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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Saturday morning, I slept in, waking at half past nine to find Miss P. and Dahlia on my bed, tussling on the bottom.

“How did you get up here?” I asked the dog. She was so small that she could fit through the cat door, but there was no way she could jump up on my bed. My aunt kept a carpeted ramp by the side of her bed so the Pom could make it up and down.

Then I noticed that I’d forgotten to move the ottoman, and it was just low enough for Dahlia to jump on, and just close enough to the bed for her to scramble across.

The pair of them flashed me a guilty look, then went back to playing. I yawned and stretched, wanting to stay under the covers where it was warm and cozy. But my phone sounded and I glanced at my text messages. Crystal had just texted me.

tonight’s the night i go on my quest. wish me luck. and good luck on your initiation. i’m supposed to spend the day in meditation, like you did, or i’d suggest getting together for lunch. i probably won’t make it over after my quest, because i know you’re going through your initiation tonight and i’ll probably be too tired afterward. see you tomorrow?

you’re right, i don’t know how late tonight will go, I texted back. i have a dinner meeting tomorrow, but maybe we can meet for coffee? and text me tomorrow morning to let me know how the quest went. although i don’t think we can talk about them until after we’re both initiated. I snapped a picture of Dahlia and Miss P. and sent it to her. it’s goofball city on my bed this morning.

mine too, Crystal texted back, sending a picture of her German shepherd rolling around on her back on the kitchen floor. azzy is being a doofus.

We texted a little longer—I told her about Denise and Zandre, and she warned me to be cautious—and then I finally decided it was time to get up. I would be dressing for ritual later, but until then, I decided to wear a knee-length brown corduroy skirt and a mustard-colored turtleneck, and I paired them with a gold belt and a pair of knee-high brown suede boots. I pulled my hair back into a braid, then did my makeup and added a pair of gold hoops and a citrine pendant.

Astra was sketching out something when I walked into the kitchen. I glanced over her shoulder and saw that she was diagramming the kitchen makeover.

“Ooo…getting the ball rolling, are we?”

She nodded. “I think I found our contractor. I’m going to draw these up and then talk to him this afternoon. He’ll create the final blueprints, then create it in a 3D model on his computer so I can see what it will look like.”

“It’s so cool how they can do that nowadays,” I said. “When I was younger, they couldn’t manage anything like this.” I headed for the espresso machine. “Latte?”

“I’ve already caffeinated for the morning. You go ahead. I didn’t feel like cooking, so breakfast is a cereal affair, unless you want to whip something up.”

I shook my head and opened the fridge. “I’ll make myself a turkey sandwich. That sounds good.” I quickly pulled a triple shot, then added milk, ice, and a shot of vanilla coffee syrup, then I slathered two slices of bread in butter and ketchup—I wasn’t a big fan of mustard or mayo—added some deli turkey, a couple slices of provolone, and then sliced tomato on top. I didn’t care for lettuce in my sandwiches, either.

I cut the sandwich in half, placed it on a small plate, and carried my breakfast to the table. “Did you feed?—”

“They’ve both been fed, yes. Honestly, Miss P. is getting heavier. I picked her up today to set her on the floor—she was trying to help herself to my cereal—and it felt like I was holding a couple bags of potatoes.”

“And she’s still young, by Maine Coon standards. I think she won’t reach full-grown adulthood till she’s several years old. Oh, I found the pair of them on my bed this morning, wrestling. Dahlia managed to launch herself there by clambering up on the ottoman and leaping across to the bed.”

“She’s picking up things from Miss P.,” Astra said. “How did class go last night? I was sound asleep by the time you got home, I think. I don’t remember hearing you come in.”

“I know,” I said. “I peeked in your room to say good night, but you were out like a light. Class was good. We’re going on a field trip out to Hollow Hill tomorrow.” I paused, then added, “It was quite the day yesterday.”

“Hollow Hill? Are you sure you want to do that? The Fae come and go through there.”

“Jason—our teacher—seems to think it’s safe,” I said.

“I’d think twice about going. Honestly, it’s not a safe thing to do,” Astra said. “Think about it before you go.”

