Geomancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 5)

Rushing back to the bed, he ripped down the sheets and turned the pillow over. Maybe the necklace had come off in the night. But no. There was no sign of it.

Fuck. Fuck.

He checked under the bed. Nothing.

Had he lost it last night while he was mixing mood cocktails for the bar’s clientele? Had it dropped off on the way to the Turkish grub joint where he’d bought dinner?

He grabbed the T-shirt he’d worn the night before from the chair, marched to the open window, and yanked the curtains aside. Not a breeze blew in from the sea. Pushing his palms on the windowsill, he peered at the cobblestone street. Nobody was moving around, yet. The shops below were shuttered. The bustle of brooms sweeping the pavements would only start in a couple of hours. Restaurants and stores wouldn’t open until much later. Even so, if he’d dropped the necklace outside, the chances of finding it were slim. Someone could’ve picked it up by now. He had to go down to look for it. He had to find it.

Hurriedly, he pulled the T-shirt over his head. He was just about to turn when a young woman rounded the corner and strutted down the street. Holding her head high and her back straight, she beat the pavement with glittery flip-flops. The purposefulness of those steps made him pause. Her gait was different to that of the holidaymakers who strolled through the streets. This woman walked with single-minded focus and something else, something he noticed because he’d long since lost it—a youthful optimism about life.

Unable to look away, he studied her more closely. Curvy and on the short side, she looked voluptuous and young. Her attire consisted of thin transparent linen pants that she wore over a bright blue bikini. A white silk scarf was draped around her neck. No blouse or T-shirt, just the bikini top stretching over her generous breasts. To round off the look, she sported over-sized sunglasses with pink lenses. Dark blonde curls that reached her jawline bobbed energetically to the rhythm of her feet.

She was a looker, all right, but it wasn’t her prettiness that held his attention. It was that hopeful determination that emanated from her stride. Pity needled his gut. That sparkly luster for life wouldn’t last. Sooner than later, reality and its cruelties would find her.

Expecting her to head for the stairs that gave access to the beach, he gave a start when she stopped right in front of Jerry’s Pub and banged on the door. Baffled, he stared at the golden crown of her head.

It wasn’t until she knocked a second time that he leaned from the window and called, “Can I help you?”

The woman tilted a heart-shaped face toward the sound of his voice and pushed her sunglasses over her hair. She assessed him with spearmint green eyes. Freckles dusted her nose and cheeks. On closer inspection, she wasn’t as young as he’d thought. Late twenties maybe. The creases around the corners of her eyes suggested someone who smiled a lot.

Her gaze travelled over his chest before coming to a stop on his face. “Is this the premises that’s for rent?”

Rent?

Turning in a semi-circle with outstretched arms, she said in a bright voice, “This is perfect. Sea view, busy street, prime spot. Say, how many customers do you have on a weekend night?”

“You’ve got the wrong address, lass.”

She squinted at the number on the wall. “Nope. Number eight.”

“Hold on just a sec. I don’t—”

“Can I see the inside?”

He lifted a finger. “Wait right there.”

It seemed he’d have to go down and sort out this misunderstanding. A very untimely misunderstanding, might he add. He didn’t have time for this now. He needed to go hunting for his necklace.

After pulling a clean pair of jeans over his boxer shorts, he took the stairs two by two down to the bar. When he opened the door, his visitor cocked her head and blew out a puff of air. Before he could tell her she was lost, she flittered around him, as light as a pussycat on her feet, and swirled through the room toward the bar. A whiff of green apples and something fresh and pretty like daisies followed in her wake.

“Perfect.” White plastic bangles clanked together as she swept her arm over the lounge area. “The reception can be here.” She turned to the bar counter. “And the refreshments will be over there.”

The blue varnish and miniscule white flowers that decorated her nails drew his attention as she tapped her bow-shaped lips with an index finger.

“The massage room will have to be upstairs to profit from the view,” she continued with a thoughtful air.

There was only one room upstairs, and that was his bedroom.

“Hold it right there, pussycat. What are you talking about? This is Jerry’s bar.” Soon to be his.