Hannah shook her head. “Once you work the cream in, using a deep tissue massage, let her rest for about fifteen minutes. Just keep her legs on your lap. At that point she should be feeling very good, all aches gone, and very connected to you. After fifteen minutes, offer her this drink.”
She showed him two small glasses. They were beautiful. He recognized Lissa Prakenskii’s work. They were small goblets with twisted stems, tiny hearts embedded in the stems and floating in between the layers of glass. He couldn’t imagine how any glassblower, no matter how skilled, could produce that kind of work in something that small.
Hannah had included two bottles of a liquid in the woven basket. “This is nonalcoholic.” She had a small bottle on the table he hadn’t noticed. She measured a small portion into a glass and added water. “You just use two tablespoons and fill the glass. You can use sparkling water if she prefers.” She handed him the drink.
Player forced himself to try it. He wasn’t much on anything sweet, but Hannah had been really good to him, taking time to show him how to apply the lotion and cream. Even if it didn’t work the way Hannah thought it would, Zyah would probably like the foot massage after standing on her feet all day. In any case, there was no harm in trying. He took a cautious drink. The beverage tasted . . . extraordinary.
“If Preacher gets ahold of this, he’ll decide you’re more than a goddess.”
She smiled, clearly pleased. “Let’s hope Zyah likes it. It’s expensive, Player, because everything I do is made by hand, and it takes time to get everything right. I have to experiment.”
He waved that away. “Believe me, I can tell without Preacher acting like a crazy man that you’re well worth it. I really appreciate it, Hannah. Did you include a list of everything so I can reorder if she likes it?”
Hannah nodded as they both stood up. Preacher came hurrying toward them, nearly knocking Player down. “Are you finished?”
Hannah exchanged a slow smile with Player. “I believe we are. Sabelia will ring the purchases up for you, Player. Thanks for coming in.”
“Preacher, don’t keep her past closing time,” Player cautioned.
“Don’t worry,” Sabelia said. “I’ll make sure he leaves.” She had followed him through the shop to put his packages on the floor beside the table.
“Thanks, Sabelia,” Hannah said, forestalling any response from Preacher.
The shop door opened, and Alena and Lana sauntered in. Preacher frowned at them. “What do you two want?” he demanded.
“Tea,” they replied in a perfect duet, and then laughed.
“I’m sure there’s another tea shop somewhere,” he groused.
“This is my business,” Hannah reminded. “Sabelia will serve them while we talk.”
Player left them to it. He hoped Lana and Alena would give Preacher some time with Hannah before they made him too crazy, but he wasn’t going to wait around to find out.
FOURTEEN
Some days were just longer than others. There was no getting around it. Of course, the fact that she hadn’t slept the night before might have attributed to the hours dragging on forever. Zyah glanced out the large windows for the millionth time. The view should have gone a long way to making the job bearable on a day like this one. The ocean was particularly moody. The moon was out, shining over the water so that she could see the choppy waves, dark and angry, an ominous portent of something evil coming.
Dread had been building for the last hour. This was the store’s late night. The locals came in to shop in a steady flow, peaking around seven and then tapering off at eight. She stayed open until nine. Only another hour and she could go home, see Mama Anat. She couldn’t wait to see her. Her grandmother grounded her. No matter what was going on, no matter how chaotic, Anat made the world seem right. She needed her. She also wanted to see Player. She missed him.
They both had slept for very brief periods of time, no more than half an hour, and maybe that was why he hadn’t woken with a terrible nightmare. She called it a victory each time he managed to sleep and there was no traumatic dream. At her home she slept in the guest room and rushed to him if he woke, already wrapped in the illusion, the White Rabbit present most of the time. Or he would be covered in sweat, fighting in his sleep, trying to stop his attackers. She detested those nights the most. She caught too many glimpses of what had happened to that beautiful little boy.
He’d been such a sad child with his sorrowful blue eyes. She wanted to wrap him up in her arms and run, keep him safe. He’d had a mop of light brown hair, streaked with blond, not those white streaks like he had now. They looked like highlights he might have dyed in his hair, but she knew they were there naturally. He’d gotten them the hard way.