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CHAPTER TEN

WHEN WE WERE STILL GATHERED in Olivia and Wim’s greenhouse, I had pointed out that meeting Broch upstairs after talking to King was a waste of time. I could walk into the bar, sit at the local’s table and we could discuss it there. I had been vetoed by both Ben and Broch.

“Your face is too expressive,” Ben said.

“And King will have returned to the bar, too,” Broch added. “He’ll know you’re sharing everything.”

“He’s going to figure that out anyway,” I said.

“It’ll take him longer to come to that conclusion if we don’t rub his face in it, dear,” Olivia said.

I had agreed to meet in my apartment where we could discuss everything without being observed. The plan was that Broch could head back to the table, after a “bathroom break” while I would work behind or beside the bar, as the owner of the hotel.

When Broch and I reached the ground floor, Ben was standing by the open front door, watching us descend. “Could I speak to you, Anna?” he said when we stepped onto the big rug at the foot of the stairs.

I could feel the weight of that simple question settling on my shoulders like carrion crows. I opened my mouth to say no.

“That works even better,” Broch said, before I could speak. “I’ll head inside. You tell Ben, Anna.” He touched my shoulder and moved over to the curtained doorway and stepped through.

Ben glanced around the foyer. “Perhaps somewhere more private?” He looked toward the dining room.

“Not there,” I said. “The kitchen is as private as it gets around here.”

“Beside your apartment,” Ben added.

I ignored that opening, turned and moved up the passage to the kitchen door under the stairs. I didn’t look around to check if Ben was following me. If Ben was about to say what I thought he was going to say, then I did not want this conversation.

The problem was, I didn’t know why I didn’t want to have the conversation.

For the few short seconds while I walked into the kitchen, turned and rested one hip against the cool steel surface of the center work table, and looked expectantly at Ben, I let myself hope fervently that he wanted to talk to me about anything but, well, us .

When I was meal prepping, the stark overhead neons flooded the room with white, crisp light. At all other times, the kitchen had a single low-wattage bulb mounted on the wall over the range and griddle, which was left on so people moving through the room didn’t stub their toes or worse.

The pilot light was on now, and it put Ben’s face in shadow. His dark eyes gleamed. He rested his hand on the bare work table for a moment. He paused. Then, “What did Broch want you to tell me?”

He was reluctant to speak, too. Recognizing it made both my gut clench harder and my shoulders to relax.

I told him what Broch and I had discussed, and the outcome.

“That seems like the only way forward,” Ben said. Then he paused again.

I couldn’t bring myself to help him get started, which I would have done with one of Danny Ortiza’s clients, once. I didn’t want to talk about this, either. But neither could I refuse to talk about it.

“I know you’re busy,” Ben said at last.

“Understatement,” I replied. “And everyone, including you, keeps telling me it’s only going to get worse before May. Throw a murder investigation in on the top of that, that we have to figure out for ourselves before the Feds come to the wrong conclusion and…” I shrugged.

“I know you don’t have time to think.” His voice was low. “But…”

I sighed. But . That was the entire conversation, right there in a single word.

But I had not left Haigton. Olivia had driven me and Ghaliya out of town. We had actually passed the town wards and could have gone anywhere we wanted, but instead, I’d made Olivia turn the car around and bring us back.

But I had returned, after letting Ben know that if we’d had more time, perhaps something, someday, might grow between us.

But when I had returned, Ben had stood on the front sidewalk in front of the hotel, his breath pluming in the frigid air, and watched us take our meagre belongings back into the hotel. Ghaliya had been almost dancing with joy.

But since then, I had…yes, admit it Anna…I had actively avoided talking to Ben at all.

But since I had returned, he had not tried to force anything, until tonight.

I drew in a deep, deep breath. “No one comes right out and says it, but it’s obvious that anyone who lives here gets to enjoy a longer life than normal humans. Even my mother, who moved here when she was in her forties. I saw her body. She was in her eighties, but she looked to be barely sixty years old.”

