It was then that I decided there was something very wrong with the people of this town.

  “Have it your way, Osbourne. Put the libation on my tab, will you?” Lorcan half-turned, caught my eye and the grin turned wicked. After what I’d seen in his eyes for that split second, the lascivious edge to the expression didn’t warm me. I couldn’t conceal a shiver as his eyes raked over me, and my heart threw itself violently at my ribs, attempting a panicked escape.

  “Dia dhuit, my lovely,” he said, and blew me a kiss over his shoulder as he sauntered off.

  “What a tool,” Roy muttered when Lorcan disappeared into the back, presumably to sleep off his indulgence on a cot somewhere. I was surprised Roy had mentioned his basement because it didn’t seem like these two were friends… so why not just send Lorcan home? Why offer up his basement?

  “He was okay,” I answered, not wanting Roy to think too much of it. I wasn’t offended by Lorcan, so I didn’t figure Roy should be… well, not on my account, anyway.

  Roy managed to look even more stoic when he frowned. His heavy brows pushed down, shadowing the nimbus gray of his eyes. If he’d been sitting down, with his hand propped under his chin, he’d have been a dead ringer for The Thinker.

  “Lorcan is anything but ‘okay’,” Roy responded, shaking his head as he looked at me. “Be careful around him. He’s an infamous womanizer.”

  “Well, not to worry. He isn’t my… type,” I answered, even though I inwardly argued with myself that I didn’t even have a type. Well, loser was probably my type, as exemplified by the string of crappy relationships in my past.

  “If I were you, I’d invest in some garlic pills and start taking them post haste.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it—the suggestion was just so completely out of left field. Yet, his expression remained serious. “Why on earth would I do that?”

  He shrugged, like his statement wasn’t so weird. “Garlic lowers your blood pressure and cholesterol levels. Sometimes it can even prevent the common cold. And it’s one hundred percent proven to repel Lorcan Rowe.”

  I frowned at him. “And why is that?”

  Roy shrugged again, going for casual but not quite getting there. “He has a… garlic allergy.”

  I shook my head, a small helpless laugh burbling from me because I didn’t understand how garlic was going to repel a man. Unless…

  Oh my God, Poppy! I reprimanded myself. Monsters aren’t real, remember? And that means vampires aren’t real either.

  Right.

  That was when I remembered Roy’s comment about Ophelia not liking how Haven Hollow was becoming touristy and how she didn’t like Marty for that exact reason. I decided to be a little nosy… “I’ve heard there are rumors about a cult in Haven Hollow,” I started.

  “A cult?”

  “Yeah, and I’ve heard Ophelia is part of it…”

  Roy faced me, and a smirk took over his lips. If he was handsome before, he was downright sexy now. “And who else is rumored to be in this cult?”

  “Quite a few people who work here, actually.”

  “Oh?” he put his elbows on the bar and leaned over, his head cradled in his hands as he stared at me and it was all I could do to stay seated so close in front of him. “Who?”

  “Um, Fifi…” I started, swallowing hard because he was… he was really close. So close that I could smell him and he smelled like the woods—all pine trees and masculinity. “And… and you.”

  “And you believe there’s a cult and we’re all in it?” He did a bad job of hiding the contempt in his voice.

  “Well, there appears to be something… strange… about all of you.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me and I felt my heart start to pound in earnest. “What’s strange about us?”

  I wasn’t going to back down. Not when I had my chance to get some answers directly from the source. If there really was a cult in Haven Hollow, I wanted to know. “Well, produce rots within minutes of coming into contact with Ophelia,” I started, holding my own as Roy continued to stare at me. “I’ve never seen Stanley Stomper exit his creamery. Fifi has some sort of uber sexy aura that stops traffic. Lorcan is as creepy as he is handsome and you...”

  “And me?” he asked, one corner of his mouth curling upward. “What is so strange about me?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” I confessed, cocking my head to the side as I studied him. He stared at me with those beautiful gray eyes and I could see his attraction for me burning in his gaze. No doubt, he could feel mine burning for him just as easily. I’d never experienced anything like this before—this sense of complete animal magnetism with a total stranger. “I just sense... something.”

  He took my half empty glass and refilled it, swapping out the wrung-out lemon for a fresh slice.

  “If you’d like a little more insight into this so-called ‘cult’, you could join me for dinner,” he said and floored the crap out of me.

  “More insight?” I asked.

  “Sure,” he nodded. “I’ll treat you to a steak and open one of my better vintages, and we could talk.”

  “About the cult?”

  “About the council,” he corrected me.

  I eyed him narrowly as I wondered if he was going to try to recruit me like Ophelia had. “I’m not interested in joining, if that’s your angle.”

  He chuckled. “Who said we’d let you join?”

  I couldn’t help my smile. “Touché.”