As she finished sketching out her plans, I told her about Zandre and Denise and what had happened. “I think I finally got him to realize that she’s not his soulmate, and she never was.”

“I hope so. Though there’s not much he can do now, even if he did think she was meant for him. You can’t turn someone into a vampire if they’re already dead.” Auntie sat back, pushing the sketchpad away from her. “Are you ready for your initiation tonight?”

I nodded. “I think so. But I don’t know what’s coming, so I don’t know that I could ever be fully prepared.”

“It won’t be anything as extreme as your quest was—at least not in the same way. But today, think long and hard because once you pledge to the Society, the only way you can leave is to be expelled. And that’s only for good reason.”

“I will,” I said. “I think I’ll go down to the farmers market today. The early spring vegetables are coming in, along with some of the late winter crops.”

“If you see any honey, get some. We’re almost out,” Astra said. “I’m volunteering to sit with Lalinda Thomas. She’s in the hospital with a broken hip.”

My aunt volunteered with several organizations, including Meals on Heels, a group made up of older women. They took meals to the housebound, and they visited other older women in the community who didn’t have family or friends around. Every weekend, she spent a couple hours helping to make their clients lives brighter.

I didn’t recognize the name, but I said, “Well, tell her I said hi. In fact, here’s fifteen dollars. Why don’t you take her some flowers?”

Astra accepted the money. “I will, and I’ll tell her they’re from my niece.” She held up the drawings. “Okay, I’m off. I’m going to drop these at the contractor, then get started on my errands. I’ll see you this afternoon,” she added.

I waved as she left. After I finished my breakfast, I rinsed the dishes that were in the sink and placed them in the dishwasher. Then I watered the plants—Auntie had a lot of them—moved the sheets from the washer to the dryer and started another load of laundry, ran the vacuum over the hardwoods, and finally, armed the security code and locked the door as I headed out for the farmers market.

* * *

The morning was clear and breezy, with the faint shimmer of sun gleaming down on the rain saturated grass and trees. The road had dried overnight, so it wasn’t slick, except where the puddles had formed from all the rain we’d had the past week, and I even opened my car window for a few minutes to air out the inside. Five minutes, though, and I was ready to close it again and turn on the heat. Even though it was clear, it was still only forty-two degrees and that was too cold to let the air flow through.

The farmers market was bustling, though, even with the chill in the air, and several stalls were offering spring lettuce and early carrots. They had to have started them in greenhouses, I thought. No way could they be growing outside when we were still getting nights that dipped down near freezing.

Pulling my portable basket on wheels behind me, I didn’t linger at any one stall but bought some salad greens and greenhouse tomatoes before stopping at the honey stand. As I saw who the vendor was, I started to laugh. Ginger Lily was standing behind the counter.

“Hey, Ginger!”

She grinned. “Well, well, fancy seeing you here.”

“I forgot that you sold goods here,” I said. “Well, we need a couple of quarts of honey, so load me up.”

Ginger’s hair was pulled back in a curling ponytail, held by a green gingham ribbon. “What kind? I have wildflower, blackberry, clover, and larkspur honey.”

I frowned. “What’s the difference?”

She handed me four tongue depressors. “Taste,” she said, pointing to the sample jars.

I tried a sample of each. The wildflower tasted sweetest, and it reminded me of deep summer and picnics. Blackberry had a warm taste to it, a little more herby. Clover was dusty, in an odd way, and the larkspur tasted like late summer.

“I think a jar of the wildflower, and a jar of the blackberry,” I said.

As she rang them up, she asked, “So, is dinner still on for tomorrow?”

I nodded. “It’s on my calendar.”

“You would be surprised by how many people blow me off,” she said, her voice sounding the opposite of her smile. “They agree to get together, then just never bother contacting me again.”

“You think it’s because you’re…” I glanced around, unsure as to how many people might be listening. I didn’t want to out her as Fae unless she was good with it.

“Fae? People know. I don’t make a secret of it. I’ve discovered that when you hide things, people sense it and then they wonder what you’re hiding. Even if you tell them later on, they still don’t know if they can trust you because you hid things in the first place.”

