Page 11 of Just a Little Wicked (Wicked Sisters #2)

“Looks like a post card,” he commented.

Winter blinked, finally emerging from her thoughts.

Even though the windows were closed, he could smell the salt of the ocean.

There was an absence of seagulls this far northeast—the birds having migrated for the winter—but other birds wheeled in the sky, little crescent flecks dotting the white cloud cover.

A half-smile touched the corner of her lips. “Yeah, it does.”

“Was that a smile? Is Maine your soft spot, Winter?”

The lip tilt vanished and she signaled her next turn. “Do you have to ruin everything, Grimm?”

“I’m asked that question suspiciously often.”

“I’m not surprised.”

She turned at a sign for Cranberry Street, and they passed rows of houses, some with the ornate trim of the early 1900s, while others were modernized with weather-proof siding and sleek, gleaming windows.

They came to a stop outside one of the newer houses with a gray exterior.

There was nothing remarkable about it: there was a short, paved driveway, an American flag fluttering in the breeze, and a decidedly vacant quality to it.

The doors were closed, the shades drawn.

“He’s not home,” Erikson said.

Winter didn’t bother acknowledging the obvious. She did a quick search for motels on her phone and found a Bed & Breakfast close by.

Five minutes later they parked outside an adorable bed and breakfast sporting a front porch with wood-carved mermaids as posts. Inside, an older woman with a heavy-knit sweater greeted them, and when they asked for two rooms, cheerfully informed them that she only had one vacancy.

Winter’s eyes widened. “But . . . but it’s November!”

The woman’s twinkling gaze darted from him to Winter. “What a handsome couple you are. I’ll put you in the finest room: the Captain’s Suite.”

“Wait,” he said suspiciously, “that’s the only room available?

” His eyes dropped to the romance novel splayed on the counter, and his suspicions intensified.

Erikson had once read that the secret to being successful with women was to read romance novels.

He’d dived into his first romance soon after, amazed to discover that romance novels were literally how-to manuals for pleasing a woman.

He’d read enough romances by now to recognize an only-one-bed-trope reader when he saw one.

He suspected the inn lady was trying to play matchmaker.

“That’s too bad. It’s weird to share a room with my sister,” he lied.

The innkeeper blanched and quickly clacked on her computer keyboard. “Sorry, I was mistaken. There are two rooms open on the east side facing the ocean.”

Winter split a confused gaze between Erikson and the innkeeper, but she took her key from the woman and followed him up the creaking, carpeted steps to their rooms.

“Swap keys with me?” he asked.

“Why?”

“Because three crazy-powerful sociopaths are stalking you, and your name is attached to the other room.”

“Oh.” She hesitated, and then swapped keys with him. When she reached her new room, she opened it and he followed her inside, tossing his bag on the desk.

“What are you doing? This is my room now.”

He pointed at her like a Neanderthal. “You, Winter.” He turned his thumb on himself. “Me, Shadow.”

Her face clouded. “Why ask for two rooms, then?”

“Maybe we’ll have some advance warning if they storm the other room first. Come on,” he cajoled, “this room is huge. Two twin beds and everything. Listen, if I can handle your snoring, you can handle sharing a room.”

“I do not snore!”

She did snore, but they were more like cute little hiccups rather than the log-sawing he was accusing her of.

“I’ll record you,” he offered.

Winter whirled on him, her face cold and flat. A shiver raced down his spine. Christ, she was fierce. “If you record me when I’m sleeping, I’ll cut out your tongue and choke you with it.”

He bopped her on the nose and she exhaled heavily, like a bull. He wondered if maybe he’d finally pushed her too far, but instead of ripping his face off like he half expected her to, she turned on her heel. “I’m hungry. Let’s hit the tavern and ask around about Atlantes.”

So she was taking the high road. That was fine. One of them probably should.

