Page 2 of Beware of Hodags

But this woman’s directness was unusual and I’d just spent the last day meeting an excess of strangers and got stares everywhere I went.

It felt like an overload on my circuit. I can shrug off a few stares, no problem.

But I’d had nothing but stares since I left home.

It really made me appreciate the fact that I’d lived in the same town all my life, where most everyone I come into daily contact with knows me and my family and we’re commonplace.

Not freaks.

I cleared my throat. “Think of them like café au lait birthmarks,” I’d told the woman.

Her lips quirked. “Oh, I know. Would you like a puppuccino, hon?”

I’d almost reared back. “What?”

“An affogato. Would you like one?” she’d asked. And her eyes had slid to the side, to a man who had just entered the shop. “Didn’t expect to see you today, boy. But you showed up at just the right time,” she’d called to him.

He’d nodded wearily. “I saw Corey’s car parked out there. Explains why he didn’t show up this morning.”

The woman’s face rearranged into apologetic lines. “Sorry, Mirk. I snared him.”

The man, Mirk, sighed and thumped onto a stool.

The woman’s gaze came back to me and she’d tapped her nails, painted black, on the counter. “I’ll make your affogato. Be ready in a second.”

“Uh,” I’d said. Because had I agreed?

Mirk had his head in his hands. Not in a depressed way, I didn’t think. More like he was propping himself up so he didn’t fall asleep on his barstool.

He was on the far end and the stool he was sitting on was like all the rest lined up in front of the glass bakery case, scarlet red velvet cushions with dark cherrywood armrests.

Cool seats. Especially the backs—each one was round, a perfect circle, and inside the circles were perfectly carved dreamcatcher-type webs.

Atop each armrest was a white decoration of some sort.

It wasn’t glossy like polished wood or stone.

No. I rubbed a finger over the nearest one. Smooth but grooved.

The proprietress poured a black coffee for Mirk, and then she’d cocked her head.

I could hear what sounded a lot like someone coming down a set of hidden stairs. I wasn’t surprised that I caught it, even though the footfalls were muted. I have excellent hearing. But I was surprised that she seemed to be able to hear it too.

“Corey—visitor,” she’d called. And from behind her, the Private door opened and a man stepped out.

Before he shut the door, I caught a glimpse of a steep staircase that must lead to the upper floor of the shop.

All of these old buildings downtown looked like they had living spaces built atop them and I loved it .

The woman finished pouring another cup of coffee, this time into a mug that she held out to the man who had stepped to her side, looking like he wanted to embrace her. She ignored this though. Maybe she didn’t care for public displays of affection.

Almost absently, he accepted the mug. He didn’t even look down at it, just took it while he stared at the proprietress. He’d been staring at her since he’d walked in, and even with two people sitting at the bar he hadn’t taken his eyes off her once.

She paid him no attention though. Didn’t even glance at him as she returned her coffee pot to its machine.

“Are you new to town?” She looked at me so that I knew who she was addressing.

The Mirk guy was drinking his coffee, watching the Corey guy mooning over the proprietress.

With a shake of his head, he tipped back his coffee and downed it like he needed the caffeinated fortitude just to watch this play out.

She ignored them both and said, “You can take one of those cookies. No charge.”

I don’t turn down free cookies. I snatched one out of the case that sat atop the bar and tried to answer her while I contemplated if it was polite to bite into it while I talked.

“I am. I just rented a cabin here this morning.” I gave in to the temptation and bit into the cookie—melty, salty chocolate chip. I stifled a moan.

“Where’s your cabin at?” she asked politely.

I covered my mouth with my hand while I spoke and chewed some more.

Gah, the cookie was perfect. “It’s a couple miles down Highway Seventeen.

From what I’ve seen of this town so far, I think I’ll settle here for a little while.

” I stuffed the rest of my treat into my mouth and let the flavors melt on my tongue.

The proprietress moved to prepare the coffee I hadn’t ordered and nodded to acknowledge she heard me about settling here. “Have a job lined up yet? ”

I was forced to masticate and swallow quickly. A shame. A cookie that good is meant to be savored. “Not yet.”

The proprietress had paused to push Corey to the far end of the bar where she basically forced him to take a seat before she bustled around and presented me with a travel cup filled with vanilla gelato topped with steaming coffee and caramel sauce. “I’m Saenathra.”

I accepted the incredible coffee creation like the holy grail it was even as I’d blinked at her. “This looks so amazing. Thank you! Can you… spell your name for me?”

Her smile was wry. “Spelling it won’t help. It’s pronounced Say-nath-ra.”

