I beamed, mentally patting myself on the back. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  A little frown line appeared between his brows, and Donovan tipped his chin towards another door, just off the kitchen. “What’s through there? Is it a closet?”

  “Ah.” I flipped through my notes, double checking. “That’s actually a door to another staircase that leads to the store below us.”

  Donovan gave me a look, one brow raised.

  “It locks from your side,” I reassured him hastily. “It’s just that the last tenant who lived here did so before Mr. Rowe purchased the property. And he was the shop owner.”

  “The butcher?”

  I nodded. “Right. And apparently he liked being able to let himself into his apartment, without having to actually leave the shop—but you can keep it locked.”

  The butcher had also been a werewolf who liked to sneak downstairs for a midnight snack or two. It had happened often enough that apparently his habit started to eat into his profits, literally, because I knew Lorcan had gotten the building pretty cheap, especially for the location. And as to the current butcher in that spot—John Stanley—he was the original butcher’s cousin (apparently werewolves were drawn to this line of business).

  Donovan watched the door for a long moment, that same strange, almost queasy look on his face.

  “I do have some other properties I could show you,” I offered a bit tentatively. “This is probably the nicest one and it’s definitely the closest to downtown, but if you’re uncomfortable—”

  “No.” Donovan pulled in a long breath that only shook a little on the way out. He smiled at me, but it looked a little strained around the edges. “No, it really is fine. I like it. I think it will work very well.”

  I was still worried, but he was a grown man, and if he wanted the apartment, then I was hardly going to tell him he couldn’t have it. I just couldn’t help but be concerned, though. He was clearly uncomfortable, so why was he forcing himself to stay?

  Chapter Five

  In the end, it wasn’t really my business.

  Donovan Novik was my client, not my friend. So, I gave a little mental shrug and got back to doing my job.

  “I’ve got the short-term lease agreement for you to look over here.” I fished the papers out of my briefcase and moved over towards the kitchen counter so he could read and sign them. “It’s on a week-to-week basis, to give you the most flexibility possible.”

  I laid the paperwork on the counter and pointed out all the details before leaving Mr. Novik to read the terms in peace. It was a good deal, with rent due the Monday of each week. That way, he wouldn’t be forced to stay to the end of a month, or lose any pre-paid rent. I wasn’t sure how long something like reinterment would take, but Donovan had mentioned he also wanted to do some genealogy research, so who knew how long he’d be in Haven Hollow.

  “Perfect.” Donovan picked up the lease and tapped the papers against the kitchen counter to align them. “Do you have a pen because I don’t.”

  I actually had about two dozen pens, since they tended to get lost or absentmindedly taken by clients, but he didn’t need to know that. I fished one out of the pocket in my case and offered it.

  Donovan’s fingers were cool where they wrapped around mine as he took the pen from my hand. The touch startled me a little, as it was way more contact than was required. I glanced up and found him watching me, a little smile hovering around the edges of his mouth. He made no motion to free my hand.

  It took me a second to realize he was flirting with me. Now, it might seem a little silly that a Succubus wouldn’t know when someone was hitting on her, but in my defense, usually the propositions I received (when my Succubus pheromones were in full tilt) tended to be on the more overt side. Not to mention the fact that I wasn’t expecting a client to make a pass at me. My surprise allowed me to continue smiling politely as I pulled my hand away and Donovan turned to sign the paper work. I used his distraction to subtly sniff my wrist. Nope, the repelling potion was still there and presumably working. So, it wasn’t my magical come-hither that had prompted the touch. That had to mean it was just me.

  I did my best to stomp down on the warm little flutter of pleasure in my belly. It wasn’t that I didn’t get a lot of attention. Succubi are demons that are built to draw attention, of a very particular sort. I got hit on and flirted with almost constantly before I started dousing myself in potions on the daily.

