Page 19 of What Happened on Roslyn Street? (Strode University #1)

Chapter Thirteen

“ L ast time I let you plan a date, someone tried to invite me to a vampire orgy.”

Where will he take me now? We’re walking this time—alone. That should raise the fear factor, but it doesn’t. I’m familiar with this area, and with the light of the sunset casting a joyful yellow glow, I feel safe.

But I’m not safe. I broke my promise to Margaux. The texts to her went unanswered. After sharing my location with her, I let Caldwell whisk me away on our next so-called date. The stake is still at my side for protection, but Margaux wanted to be here, too.

That’s not my problem. She should have answered her phone.

No matter how many times I’ve roamed these streets, I have no clue where Caldwell is taking me. I should be terrified, but something scarier nags at me: I like the feeling of my hand in his.

His hand is warm, and I haven’t figured out why that is. Why isn’t he cold like Margaux ?

His fingers are gentle and graceful, his thumb brushing against the back of my knuckles. It’s soft compared to our bickering.

“You didn’t mention them extending an invitation.” He lifts a brow.

I sniff haughtily. “That’s because they didn’t. They asked me to leave, actually.”

“Very wise of them.” He sighs. “If only I had done the same when you first bothered me.”

“Excuse me? I seem to recall you being the one to bother me , and you haven’t left me alone since.”

“I can’t recall. It was so long ago.”

“It was weeks ago! I know spending time with me is irritating, and it must feel like it’s been years, but…”

“It’s not!” He laughs—a real laugh. I’m still getting used to it, the kind of laughter that crinkles his eyes and comes deep from his belly.

It’s more striking in the sunlight, with the warm beams casting rays into his bright eyes.

“I wouldn’t have invited you here if I didn’t like when you bother me. ”

“Where are you taking me this time?”

“I’m taking you to a bookstore, if you must know.”

It’s the least suspecting place he could take me, and once again, Caldwell has planned a perfect date.

Around us, the fall foliage is on full display, bright colors scattering the sidewalks.

Crisp autumn air messes with my bangs, and the nostalgic smell of dirt and rotting leaves fills my nostrils. It’s a divine day for a book date.

I don’t know whether to be relieved or let down, but my suspicion isn’t going anywhere. He says he’s taking me to a bookstore, but he could be lying.

“Far less adventurous,” I say. “After that talk last time about how I had you all wrong and how adventurous you are… you’re taking me to look at books. ”

“Fine. You were partially correct about your earlier assumptions. A guy at the dining hall told me about the club, and when we went, it was only my second time visiting. Does that make you feel better?”

“It does,” I say, pretending to believe him. “I like knowing I had you all figured out from day one.”

And I did, in so many ways. I knew something was off about him when we met, and the night at the club is proof enough for me, even if it’s not for Margaux. Caldwell doesn’t know how right I was, but soon he will.

We arrive at the bookshop, and he holds the door open, letting me step inside first.

My eyes wander around the place. “Why haven’t I been here before?”

There are a few places in Castine I haven’t already visited, and this tiny shop is one of them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.

It’s a dimly lit space, tidy but cluttered. The books on the shelves aren’t new—many look like they’re from another era entirely. A black cat wanders through the space, rubbing against Caldwell as if he’s an old friend.

I bend down to pet the creature. A small smile dances on my lips. They remind me of my cat, and I can’t help but be fond.

“The shop is charmed,” he says. “Those unaffiliated with the paranormal can’t find it.” He watches me with a long, steady gaze.

For the first time, I feel like someone can see through my act.

“That doesn’t explain anything. I should have been able to find it.” I laugh nervously, paying attention to the cat rather than meeting his penetrating stare.

“Perhaps you don’t pay enough attention. Though Petunia has certainly caught your attention.”

“Is that her name?” I would rather sit with Petunia all night, but I straighten up, smiling at Caldwell.

“It is,” he says. “She’s the guardian of the shop. She was my mother’s familiar.”

My heart sinks. Petunia is a familiar who lost her witch. I’ve never thought about how tragic that would be.

Wait. Do vampires have familiars?

“And what is this place, exactly?” I ask.

It must be more than a bookshop. Otherwise, why is it so well protected?

“It’s a vintage bookstore.”

“Is that all?”

He shrugs. “No. That’s the cover, so to speak. It’s an apothecary and a safe space for witches to hide away. This place was my mother’s pride and joy.”

My lips pop open, with no sound coming out for several seconds. “Witches?”