She shrugged. “Apparently, I’m good enough to buy honey from, but not good enough to hang out with. But hey, those who don’t want to hang out with me because they’re afraid of what I am, well…I’m not losing anything positive, am I?”

“True. What’s the use of having toxic people in your life? Well, I’m looking forward to dinner, so I’ll see you then.” I handed her my credit card as I looked over the selection of cookies, bars, and pies she was selling. “You also bake? These look good.”

“I use my own honey,” she said, grinning. “Have a cookie.”

I bit into one of the honey-raisin, sighing as it melted in my mouth with a golden, honeyed taste. “I now have two friends who are wonderful bakers. Give me a dozen of these cookies, and one of your apple pies, please.”

As Ginger bagged up my order, I looked around at the other stands. “Anything else here that you’d recommend?”

“Twila, three stalls down, sells the best fudge I’ve ever tasted. She also sells gourmet popping corn. It’s worth the price. And in the aisle behind me, you’ll find a baker whose bread is worth twice what he charges. His name is Domingo. Try his sourdough—it’s so good.” She handed me my bags.

I carefully fit the honey toward the bottom of the cart, and the bag with the pie and cookies in it on top of the salad greens. “Well, I’d better get on with my shopping. I’ll pick up some of the sourdough. I think I should skip the fudge for now. See you tomorrow.”

“Right, see you then,” she said, her smile broadening.

I waved to her, wandering off as I pulled the shopping cart behind me. As I passed the fudge vendor, I decided I couldn’t go by without trying a sample, and after one bite of the maple fudge, I found myself buying a three-flavor set: maple, peanut butter, and chocolate. Then I found Domingo, the bread maker, and left with not only a loaf of sourdough, but also a dozen rolls and a loaf of French bread. I meandered through the rest of the market, adding a couple pounds of sausages along with a rack of lamb, and two rib eyes.

Finished with my shopping, I stored my packages in the backseat, then stopped by a post box to drop off a couple of cards Astra had asked me to post, then stopped in at the coffee stand for another latte. Finally, I headed back home, where I put away the groceries. Finally, I could spend some time in meditation before my initiation.

* * *

At five-thirty, I started dressing. I’d spent an hour meditating on whether this was the right direction, and everything in my gut told me I was on the right path. Regardless of what came out of it, this was what I needed to do.

I was finished with my shower and just starting to dress when my phone rang. Frowning—everybody close to me knew that tonight I was undergoing initiation and didn’t have the time or focus to talk—I glanced at the caller ID.

Zandre.

What the hell? I’d warned him it might take a week or so before I had any news for him. Irritated, but curious, I answered.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Hi, is this Maisy?”

I rolled my eyes. It was my phone. Who did he expect to answer?

“Yes. Hey, I’m really busy tonight?—”

“That’s all right. I won’t take more than a minute. I wanted to ask you something.” He sounded awfully pleasant, compared to his demeanor the last time we’d talked.

“What’s up?” I asked, half-expecting him to cancel the deal. But when he spoke, I realized my intuition wasn’t running on all cylinders.

“Maisy, I wondered if you’d like to go out to dinner with me? Not tonight, but soon—maybe Monday evening?”

I froze. He couldn’t be asking me out on a date , could he? Brushing it off, because it seemed highly unlikely, I cleared my throat.

“You know, you don’t have to take me out to thank me for taking you on as a client,” I said, keeping my words light.

But his answer once again made me question myself.

“It’s not a thank you. It’s…well, I was thinking. I enjoy talking to you, and you’re a smart, congenial woman. So, what do you say?”

I stared at my phone, not knowing what to say. He was a vampire, and I didn’t want to make him mad, especially after that crack he had made. Not to mention the fact that I really needed to focus on the initiation coming up. Panicking, I scrambled.

“Listen, I’m late to a really important event. Can I call you later? Tomorrow evening? It would really help.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but inside, my alarm bells were screeching like crazy.

He paused, then said, “Of course. Have a good evening. I’ll talk to you tomorrow night.”

As I set my phone down, I knew that I’d better have a really good excuse by tomorrow night, and once again, I wished I’d never accepted him as a client.