Dead Letter Day (4 page)

I didn’t care for the way he said lady friend. He made it sound dirty and not in a good way. I nodded anyway.

“You got me,” he said and turned away to the woman who had been at the back of the store. She’d come to the counter while we’d been talking. “Anything I can help you with, Inge?”

“Just these, Kevin. Thank you.” She set some brackets on the counter and smiled. Or tried to. It was one of the saddest smiles I’d ever seen. Her lips moved, but her eyes stayed the same. She was definitely the source of that tidal wave of sadness that had hit me as I first tried to walk into the store. I tried not to stare at her, but it was impossible not to steal a glance or two at her. How could one person carry that much melancholy around and not be completely crushed by the weight of it?

She didn’t looked crushed. She looked thin, but she had that kind of naturally thin willowy frame. Purple smudges under her eyes marred the otherwise alabaster perfection of her skin, but a lot of people look tired.

Kevin rang up her purchase and told her the total.

Inge frowned.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“It’s less than I expected, Kevin. I’m pretty sure those brackets were five dollars apiece. The total should be closer to forty dollars.”

“Didn’t I put a sign up?” he asked. “They’re on sale this week.”

Inge sighed. “Kevin, that is not necessary.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. Man,
if I thought Chuck sucked as a liar, it was because I hadn’t seen Kevin give it a stab. Those brackets were so not on sale. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

“It’s the least I can do, Inge.”

Her head dipped a little. “Thank you, then.”

He smiled and this time it was a real one. Inge took her change and brackets and left. It felt like the room actually brightened when she left it. That’s how intense the little black cloud she was trailing around was. Although based on the look on Kevin’s face as he watched her walk out of the store, his world had gotten a little colder and darker with her leaving.

Ah, werewolves in love. It was kind of sweet.

Even in human form, werewolves are closer to their inner beasts than most of us. Their emotions are powerful and hard to control and way too close to the surface. Inge totally rocked Kevin’s world and it would be hard for even the most obtuse person not to see it.

After the jingle of the bell on the door fell silent, signaling that Inge had left, I waited a few seconds to make sure we were alone. “Does she know what you are?”

Kevin turned to face me again. It did not look like he loved me. I’m pretty sure he didn’t even like me. I was also fairly certain that he didn’t really want me in the store, and if I went and bought brackets, they would shockingly no longer be on sale.

“None of your business, Messenger. In fact, nothing up here is your business.”

Wow. So much for the soft voice he used with Inge. “Paul’s my friend,” I said, keeping my own voice pleasant although it was getting to be an effort. There’s only so much rejection a girl can take in one afternoon.

“Then be an actual friend and let him be. Your presence in his life hasn’t exactly been positive.”

Chuck had said the same thing and it stung. I deserved it, though. I had dragged Paul into a few situations recently that had been dicey, to say the least.

“I’d like a chance to change that,” I said.

Kevin snorted and leaned forward on his elbows on the counter so we were basically eye to eye. I stood my ground, but it was a near thing. In werewolf circles, this was a challenge and damn near an act of aggression. I willed my feet to stay planted on the floor although my soles were itching to take off.

“You’ve had plenty of chances. You’ve done enough harm. Stop meddling where you’re not wanted or needed. If we need a delivery, we’ll call. Otherwise, get out and stay out.”

“I’d like to hear that he’s okay from him.” In the end, nothing else would really satisfy me.

“Can’t you take a hint? He left. He’s not calling. He didn’t leave a note. Maybe he’s not that into you.”

That hurt. Not only because I hated that movie. I mean, really, why is it so hard to make a decent romantic comedy these days? But also the idea that Paul might not want to see me anymore. Honestly, of all the scenarios that had occurred to me, that one hadn’t.

He straightened and turned away. I took that as my cue to exit, preferably with my hide still intact.

I went back to my car and climbed inside. The solid thunk of the Buick’s door as I shut it made me feel a little more secure. I didn’t want to leave. Paul was somewhere near here and I wasn’t 100 percent sure he was okay despite Chuck’s and Kevin’s thoughts on the matter. Plus I didn’t like Kevin’s defensiveness. I mean, really, what had I ever done to him?

On the other hand, taking on the second in command in a werewolf pack on my own was just plain foolhardy, and
one thing Paul had tried very hard to teach me not to be was a fool. Plus, there wasn’t any proof that Kevin had anything to do with Paul’s disappearance, if it even was a disappearance. All I had were my bad feelings and now a general dislike of him, which, let’s face it, were pretty much based on his dislike of me.

Whatever. I had a schedule to keep. I put the Buick in gear and pulled out of my parking place. As I coasted down the street, that rolling wave of melancholy hit me again. I looked over to see what was nearby and saw the flash of Inge’s blonde hair behind the window of a yarn shop.

2

“ADD A GEAR,” THE MADMAN AT THE FRONT OF THE ROOM growled at us over the pounding bass of Led Zeppelin.

I glanced over at my mother who dutifully turned the knob on her spin bike a third of a rotation to the right, then raised her eyebrows at me.

I shook my head and sweat dripped into my eyes. There was nothing supernatural about the instructor. He might well be evil, but not in an Arcane kind of way.