Ben nodded. “There are many strange things about Haigton. Maybe it’s the will of the town, to keep us around and handy. Maybe it’s compensation for living here.”

“For having to live here,” I amended.

“Yes.”

“All of us have time. Lots of time,” I finished.

Ben shifted on his feet. It was difficult to clearly read his expression, but I knew that he didn’t like that.

“I know we should talk,” I said, feeling like the cheesiest cliché in the world. “but right now, I don’t think I could give that sort of conversation one hundred percent of my attention…and…” I drew in another breath. This was even harder than I thought it would be, when most of the difficult conversations I’d had in the past had ended up being far easier than the dire cataclysms I’d imagined they were going to be. “…and I don’t want to talk to you about that without my full attention. I won’t do that to you.”

Ben held still.

I let out my breath. I’d said it.

He swiped at the pristine steel workbench. “Then you agree that we should talk?” His voice was stiff. Controlled.

“Yes.”

He smoothed the steel with his thumb, leaving a mist of a thumbprint on the steel. “I suppose that’s something.”

“Things change,” I said. “You must know that by now. Things always change.”

“If you’re waiting for just the right time—”

“No. It’s not that,” I said quickly. “I know better than that. I learned it the hard way. It’s not that. But right now, Ben, I feel like…like I don’t have the capacity to add in one more thing. It’s not just Beltane, and this thing with Harper. I’m also terrified about Ghaliya’s pregnancy going wrong.” I didn’t have to explain that to him in detail because he was the town’s version of a G.P. and knew better than I did how miraculous it was that Ghaliya had reached her seventh month.

“On top of that, I’m still trying to transfer everything from California to here by remote control, and it’s – well, it should be a lot easier than it ends up being. There’s only so much you can pull off via Zoom, especially when you’re working with a minimal budget. On top of that there’s—” And I shut up, realizing that I was about to bitch about my odious ex.

“There’s?” Ben asked.

“Other stuff,” I said awkwardly. “That would probably be politically incorrect or socially inappropriate or something if I talked about it.”

Ben stopped swiping. He looked at me. I still couldn’t read his expression. But even in a room full of sunshine, I often couldn’t figure out what he was thinking. That went for everyone in this town. They were all deeply private people, despite everyone knowing everyone else’s business.

He straightened. “Very well, then.”

“Very well?” I repeated. Was I imagining that he sounded…I don’t know…pleased?

From out in the foyer, a male voice called out, “Hello? Is there anyone here?”

I sighed. “I’d better go and see what he wants. Sorry.”

“Before you go,” Ben said, “tell me if there’s anything I can do to help with…any of it. All of it.”

I hesitated.

“I mean it,” Ben said. “Whatever it is. I’ve seen everything. I can’t be shocked.”

Ask him to argue with the clerk at the DMV that yes, my California driver’s license was valid and no, I don’t have proof of residency and won’t until my mother’s death certificate was processed, her will probated, and the power bills started to arrive in my name?

I wavered for a second, wondering if a male voice on the end of the phone would shift the clerk over to a more cooperative mood.

Then I pulled myself together. “No. Thank you, but it’s a quagmire. I couldn’t ask anyone else to wade into it.”

“Quagmire. That’s an interesting word.”

“Hello?” drifted in from the foyer.

Ben stepped aside and I hurried out to the foyer. I could hear Ben following me. Then I forgot about Ben, as I took in my latest guest.

I knew he was here for a room, because he had a quaint old cardboard suitcase on the floor beside his old but shiny leather shoes.

He looked to be human, but I’d learned not to make that assumption too quickly, these days. Maybe five feet eight—close to my own height. He had pale white skin that was almost pasty, except for high spots of pink in both thin cheeks. The man was “average” from top to bottom. From his brown Oxfords on up. Brown corduroy trousers, a cream business shirt and a pale brown sweater vest were all his clothes. His shirt sleeve cuffs were properly buttoned, not rolled as one might expect this late at night.

He had pale brown hair—not quite pale enough to be called blonde. But it was baby-fine and wispy, cut short but not too short, and quite forgettable.

