Wicked Appetite (Lizzy and Diesel 1)

“Turn it over and see if it says ‘Made in China’ on the back cover,” Clara said.

Glo looked at Clara. “You, of all people, shouldn’t be so cynical about this book. Everyone knows the Dazzles aren’t normal.”

I was new to this. I’d moved to Marblehead five months ago and wasn’t up to speed in the rumor department.

“How so?” I asked.

Glo dropped her voice to a whisper. “The Dazzles have always had special abilities. I heard some of them could fly.”

I cut my eyes to Clara. “Can you fly?”

“Not without a plane.”

Glo thumbed through a couple pages in the book. “I bet I can find a flying spell in here.”

“How about finding a working spell,” Clara said. “There are six trays of cookies that need to be transferred to the display case.”

I turned to go back to the kitchen and slammed into over six feet of hard muscle and bad attitude. He reached out to steady me, and I sucked in some air.

“Jeez Louise,” I said. “Where the heck did you come from?”

“Bangkok. Not that it matters.” He looked around. “I’m in Dazzle’s, right?”

We all nodded, taking him in. His hair was thick and dark blond, somewhere between wind-blown, just woke up, and untamable. His skin was beach bum tan. His eyebrows were fierce and darker than his hair. His eyes were brown and assessing. His posture was confident. His body language was intimidating. His boots were dusty. His jeans were on their last legs but molded nicely to all the good parts. His navy T-shirt was splashed with flour from my chef coat.

He glanced down at his shirt and brushed at the flour. “I’m looking for Elizabeth Tucker.”

It was my second encounter of the day with a big, sort of scary man, and I was on guard.

“That’s me,” I told him, taking a protective step back.

He gave me the once-over. “Figures.”

I didn’t think figures sounded entirely complimentary. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He blew out a sigh. “It means you’re going to be trouble.” He looked around. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“We can talk here.”

“I don’t think so.”

I folded my arms across my chest and narrowed my eyes.

“Lady, I haven’t got a lot of patience right now,” he said. “Mostly, I just want to get on with it. Cut me a break and come outside where we can talk in private.”

“No way.”

He grabbed my wrist, yanked me to the door, and Glo and Clara rushed at him.

“I’m dialing 911,” Glo said, cell phone in hand.

“As if that would help,” he said to Glo. “Put the phone down and stay. This’ll only take a minute.”

He whisked me out of the shop, and we stood on the sidewalk, blinking in the sun’s glare.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m looking for a guy. His name is Gerwulf Grimoire. Wulf, for short. My height, shoulder-length black hair, pale skin, evil.”