“Hello,” the man says. “I’m Chad. What’s your name?”
“Betty,” he replies with a Cheshire Cat grin. “You’re handsome, aren’t you?”
The man blushes and looks away long enough for Horace to slip the belladonna into his drink.
Before long, the man’s eyes turn glassy. The time is perfect to lead him to the playhouse.
“Come along, Lucien,” he orders, wrapping an arm through his toy’s. “We’re going to have so much fun.”Chapter SixMillie“We got some fantastic new books in,” I inform Esme, who’s just walked back to the reading nook to let me know she’s here for duty.
“Some of these are paranormal romance,” she says with a grin. “This is totally my jam.”
“I thought you’d like them. You can borrow them, but you have to bring them back.”
“I’ll just come in on my day off and read back here.” She flops down on the sofa and starts to read. “I love the vibe back here, Mil. It’s so chill and serene.”
“I think so, too.” I grin as I fluff an orange pillow. “And I love that customers have been coming back here more and more to spend time. I need to add a table or two for those who want a quieter place to work on computers.”
“You could put them in that corner,” Esme suggests, pointing to the room’s only empty space. “Well, one at least.”
“And only one because there are fire codes, and I think more than that would block the path to the doorway.” I prop my hands on my hips and survey the space. “But one bistro table will do for now. Anyway, I have to run across the street to Dahlia’s to pick up a fresh flower bouquet. I’ll unlock the front door on my way out and flip the OPEN sign.”
“I guess that’s my cue to get my ass off this couch.” She laughs and follows me out to the dining area. Esme walks behind the counter, ready to take coffee orders, and I grab the to-go cup that I already made for my friend.
“I’ll be back in a few,” I say as I wave and head out the door and across the street. It’s way too early for Dahlia’s flower shop to be open, but she’s always in early and lets me come in to buy fresh blooms each morning. It always helps that I’m armed with free caffeine.
“Good morning,” she says when she opens her door and holds it for me, gratefully taking her coffee. “You have no idea how badly I need this today. I’m exhausted.”
“Not sleeping well?” I ask with a frown. “You know, I can give you something for that.”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” She waves me off. “I just have times now and then when my sleep is restless. I’ll rub some vetiver on my feet tonight. That should do the trick.”
“Drink some chamomile tea, as well,” I suggest. “And I really don’t mind whipping you up a sleeping aid. I have everything I need across the street.”
“I’ll let you know if it comes to that,” she says. “What would you like today?”
“I think I’m in a red mood,” I reply after thinking it over.
“Blood red?” she asks.
“Mm, yeah. Deep red for sure. And let’s add some purple to it.”
She nods. “I have just the thing. Hold on.”
Dahlia disappears into her large walk-in cooler, where I see her arranging flowers, choosing a stem here and there from a bucket, and then arranging some more.
When she returns, I blink rapidly at the arrangement she offers.
It’s very…different for Dahlia. Bigger. Not as symmetrical as she normally does.
“Interesting,” I say. “It’s sort of…wild, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” she looks at the flowers in my hand and then tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Oh, I suppose it is. It’s early, and I’ve only had one sip of coffee. Here, I can spiff it up a bit if you like.”
“No, it’s fine. Thank you. Just add these to my tab.”
She nods. As I turn, I hear a blood-curdling scream.
“What in the hell?” Dahlia and I both run outside, and I see a woman staring down at the bench beside the Brew’s front door, screaming as if she’s being tortured to death. “What’s wrong?”
The woman points, and I glance down, immediately moving the other woman back.
“What is it?” Dahlia asks.
“Call 911,” I order her. “Right now.”
Esme comes running outside with her phone already in hand. “On it.”
“Let’s get all of these people back. Sorry, folks, but I need you to stand back.”
“Uh, Mil?” Dahlia says and gestures at the bench. I turn and feel my blood run cold.
It’s a hand. A severed hand, resting on the bench, its fingers clenched in a fist. Except now, the fingers are relaxing, opening, revealing something in its palm.
“Goddess, that’s gross.” Esme scrunches up her nose.
“What’s in there?” I murmur, bending down to get a closer look. “It looks like…a bloodstone.”