3

The darkness inside hit me like a physical entity. I stopped in the doorway, my feet refusing at first to cross the threshold. Which was stupid, because even without any electric lights turned on, light through the door I’d just opened flooded the linoleum floor and peeked between boxes stacked on the inventory shelves.

My reaction was reflexive more than anything. The shadows seemed too thick. A strange smell lurked.

You are imagining it. If he had a clue where you were, he wouldn’t be shy about letting you know.

Or maybe he would. But it was a moot question, because the shadow weirdness was a lingering light sensitivity from staring out the window earlier. That was all. And the scent?

One of the shadows inside the storeroom sniffled and half-turned toward me. Claire’s dark hair hung in strategically-razored layers, hiding her face. When she moved, a patchouli fragrance and the mellow scent of weed smoke trapped in Claire’s blood-red blouse eddied through the close air inside the room.

Old smoke. And Claire held nothing in her hands.

“Sorry.” Claire took a deep, trembling breath. “I’ll have my shit together in a second and be right out. Promise.”

Again, I hesitated. Despite Claire’s failings—and the fact that she was barely twenty—there was something about the girl I could relate to. Maybe it was the lost look Claire got in her eyes, sometimes. Like now. I’d spent a few years sobbing in corners and trying to get my shit together, too. That had been a while back, but still—it wasn’t something I’d forgotten.

Gods, Iris. You have got to start caring less.

Despite my hands-off policy—one that apparently I still needed to work on—I took another step into the storeroom instead of out of it.

“Is it something you want to talk about?” I aimed for a tone of voice that sounded kind, but not too kind. Encouraging-you-to-cope kind as opposed to cry-all-over-my-shoulder kind.

Claire lifted her head. Mascara smeared raccoon-worthy circles around dark, too-big eyes. With her high, sharp cheekbones, she resembled a wraith more than a human being.

“I don’t know. I mean…” Claire shrugged with one shoulder. “I don’t know.”

I pasted on one of my polite smiles and tipped my head a little to one side. And waited.

Claire shrugged again. “There’s this guy. He’s awesome, you know. He gets me.”

Which meant, I assumed, that he was also into or at least OK with Claire’s interest in things like Ouija boards and séances. And, of course, experimenting with illegal substances. During some of Claire’s one-sided attempts at conversation, she’d shared a few stories. I’d been frequently relieved that Claire showed no signs of any real magical ability.

The girl gets into enough trouble without it.

Claire was, at the moment, peering at me from behind the veil of hair half covering her face. Waiting, I realized, for me to indicate I wanted to know more. I put a little more gentleness into my smile and lifted my eyebrows the tiniest bit.

“But…” I prompted.

“But—oh, I don’t know. Shit.” Claire stood up a little straighter and ran a thumb under her eyes, simultaneously digging in the pocket of her tattered jeans for a tissue. “You know, it’s not a big deal. Really. I’m just being stupid.”

Claire didn’t meet my eyes, though, and the hand that carried the tissue to blot under her eyes trembled.

I hesitated again. Obviously something about this “awesome” guy was not good news. Equally obviously, Claire had it bad for the guy.

Been there, done that.

And that had ended about as badly as it could. Which should serve as a reminder about why I didn’t get involved with people anymore.

I hesitated for another breath.

Not involved. Not involved is good.

Feeling vaguely guilty anyhow, I shuffled a step backward, out of the storeroom’s shadows and into the light. “Well. If you’re all right, then…”

Claire tilted her face toward me. This time, those big dark eyes actually met mine. The running mascara had gone from raccoon circles to mottled smudges.

Behind me, the chimes on the rental office door sang out a warning.

I took another step backward, wondering if I should be ashamed of how relieved I felt for an excuse to get away from Claire and her troubled eyes.

“Iris?” The voice that called out from the next room was familiar, and not a customer after all. “Claire?”

Maureen Cox’s daily uniform was much the same as Claire’s and mine—jeans and boots, with a shirt of choice. In Maureen’s case, today’s shirt was green flannel that brought out the spark in her hazel eyes and set off the red still lingering in her graying hair. She moved stiffly, as if much older than she really was.

Hardship does that to a person.

Maureen and her husband Everett owned the Cox Lake Resort. I’d met Everett only once, when I’d first rolled into this neck of the woods and applied for the job. I’d barely been working for them for a month when Everett was diagnosed with liver cancer.

Despite my usual intentions to avoid genuine friendships, I flashed one of my best smiles at Maureen as I hurried through the doorway from the store and into the rental office. It seemed wrong to be deliberately cool to a woman who was dealing with so much.

“Morning, Maureen.” I cut directly toward the rental counter. I had a fair idea why Maureen was here. Although I hadn’t expected her, I felt vaguely guilty about not having the reports printed already.

“There you are.” Maureen stopped halfway across the rental office. She studied me for half a second before glancing through the doorway behind me.

“Pretty quiet this morning.” I rounded the corner and stepped behind the rental counter. “I rang up some coffee for Mr. Davis while Claire was in the storeroom.”

Not a lie. Just a skimming of the full truth. I shot a quick look at Maureen and noted that the tight lines around her eyes and mouth seemed deeper than ever.

She doesn’t need more to worry about.

Behind my eyes, a threatening headache tweaked.

And I really, really just want to go back to my cabin now.

The cabin wasn’t home, not really. But it was quiet and secluded, which was the next best thing.

I flipped open the laptop we used for record-keeping and brought up the spreadsheet showing the previous week’s rentals.

“I’ll have your report in a second.” I pressed the printer’s power button.

Maureen stayed where she’d stopped, in the middle of the rental office, but she frowned toward the store. I assumed that meant Claire had yet to put in an appearance.

I’ve been here too long. Knowing what report my boss wanted before she asked, getting caught up in my co-worker’s troubles… I hadn’t been here quite a year yet, but it was apparently long enough to start getting comfortable. Long enough to start being tempted to become a part of lives that weren’t mine.

Technically, that meant it was time to move on. But six years of moving around—and moving the hard way, no magic to cover distances… The thought of starting all over again, one more time, left me exhausted.

The printer whirred. The paper felt hot to my touch when I pulled it from the print tray.

Maureen’s eyes narrowed—she was still looking into the store. I carried the papers around the counter and used them as an excuse to move to Maureen’s side.

On the general store side of the building, Claire approached the register, head down and smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her blouse as she came. When she finally lifted her head and darted a quick smile at Maureen, her face was bereft of most of its usual makeup—raccoon eyes included.

It’s a start.

Claire reached the register, and the three of us stood there for a moment, Maureen with her tired eyes, Claire with her too-bright eyes, and me with my report clutched in one hand. I felt trapped, like an insect caught in the amber of a life that had been forced on me.

Worse, I felt worried—about Claire and whatever she’d gotten herself into. About Maureen and what I knew she was dealing with.

Then Maureen turned toward me. Her frown eased into a weary smile. With one hand she took the report. With the other, she patted my arm.

“Thank you, dear. Actually, I’d like the full set of reports from last month, as well.” Maureen’s smile faltered. “Could you drop them by the house on your way home this evening? I need to get back to Everett.”

My throat tightened. Setting foot inside the Cox house was not high on the list of things I was in the mood to do. Ever.

But I couldn’t look Maureen Cox in the eye and refuse. So I forced a smile and nodded. “Of course. Sure.”