  I’d had more relationships that I could reasonably count. The trouble was, in most of those relationships, the men involved were dating the Succubus, not Fifi. Once they realized I wasn’t about wild sex all the time, their interest kind of dried up and off to the next unsuspecting woman they moved. To make a long story short, all of my attempts at monogamy had failed pretty spectacularly.

  I didn’t think I was asking for a lot. Just a good, loyal and honest guy, who was interested in me, Fifi, no magical roofie or compulsion required.

  Donovan seemed nice, and he was certainly easy on the eyes. But he was human, and that put him firmly in the ‘no touching’ category. The Succubus side of me just wasn’t a good match with a human—it was too big a risk and one I wasn’t willing to take.

  Plus, monogamy was a pretty big thing for me, and doubts and fated ties aside, I was still Roy’s girl, which meant I wasn’t about to go making eyes at a client—not to mention the fact that doing so would be wildly unprofessional and something I’d yelled at my brother about when he’d done the same.

  Fortunately, Donovan seemed to take my non reaction for the hint it was, and didn’t press the situation. Just smiled politely as he handed me back my copy of the lease. No touching this time.

  “Alright, then, if you don’t have any other questions, here are your keys to the unit. And I’ll let you get settled in.” I passed the little key ring over, picked up my briefcase, and made a calm retreat that didn’t look at all like I was fleeing the room.

  Well done, Fifi.

  I hurried out of the apartment and down the stairs, only taking a breath of relief when my boots hit the sidewalk outside. Then it was a quick jaunt to my car and throwing open the door, I placed my briefcase on the passenger seat, and I buckled myself in, replaying the events over in my head even though I really didn’t want to. Sure, Mr. Novik seemed pleased with the apartment (sort of), but the way he’d touched my hand... All I could think about were the possible places I might have encouraged his attention? But I couldn’t think of any.

  At least the drive was an easy one. I planned to swing by the office to file the lease, and then I could head home for the rest of the afternoon and night. A glass of wine, and maybe a bubble bath might soothe my rattled nerves. Either way, both were calling my name.

  I was driving down Dunlow Street, when I caught sight of police tape strung up outside one of the stores. Play It Again, Sam, was a second-hand store, kind of a gentrified pawn shop in Haven Hollow. Usually, the big display window was filled with whatever gently used treasures Sam had come across that week, and some of the things he ended up selling were pretty neat. The taxidermized armadillo in a cowboy hat riding a taxidermized monitor lizard probably took first prize for sheer weirdness, but you could find anything from record players, to hundred-year-old China on a good day.

  But today was evidently not a good day, because the huge beautiful display window had been smashed, and was now crudely covered with plywood and boards. Sam was outside, sweeping up the mess of glass, his gray head bent as he muttered to himself.

  Part of me wanted to pull over, to see if everything was okay and to find out what had happened. But I was sure Sam had already had more than his fill of concerned busybodies. He wasn’t a talkative guy at the best of times, and from the fierce scowl on his face now, I didn’t imagine he was in the mood for more company.

  Besides, it was pretty obvious that someone had broken in. It wasn’t like that kind of damage was made by a bird flying into the window, for example. The only real question was why had someone broken in?

  Sure, the store sometimes had neat things, and I’d often walk by on my lunch hour just to see what was new and exciting, but it wasn’t like the items there were actually worth anything—not like rare jewelry or antiques or anything. It was more a curiosity shop and definitely didn’t fit the bill for most burglars, as far as I knew. Furthermore, I doubted Sam kept a lot of money in the register.

  There weren’t any police still lingering, so I didn’t think the break-in was a recent thing. Probably happened the night before, since even Dunlow got enough traffic to convince the boldest thief not to make an attempt while the sun was up.

  Reluctantly, I put my signal on and turned north towards Hallowed Homes.

  Maybe Mrs. Petryka was right and Haven Hollow just wasn’t as safe as it used to be.

  ***

  “Oh, no. No, no, no. Not enough light. The soul needs sunlight to breathe, and to feel.”

  I blinked, eyeing the six industrial windows on the wall across from me, and tried to think of a polite way to question exactly how much light a soul needed, and if some needed partial shade.