“Yes.” Our hands tangle again as he leads me to the next room. This one is full of cauldrons and herbs. The scent of rosemary wafts to my nose. “My mother was a witch.”

I freeze. “What?”

Caldwell looks as confused as I feel. “You didn’t know?”

I shake my head.

I assumed Caldwell was a vampire the first day we met, but… I never found any proof. Caldwell being anything but a vampire never crossed my mind. Why had I been so certain, and what does the truth change? It renders the stake at my thigh useless.

What else have I been wrong about?

I swallow. My throat is suddenly dry as a bone.

“I thought you were a vampire,” I say in a small voice .

“Is that what you think of me?” He laughs, tugging at my hand to lead me back to the room full of books.

“I think about you a lot.” I smile, trying to regain my composure. “You have to be more specific.”

“I’m not a vampire,” he says. “My father was a demon; my mother was a witch. I only inherited her gifts.”

I lift a brow. “So… no horn, no tail?”

“Sorry, no. Is that a disappointment?”

“Not really.” I run a finger over the spines of the books, glancing curiously at the titles. I recognize some of them, and others may not be from my world at all. Twelve Ways to Charm Your Husband stands out as a new one. “It’s curiosity. I’ve never known a demon… intimately.”

I pick up the book, letting out a chuckle. It’s from the 60’s, if I had to guess, and the imagery is too funky for my liking. I flip open to a random page and snort. There’s an illustration of a witch using a lava lamp as a crystal ball. Very innovative.

“You don’t know me intimately,” he says. “Not yet.”

“Hm?” I look up from the book. “I don’t know about that. Our dance felt intimate.”

He inhales sharply, his eyes darkening. “It was.” He reaches to take the book from me, his brows lifting as he reads the title. “What could you possibly want with that?”

“Nothing!” I roll my eyes, reaching for the book. “I think it’s funny. I would never charm anyone—and I can’t!”

He clicks his tongue, placing the book back on the shelf. “You don’t have to charm me, Tobey. I’m already here.”

“Stop it!” I mean to sound severe, but instead, carefree laughter falls from my lips, spilling into the empty store around us.

Then, he’s laughing, too, our hands clasped together as he pulls me closer.

“What do you make of the store?” he asks.

“I love it. Easily your best date location so far. And I think I saw…” I wander through the room, but not without him, tugging at his hand to pull him along. In an instant, I spot the title, plucking it from the shelf. “Pride and Prejudice.”

“Of course,” he says. “It’s a classic. That’s what this place is all about.”

“I didn’t know all witches were as interested in the classics as you.”

“They aren’t, but…” He shrugs. “I decide what goes on the shelves, and I like this edition.”

“You said your mother owned the store?”

“She did. I’ve been running it for the past few months.” He looks around. “It closed after her passing, and I didn’t have it in me to reopen until recently. I hope I’m doing it justice, but there is no way of knowing.”

Without permission, my expression melts, and I look at him with gentleness he doesn’t deserve.

“Going to school and running a business at the same time must be hard,” I say.

“It is. But it’s not as if this place is very busy…”

“It would be busier if you didn’t have to focus on school.” I hold the book to my chest. “I want to buy this.”

“It’s your favorite book. You already own it.”

“Yes, but I don’t own this version. It’s vintage, and you said it’s a good edition. You wouldn’t lie about that, would you?”

“I wouldn’t. I’m far too professional.” He smiles wryly. “I would like you to have something to remember me by, and books create the best memories.”

“Then it’s settled—and I’m paying for it. I insist. ”

“And I insist upon giving you the friends and family discount.” He lets go of my hand, moving behind the counter.

Unlike me, Caldwell belongs at our school, but I can’t shake the thought that he belongs here, too. His disheveled hair and wise energy fit perfectly in the dusty old place.

He stands behind the counter, cauldrons and herbs lined up behind him, and it’s plain to see—he’s a witch.

How could I have missed it?

“That’s a good compromise.” I place the book on the counter, reaching into my pocket for some crumpled bills.

Our fingers brush as I pay him, and I stop, inhaling softly. Holding hands is nothing new for us, but electricity sparks, and I’m forced to ignore it.

It’s all fake—and I may be a little too good at faking it because when he smiles, it feels real. The touch lingers for a moment. It’s not long enough. He pulls back, gently placing the book in a paper bag.

“There you go,” he says, the picture of professionalism. He slips in a few items I haven’t paid for: a wooden bookmark and a bar of chocolate. “Enjoy.”

I look around, humming. “Is there no tip jar? Your service has been immaculate. I want to make sure you’re compensated fairly.”