The tavern was in walking distance, and as soon as they stepped onto the street, a vicious wind tore through his sweatshirt, making him wish he’d worn his jacket. The temperature was in the balmy forties, but the wind chill easily dipped into the freezing range.

He eyed the store front displays as they meandered along the sidewalk, Winter silent at his side.

He’d just turned his head to point out an amusing hotdog shop sign that said “Let’s be frank, hotdogs are the best,” when she went rigid, her limbs stiffening and her eyes going blank.

He swung his body around to buffet her from the wind—and prying eyes—and waited.

The vision lasted a few moments, and then she was breathing again, the only evidence that she’d likely just witnessed some horrid snippet of the future found in the finest tremor of her fingers.

“Atlantes?” he asked. “Did it have anything to do with him?”

She shook her head, her lips pressed tight and her eyes haunted. “No. Something else.”

“Do you want to share?’

She turned her cheek. “I’ve been dealing with this a long time, Grimm. I don’t need to talk about every vision I get.”

“Fine, but the offer stands.”

She muttered something he missed and brushed past, leaving him with the feel of her shoulder and the faintest whiff of her lotion—something citrusy and sharp that was so on-point with her personality that it made him smirk.

Washington’s Pub was constructed of beer-soaked wood and had an outdoor deck that overlooked the ocean and the lighthouse.

The hostess was chewing gum and scrolling her phone when they entered.

It wasn’t exactly busy, but there was enough of a lunch crowd that they had to pass several tables to reach a vacant one.

Winter was ahead of him, following the hostess down a line of booths, when she stumbled, her hand coming down on the edge of a diner’s plate and flipping it. The half-eaten steak flew into the air and landed on the floor with a splat, while green beans rolled beneath the chairs.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed to the white-haired woman staring forlornly at her destroyed lunch.

“That was the last steak,” the woman said sadly.

“Please, let me pay for it. I’m truly so sorry.”

The woman’s companion, a steely-haired man with a nose crawling with broken capillaries, was staring at Winter with enough irritation to make Erikson’s hackles rise.

“Paying for her steak won’t restock the kitchen,” he barked.

“It was an accident, dear.” The woman rested her thickened knuckles on his forearm, but he shook her off.

“She ought to pay for both our meals. She’s ruined our lunch.”

“Now hold up,” Erikson began, stepping closer to Winter. “If you think that?—”

“I’ll be happy to,” Winter cut in, despite the older woman’s obvious embarrassment over her husband’s behavior. Before it could escalate further, Winter snatched Erikson’s hand and tugged him firmly forward.

“That mother?—”

“Erikson,” she interrupted, but not because he’d been about to curse the tavern down.

There was an urgency to her tone that made his ears prick.

“I need to sit.” She was still holding his hand, which was odd.

No, not holding it, clinging to it. The hostess showed them their booth, eying the rude couple with distaste, and set their laminated menus in front of them before rushing off.

Winter slid into the booth, pulling Erikson into the same side as her. It was so unlike her that he simply followed along, obedient as a dog.

“I need you to shield me,” she said flatly. “Everything is fine. Don’t let anyone see me.”

“Winter, what?—”

But he understood what she meant a moment later when she stiffened, her eyes rolling upward. Her nose began to bleed, first only a single red drop sliding from her nostril, then another, and another.

“God, Winter,” he growled, turning his shoulders and blocking her from sight even as he snatched the roll of silverware.

The knife and fork clattered to the table as he brought the napkin to her nose and pinched the bridge hard to stop the bleeding.

She’d told him everything was fine, she’d known this was going to happen, but that didn’t stop his heart from racing and his mouth going dry with fear.

What if she was having a seizure? What if she needed medical attention?

Seconds later her body relaxed and she blinked, her gaze refocusing on him. She took the napkin from him and nudged his hand away. “Thanks,” she mumbled. She wiped the blood from beneath her nose and pressed her fingertips to her temples, bowing her head.

“What the hell was that?”

“That was punishment.”