  No, probably best to keep that part to myself.

  My latest client, Calliope, was a recent arrival to the Hollow, and while she could be temperamental, she’d been fairly pleasant while we’d looked through a half dozen properties or more, and I wasn’t eager to risk setting her off.

  Muses could be difficult in general, but I’d made it sort of a point of pride to be able to match her needs, and even though my shoes were pinching and I would have committed a felony for a coffee, I wasn’t about to let her see it.

  We’d been at it for hours, trying to find the perfect place for her to open up the art gallery she had in mind, but so far, nothing had been right. Each space I’d shown her had either been too small, too far from downtown, too cold, ceilings too low, and in the case of one place: too close to a grocery store. I still wasn’t sure why groceries were a problem for galleries, but by that point, I thought it was just safer not to ask.

  Calliope was a whirlwind of energy, dressed in a beautiful teal wrap dress with pretty gold sandals and golden bracelets on her wrists. She’d been going strong all morning, and even now, in the late afternoon, her dark curls hadn’t even begun to flag, staying bouncy and shiny under the fluorescent lights overhead. After all the crawling around she’d insisted on doing in each space, checking out every nook and cranny, I was shocked her clothing had managed to stay clean. Must have been some kind of magic.

  I’d thought that the old warehouse we were currently viewing was a good find. It had been empty for years, so there wasn’t a bunch of dirty machinery she’d have to move out. It was close to downtown, mostly because the warehouse had been there so long, downtown had expanded towards it. It was big, had enormously high ceilings, including a catwalk on the upper level. And it was frankly a miracle that, for a place of that size, it ran warm rather than cold. Furthermore, it wasn’t even within three blocks of the nearest grocery store. I’d thought it would be different enough to appeal to an artist, something she could turn into a really unique gallery.

  But, somehow, with over a dozen windows on the ground floor alone, there wasn’t enough light.

  “There are more overheads I could turn on,” I offered tentatively. “And it’s late afternoon now, but earlier in the morning you’ll get more light in here.”

  Calliope flapped her hands, making her bracelets chime together like bells. “No, no, it’s not the windows. It’s the vibe of the place.”

  “The vibe?”

  She nodded. “It has a darkness to it—the feeling of shadow. You could replace the whole front wall with glass, and this place will never feel a step above dingy, you understand?”

  I didn’t, but I made polite sounds of agreement, anyway. I flipped through my remaining listings, and while they all included notes about how many bedrooms, bathrooms, and square footage each had, not one of them listed anything about ‘vibes’.

  This was going to be harder than I thought.

  Though, I had to admit, the longer we stood here, the more things started to feel... off. I wasn’t sure if it was just the power of suggestion or if the place really did have an off vibe, but I was definitely starting to feel it. The warehouse hadn’t been in operation for many years, and had sat empty for almost as long, so there couldn’t be any toxic fumes we were picking up on. So where was this icky feeling coming from?

  Were vibes actually a thing? Or was Calliope somehow affecting me? I knew Muses were powerful, but their magic was usually based in creation, not in affecting other people’s minds.

  Calliope strode over to one of the windows that had a good view of the next building’s roof, and gazed out of it. One of her hands, with its beautifully manicured nails covered in opalescent polish, came to rest on the glass. She looked like a Gothic heroine, pining for love, or health, or just a better vibe. I honestly wasn’t sure what she was doing.

  She’d done something similar at each of the properties I’d shown her. Posing in a chair dramatically. Leaning against a counter with a sigh of what sounded like ennui. She even laid down on the floor at one location, to stare up at the ceiling like it held the secrets of the universe. It had been awkward, certainly, but I’d learned after the first time I’d asked what she was doing that she didn’t like being interrupted, so now I just kept quiet.