As I moved toward him, the man pulled a small bottle of sterilizing gel out of his pocket, squeezed some into his other palm, and rapidly spread the gel over his hands, both palms and backs. The entire sequence, from taking out the bottle, returning it and spreading the gel was practiced and swift. He’d done it so often he did it without thinking now.

I didn’t hold out my hand. Not because of the gel, which should surely still be sticky, but because many non-humans did not like physical contact with other species. Hirom had warned me about it shortly after we had arrived in Haigton. His warning had primed me to take notice. I had registered the lack of handshakes, hugs and other human gestures of fellowship or closeness.

It was the complete opposite to Hollywood, and I have to say it was a refreshing change. If someone hugged you, here, they meant it.

The man gave me a nervous smile. “I know it is late, but I’m wondering if I could take a room? I got lost, you see. I was watching the hermit thrushes…it is lovely to see them this early, you know. But I was distracted and I put my foot into a puddle, and then I had to find a dry cleaner, and the laundromat at Edwards could have my clothes cleaned in the hour, but they couldn’t guarantee removal of spores and, well, it is that time of year when the pollen is particularly high and I don’t think I brought along enough antihistamines, so I thought I was turning onto the road to Gouverneur, but I wasn’t.”

I scrambled to follow his quick, trembling speech, and fought hard not to laugh when I pictured him stepping into a puddle in his immaculate Oxfords.

“You’re a bird watcher?” Ben asked, his tone polite.

The man pushed his glasses up his nose. “Oh, I wouldn’t really go that far. I do find watching birds and animals restful, so perhaps one can go that far.”

Ben blinked. “Ah…” he said, his tone neutral.

“I am…my name…most people call me Percy. Finch. Percy Finch.”

“Hello Percy Finch.” I had to control my hello smile so it didn’t turn into a grin, or worse, a guffaw. “I have a room you can use. You’re travelling alone?”

“I suppose I am, really. That is acceptable, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes, that’s fine,” I said. “I just needed to know how many rooms you want.” I moved over to the waist-high sideboard pushed up against the wall beside the stairs. “At this time of night, I will need the full amount paid now.”

“Of course, yes, that seems most sensible. Oh, where did I leave my wallet…?”

I opened the guest register to the current page, and turned to watch him pat his pockets, each one twice. Then he bent and opened his suitcase. It had old-fashioned spring locks, the kind that sprang open with a snap when you pushed sideways on the buttons beside them.

I felt as if I should look away as he opened the lid of the suitcase, but the interior of the case snagged my attention. It was a traveler’s dream of organization and neatness, despite the case being tipped up to vertical once it was closed.

Ben swayed sideways for a better view. He wasn’t smiling, but I could tell he wanted to.

Percy patted each neatly folded pile of garments, and each pouch and bag. “Ah!” He pulled out a perfectly normal wallet, neither stuffed full nor thin and chic. He carefully closed and stood the suitcase back up and came over to the sideboard.

I filled in the register fields with his name and pushed it toward him to fill in the rest.

He didn’t take the pen I held toward him. Horror touched his face. “You don’t use a computer?”

“Not for this. We like the old ways in Haigton.”

He stared at the pen. “Do you have…perhaps, some clean pens?”

Pre-COVID, I might have just rolled my eyes. But I also didn’t clean the pens daily the way we had in the diner when it had reopened after the lockdowns. I hesitated, then pulled open the top drawer and fished out the box of pens there. I opened the top of the box. “Hold out your hand,” I told Percy.

He held out his hand and I carefully tipped one of the new pens onto his palm. “Never been touched by anyone,” I assured him.

“Oh, thank you,” he murmured and removed the cap. His hand hovered over the register, and I knew he was thinking about the open page and how many people might have rested their fingers on it. But the line where he was registering was second from the top on the page.

He drew in a breath and wrote quickly.

“It’s two hundred for the night,” I said, as he wrote. “Cash, credit, or kind.”

“Kind?” he repeated.