He’d seemed so pleasant when we first walked in, laughing and joking with what were clearly his regular students, all of whom were about my mother’s age, a phenomenon explained in many ways by his playlist. It was the music of my mother’s youth. He’d shaken my hand and called me by name, which creeped me out for a second. Then someone else had chimed in with “Oh, you must be Melina. Your mother talks about you all the time.”

I’d turned to look at my mother on the bike next to me
and she’d given me a big smile, as if this was totally normal. My mother talked about me? To her buddies in spin class? I’d pretty much assumed that my mother spent most of her time pretending she only had one child, my brother. The one who did things like stay in school and play soccer. Not the moody one who was always running strange errands that she refused to discuss.

“Pick up the pace,” the instructor growled from the front of the room. I glanced down at the rpm on the bike display. Could I stand to bump them up a few? It’d only be for a minute, but it did seem like a lot of effort for someone who could not curse me, kill me or zap me. I decided to do it for my mother, who talked about me.

Just because the instructor was 100 percent Mundane, didn’t mean that everyone in the room was, though. There was something in the room or, more to the point, someone in the room with a little magic to them. I would have liked to have taken a moment to cast around and figure out who it was and what it was, but I was too busy trying to breathe. My mother seriously did two of these classes a week? On purpose?

When the torture, I mean the exercise class, was finally over, the good mood returned to the room. Everyone went back to laughing and smiling even though they were now drenched with sweat. The instructor took us through a series of stretches, ending with a toe touch. I straightened up, and as everyone gave him a round of applause—applause, I tell you, and after he damn near killed us—the room swam around me and the edges of it turned gray.

I grabbed a bike to steady myself. The room righted itself and I realized that everyone was staring. “I’m okay. Just a little dehydrated.”

“Make sure to finish that bottle up,” the instructor
said, pointing at the water bottle my mother had brought me. “Then follow it up with another.”

“Sure,” I said.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” my mother asked as we left the room.

“Yeah. I’m a little tired, I think.” That had to be it, right? I didn’t like it, though.

My mother stopped on the stairs. “You’re never tired.”

“That’s not true.” Well, it was mainly not true. I don’t need a lot of sleep, not anywhere near what other people need. Three or four hours a night and I’m full of piss and vinegar, as my grandma Rosie would say.

“It is, too,” my mother said, starting to descend the stairs again. “You’re bored, sometimes. Distracted. Uninterested. But not tired.”

“Well, I am now. Maybe it’s part of growing up.”

“You’re sure you’re not coming down with something?”

I also don’t come down with things. I’ve got an immune system that’s locked down tighter than Fort Knox. No sniffles. No sore throats. My mother has always been more than willing to take credit for that as proof of her good parenting. Apparently she was letting go of lots of things these days.

I shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I gotta go, Mom.”

She sighed one of those mom sighs that communicates how much sharper than a serpent’s tooth it was to have a thankless child, and offered to walk with me to the parking lot.

“So nothing?” she asked once we’d left the club. “He’s…a regular person?”

I appreciated her not asking if he was normal this time since that would make me the opposite. Mom was still stumbling over words and concepts with me. “Sorry. Not that I
could sense. I think he just wants to make sure everyone has a good workout.”

“I can’t decide if that’s a relief or a disappointment.” She pushed her sweat-dampened hair off her forehead.

I smiled. “I know what you mean. Sometimes it’s a relief to realize something is supernatural. ’Canes’ motivations are often a lot clearer than ’Danes’.”

Mom shook her head. “I’m still not used to all your fancy lingo.”

I wasn’t used to the fact that I was using my “fancy lingo” around my mother at all, so I could relate. After twenty-five years of trying to keep her from knowing anything about this part of my life, it was weird to have even some of it out on the table and open for discussion. “People are complicated. Supernatural beasties often aren’t. Generally speaking, vampires want blood, dwarves want gold, and zombies want brains. People want all kinds of crazy stuff for completely unpredictable reasons.”

Mom tends to nod her head when she’s thinking things over. She was nodding now. “I can see that.”

I paused. She’d asked me specifically about the instructor. She hadn’t asked about anybody else. Still…“Somebody else in the room had a little tingle to them, though.”

Mom raised her eyebrows. “Who?”

“I’m not one hundred percent certain. I think maybe the redhead in the corner. The tall slender one who looks like a dancer?”

“You mean the instructor’s wife?” Mom’s eyebrows climbed even higher up her forehead.

That would explain a few things. There was something a little elvish about her. Maybe not a lot of it, but definitely a little. Something that would keep her young and vital for her age. She could easily be spreading a little of that effect
to her husband who was way too gleeful about telling us to add a little burst of speed.

“Is she…dangerous?” Mom asked, her eyes wide now.

I shook my head. “No. I doubt she even knows what she is. And if she has some inkling, she doesn’t seem to be using it. At least, not for anything malicious.”

“I won’t worry, then. Thanks, hon.” She gave me a quick hug. “I hope you feel better. I’ll see you this weekend, right?”

“You bet.”

NORAH, TED AND ALEX WERE ALL AT THE APARTMENT BY the time I arrived. “Finally,” Norah said when I walked in. “I’m starving.”

It was so weird to hear her say things like that. She’d never been much of an eater. Instead she’d been one of those obnoxious girls with seemingly no appetite at all who stayed thin without even trying, which was only slightly less obnoxious than the skinny girls who ate like horses.