  Since standing there, watching my client stare out a window was uncomfortable, and I’d already sorted through my paperwork the five other times she’d done something similar, I wandered around the warehouse, hoping to find something that would interest me long enough to make it through whatever Calliope was doing. As I glanced around the old place, I figured I’d probably have to call in my handyman to repair a few things. As a dwarf, things like poison gas or industrial waste wouldn’t even make him blink, much less do him any harm—well, if such things were tainting the air in the place.

  This warehouse had kind of been my ace in the hole, so it was a bit of a disappointment to hear that Calliope didn’t like it. Either way, I was determined to find something she would absolutely love. There were still a couple of places left that might work. There was a duplex for sale over on Crown Street, if she took out the wall that divided it down the center, she could make one big space. Or maybe she’d like the big apartment over the handmade furniture store? Maybe that was artsy enough to appeal to her.

  As I wandered around, thinking, the strange, sickening feeling I’d experienced as soon as Calliope mentioned it got stronger. So it definitely wasn’t something I was just imagining. In fact, the closer I got to the old electrical box in the distant corner of the warehouse, the worse the feeling became. Could there be a short in the fuse that was somehow influencing me? Was the nausea roiling around in my belly a sign of impending electrocution, or was I just letting Calliope’s sensitivities get to me?

  Succubus senses aren’t all that impressive, especially not compared to, say, a vampire, or even a sasquatch. But they can be pretty acute, especially if the Succubus in question is well fed. I wasn’t well fed at the moment (since I’d basically been avoiding Roy for the last couple of weeks) but I was still better fed than I had been for years. I was now probably about four feet away, eyeing the metal box mounted on the wall like it was a snake about to bite.

  Calliope was still doing her Jane Eyre re-enactment, so I drifted a little closer, wondering if it was even safe to crack the box open and see what was going on in there, or maybe I should have just left the whole thing to my contractor. As I was debating with myself, I noticed there was something jammed between some of the cables that were running out of the box, and the wall.

  I might not have been the handiest person in the world, but I knew a fire hazard when I saw one. My fingertips started to buzz like they had when I’d been in Mrs. Petryka’s bathroom and the buzzing grew stronger as I got closer to the electrical box. Whatever it was that was wedged back there, was metal, I was pretty sure. Who in the world jammed a chunk of metal behind electrical cables?

  With the edge of my clipboard, I nudged the object out of its hiding place as I figured maybe a couple of kids had come in, and found a spot to hide their treasures? The door leading into the warehouse had been secure, but I hadn’t checked all the windows, and children could be pretty determined. If this was even children...

  The object hit the door with a metallic clatter, and I bent down to nudge it and try to see what it was. As I came closer, I realized it was a watch. But not the usual digital watch you’d see, or even a pricy Rolex, but an old school pocket watch: the kind men used to wear a hundred or so years ago. The kind you had to wind and keep on a chain.

  I picked it up gingerly, still expecting to get a shock, but the watch was nothing more than cool metal in my hand, even if it did seem to hum a little. In fact, my fingers were definitely buzzing as if the thing was giving off its own energy field. But as to the watch, it was a little tarnished maybe, and it clearly hadn’t been wound for a long while. Other than that though, it was in surprisingly good shape.

  So, what the heck was it doing wedged behind a fuse box in an empty warehouse?

  Weird.

  The face of the watch opened easily enough, and the glass was intact. It really was a beautiful piece. As I tilted it towards me, the overhead lights caught on the watch’s cover, and I realized there was an inscription on the inside.

  It read: My dearest William. Happy Anniversary. 1894.

  My eyes just about bugged out of my head when I read the date. A pocket watch, and a nice one if the engraving and the gold were any indication, in good shape and more than a century old? It had to be worth something? I couldn’t believe someone had just left it here. Unless they’d stashed it here with the intention of coming back for it later? Hmm, strange.

  Then suddenly I remembered the broken glass window of the pawn shop. Had this item been stolen from the shop and then left here? Maybe the thief had been in a hurry and just left the pocket watch wedged behind the electrical box with the express intention of returning later to get it? Hmm, I’d have to give Sam a call and find out what it was that was stolen...