I could have given him the whole spiel about how food or other goods also worked for us here in Haigton, but I still didn’t know if he was a human who had bumbled his way into town, or something else. He wasn’t giving off any vibes other than a desire to avoid germs, which many humans wanted to avoid, these days.

“Some folk don’t like to touch money. You know,” I said, instead.

“And they’re so wise not to,” Percy said. “It’s unbelievable where money is kept. Toilet cisterns. Freezers. Down socks and stuffed in pants pockets.” He shuddered. “And that’s after thousands of people have touched just one bank note. Do you know they can track where money goes—the actual notes themselves? They can travel the world, these days—there’s just as much American currency in other countries as there is in the United States. The dollar I hand you could have been in Calcutta two days ago, and you would never know. You’d just get sick and think your husband bought it home from work, and it was the money all along.”

“I…um…that’s interesting.” It was a pathetic attempt at being polite. I pulled my keys out of my pocket and unlocked the other drawer and selected the room key from the tray. I held it out to him. “We sterilize our keys every day,” I lied, just to make him take it. I didn’t have any sanitizing gel. He could use his own.

Percy took the key without hesitation. “I appreciate that.”

His gratitude made my guilt bloom. I ignored it. “Room 12. It’s on the right when you reach the top of the stairs.”

Percy picked up his suitcase. “Thank you. Um…breakfast is in there?” He pointed toward the dining room.

“Seven-thirty to nine,” I said. “What can you eat?” I had been about to ask him if he had any food allergies, but I suspected that asking him what he could eat would give me a quicker answer.

“Oh…oats and fruit are safest, of course.”

“Of course,” I murmured.

“Fruit that needs peeling,” he added. “And bananas are not fruit, but they have fewer allergens, anyway. Tomatoes are fruit…but everyone touches them, squeezes each one with their fingers, so when you buy them, you don’t know who has touched them and they don’t put sanitizers at the front of the supermarket anymore, have you noticed?”

“I hadn’t, actually,” I said. “Good night, Percy.” I put a touch of finality in my voice.

“I…ah…yes. Goodnight.” He trudged up the stairs. At the landing, he paused to look in all directions, as if there were many choices of direction beside climbing up the other half of the stairs. Then he climbed out of view.

Ben pressed his lips together firmly as he came over to the sideboard. He looked up the stairs, clearly waiting to hear the door of Room 12 open and closed.

I read the register entry. Detroit, MI . “He’s a long way from home, for bird watching.”

Ben glanced at where my finger rested. “He could have come across the lake.”

I hadn’t thought of that. I was still getting used to the idea that the great lakes were just a different sort of highway to most people who lived around them.

“I must keep Broch company, so he doesn’t look conspicuous sitting on his own and listening hard,” Ben said.

“Because the two of you not talking won’t look strange at all.”

“Trevalyan and I can talk.” Ben rested the tips of his fingers on my arm. “Thank you.”

I knew he was thanking me for talking to him in the kitchen, not for something I’d said out here. “Why?” I asked, surprised, because I had not been helpful. I’d said, basically, not now, but maybe later . Which had to be one of the most discouraging things to tell a man. It was only slightly better than It’s not you, it’s me .

Ben’s smile was small, but warm, making his eyes dance. “You were about to tell me about your ex. Your odious ex.”

I sighed. “I clearly say that way too often.”

“You stopped yourself, because you don’t think it’s appropriate to tell me about your ex. Not the mucky details.” His smile grew. “If I was just a friend, you wouldn’t have stopped. I’m something more to you…and that gives me hope.”

He crossed the foyer, heading for the bar, while I stood with my lips parted, astonishment rippling through me.

Then I got on with the still lengthy list of things I needed to take care of before I could even think about sitting down and relaxing.

One of those things was peeling and cutting up fruit for our new guest, for the morning. Now I had eleven guests in total. Maybe I could get through the rest of the evening without any more interruptions.

That was when my phone rang. Caller ID said it was my lawyer, and I knew my hope was wasted.