“Say-nath-ra,” I’d repeated.

She nodded, then humored me by spelling it after all. “ S-a-e-n-a-t-h-r-a. ”

I dragged my teeth over my lip. “You’re right. Spelling it would not have helped.”

With a laugh she came to stand beside Mirk. She’d clapped her hand down on his shoulder. “Meet my nephew, Mirk! He’s down some employees and looking to hire a cute girl to run his gift shop at the cranberry bog. You’re perfect,” she said with a smile.

Mirk swiveled his chair to face me—and gaped. He spilled his coffee on his lap. “Aww, fiddlesticks!” he yelped.

Honest to goodness, he swore using fiddlesticks as a cuss word.

Flustered by Saenathra’s comment, I grappled to graciously accept the compliment and change the focus of the conversation all at once, with interesting results. “Thank—What’s a cranberry… bog?”

Saenathra smiled wider and swatted Mirk's shoulder with the back of her hand as he hurriedly wiped at his coffee-stained crotch with a handful of napkins. “Mirk will tell you all about it.” And she’d sashayed back behind the bar. “Pay for her drink, Mirk.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t accept—” I started.

“He’s your new boss,” Saenathra pointed out. “You wouldn’t pay for a business lunch, would you?”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” I’d tripped over myself saying.

Mirk rose from his stool, tugged his wallet from his back pocket, and plucked out a few bills. Before I could protest further, he’d held them out to his aunt who plucked them from his fingers as she flashed him a triumphant smile.

Needing to numb my discomfiture, I took a spoonful of my gelato coffee. It was delicious. Did I just get hired for a job without my new boss asking for my resume, references, or even my name?

Did I actually accept this new job? I opened my mouth, thinking I’d protest.

Saenathra smoothly took up a cookie and held it out to me. “Have another.”

I took it. Because I’m not stupid. “Do cookies come with this job?” I’d asked.

“They actually do,” she said with a knowing grin.

Well okay then. I no longer had any reservations. I had a new job and cookies. Life was looking up. Still, I had to glance around in bewilderment.

“Aren’t those neat?” Saenathra said, catching where my eyes had absently dropped to her barstools. “They’re Bloodwood Louis XI French-style Spider Swivel chairs with real Bestia Cornuta Sylvestris ivory inlay.”

“Wow,” I chirped, overwhelmed. I didn’t know Latin. I tried to work out the words. Bestia means beast, right? What was Cornuta? And what was the last word she said? Sylvester?

I was about to ask her to repeat that when she said, “Mirk, take her for a tour around town.” She looked at me then. “He’s a good boy and you’ll be perfectly safe with him.” She smiled, showing all her shiny teeth. “Or I’ll kill him.”

“Ha…” I’d said weakly. Because her smile was scary. She was scary.

But she offered me a third cookie so I stifled my fear.

Feeling maneuvered but not really minding, I let Mirk usher me to the door. He was graciously carrying my bag of books for me since I was clutching a coffee ice cream and cookies and had no free hands.

The bells jingled as he pushed the door open, his long arm reaching easily over my head.

“I’m Rachel, by the way,” I called back politely to Saenathra. “Bye for now, I guess.”

“It’s good to meet you, Rachel,” she returned. “Beware of hodags.”

One foot on the stoop, I stopped. “Huh?”

Mirk tipped his head, silently telling me to keep making my way out of the door he was still holding.

“Don’t worry, Aunt Saenathra,” he called back over his shoulder.

“I’ll show her.” To the man still sitting at the far end of the bar, Mirk faltered strangely for a second before saying, “I hope to see you again, Corey.” His voice sounded oddly resigned.

“Yeah,” Corey replied distractedly, still staring adoringly at Saenathra. The entire time I’d been in the shop, she’d been dismissive of him. But before the door swung closed, I watched her finally face him. And smile.

Like it was some signal, Corey knocked his coffee mug aside and launched himself at her. The door closed on her loud whoop of laughter.

“Show me what?” I’d asked Mirk, blinking away the glimpse of the private moment I’d just witnessed as we’d stepped onto the sidewalk.

“You’ll see. But first, we need squeaky cheese.”

“‘Squeaky cheese?’” I’d enunciated.

He’d smiled. “It squeaks when you bite it. You’ll love it. Trust me.”

I followed Mirk’s truck to Kid’s Korner Pizza on Pelham Street, which was a used bookstore—be still my heart!

—with a massive model train running along an impressive track above every bookshelf.

It was also a pizza place with an impressively stocked fridge full of cheeses, which is where Mirk picked up our haul of squeaky cheese curds that had him very excited.