visitor arrived in her office.
“Hey, there.” Matt Noble entered the office. He was so tall he looked funny sitting on the little stool across from her desk. “So I hear that you can help people.”
“I do. What brings you here, Matt?” Ingrid asked, smoothing her skirt and not quite able to look him in the eye. She was irritated with herself for acting like a flustered old maid around him.
Matt leaned forward on the desk and she forced herself to look into those clear blue eyes of his. “I have a problem . . .” he said huskily.
“Which is?”
“I like this girl, see. I really like her. She’s smart and pretty and sweet and she really seems to care about people. But she doesn’t seem to like me in return.”
Ingrid tensed. “I see.”
“So I guess. . . . How do I get her to say yes when I ask her out?” His eyes sparkled and there was a hint of a smile forming on his face.
She frowned. Ingrid did not like when people made fun of her; she had a sense of humor but she didn’t like a joke when she was the punch line. It was so obvious he was talking about her, and if this was his way of asking her out on a date, he should really know better. Let him down gently, Ingrid told herself. The poor guy was obviously in love with her, and she would not want to hurt his feelings. She wasn’t completely heartless.
“Listen, Matt, you’re a great guy but I . . .”
“Man! You really think Caitlin won’t go out with me?” he interrupted.
It took Ingrid a second to recover, but the moment flashed by without the detective noticing. He was talking about Caitlin. Her coworker. The one who didn’t even read books. Ingrid thought back to when they had hired the girl. It was right about the time that the handsome lawman began his regular visits to the library. So in all that time he was interested in Caitlin, not Ingrid. She’d been so mistaken it was embarrassing. So why had her heart dipped a little when he had spoken her coworker’s name? It’s not like she cared whom he liked. Really, she was incredibly relieved. She gave him a tight smile. “Actually that sort of thing isn’t my arena. Romance, that is. You’re better off seeing my sister at the North Inn. Ask her to make you a drink from her fancy new cocktail menu. Tell her the same thing you told me and maybe she’ll help you.”
“Is that right?” he asked.
She nodded, and briskly ushered him out of her office. She looked at her watch. She had meant to work for only an hour but it was almost two thirty and she hadn’t eaten lunch yet. Freya had made her a tuna salad sandwich on wheat bread. Like everything Freya made it was usually delicious, but for some reason today it tasted like sand.
Oh, well. So I was wrong. He likes Caitlin. Who doesn’t like Caitlin? Everyone in town liked Caitlin, who didn’t take books seriously and didn’t give lectures on missed library fines and proper care of manuscripts and bore people with talk about old houses and design. Caitlin didn’t engender mean nicknames like “Frigid Ingrid,” nor did people think she was aloof or strange for having a line of people clamoring for charms and spells. She was just a nice, normal girl, pretty if rather boring, the kind of girl whom Ingrid could never be, had never once been.
After her tasteless meal Ingrid went back to her documents, determined to give Matt Noble no more thought.
chapter thirteen
Aftershocks
Come back here, woman,” Bran growled, pulling Freya back into bed.
“I’m late for work already, stop.” She laughed, trying to put her shoes on as he nuzzled her neck. His warm hands encircled her waist and she gave up, kicking off her sneakers and letting him pull her back under the covers.