  Then there was a weighty silence that descended on us both and Roy just continued leaning over the counter, staring at me. And I stared right back at him.

  “Dinner still stands,” he said finally. “I’d like to learn more about… you.”

  “Me?”

  He nodded. “I’ve never met a gypsy before.”

  “How did you know–” I started.

  “News travels fast, but even faster in small towns.” He paused and just looked at me for the space of three heartbeats. “I’d like to get to know you… better,” he finished, as he studied me. “I have to admit from the moment I laid eyes on you… I found you… interesting.”

  “Ditto,” I answered, even though I was amazed to even find my voice.

  “So, what do you say about the two of us going on an adventure regarding why we find each other so… interesting?”

  Heat prickled across my skin, and I had to drop my eyes to my lap. The intensity of his stare was scorching. He had to be a player. There was no way a man who looked like this and had this sort of… confidence didn’t have a woman warming his bed every night. And I wasn’t about to be added to the list.

  “I’m a single mom,” I started, wanting him to understand I had responsibilities and I wasn’t just another woman who was going to be a notch on his bedpost. “I have a son,” I continued. “And I’m not shopping for a one-night-stand.”

  Roy pulled back then and looked surprised. “I would never assume,” he started and then shook his head. “Poppy, I know what type of woman you are and I would never presume to take you to dinner with thoughts of… what could come afterwards. I know you don’t know me, but I’m a gentleman.”

  I took a deep breath. I hadn’t meant to offend him. “I’m sorry,” I started.

  “And I’m aware you have a son,” he continued. “He was with you the other night, when you were here.”

  “Right,” I said with a quick nod. “So… if I were to meet you for dinner… I’d need… I’d need to see if I could get a babysitter.”

  “Does that mean you will meet me for dinner?” he asked and he sounded like an eager little boy.

  I laughed. “You did say you were a gentleman,” I started.

  “And I am!” he responded with a big grin.

  “Then, yes, I’d love to take you up on your offer.”

  Wow, had I just agreed to a date? I’d decided I was going to be off the market for a while and boom, I was back. Just like that. Darla would be proud.

  Roy reached into the white apron he’d somehow managed to lash around his gargantuan body. I didn’t understand how there was enough fabric to make it all the way around him. He had the sturdy strength of an oak tree and the dimensions to match. He had more muscles than the average bodybuilder and looked like he’d have a shot at wrestling a bear into submission.

  Regardless, he produced a card and a pen, scrawling a number onto the back before handing it to me with a smile.

  “My phone number,” he explained. “Call or text me whenever you want. I’d love to make you dinner one of these nights.” He took a big breath. “Now I’ve gotta get back to work, Poppy Potion Maker. But, I hope to hear from you very soon.”

  And with that, Roy Osbourne disappeared into the back, leaving me at the bar, number in hand, and more anxious than ever.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Stoppered vials clinked against each other in the small messenger bag I’d slung over one shoulder as we made our way up the street toward Layla Clemmons’ home.

  Someone was waiting for us when we pulled up.

  “Who is that?” I asked as I pointed to the Mazda that had parallel parked between an old Cadillac and a cobalt blue Pontiac Lemans. Marty parked in the half-empty driveway, apparently finding it too much of a chore to wedge the hearse between the Dodge Charger and Volvo up the road.

  “That’s Bailey, my friend from Spook Society,” Marty answered.

  “You mean, the medium?”

  “Yep, Bailey’s a psychic and she helps us whenever she can.”

  I nodded as I looked up at the two-story Clemmons’ home. With proper care, the place would have been the textbook definition of ‘picturesque’. It was situated on a corner lot on one of the least traversed roads in town. The population here seemed to be made up of the idle wealthy, or at least, what passed for wealthy in a town as small as this one.

  The home was built in the American Cottage style, with powder blue siding and a large, covered deck that looked out over a neatly trimmed lawn. A sidewalk wound the short walk from the street up to the stairs, chalked within an inch of its life by overzealous children.

  Off to the side of the house was a pergola, climbing with ivy. Several raised beds sported the last blooms of the year, soon to be wiped out by the first hard frost. Gorse, Eyebright, and Primrose shivered in the breeze sweeping in from the north. Between the plants, illustrations of shamrocks on the granite slabs of the sidewalk, and the Irish flag waving in the wind, it wasn’t difficult to puzzle out that the late Mr. Clemmons had been proud of his Irish heritage.

  The strain in the facade only showed around the edges. The lawn was longer than it should have been and the sides of the house needed a power wash. The holes in the yard hadn’t been filled in yet, and I had a feeling the interior would have the same, semi-neglected air. This was the look of a wealthy family that had fallen on hard times.

  “Marty! Hello!” Bailey called out as she opened her door and stepped out.

  She was pretty. Really pretty.

  She had a waist-length sheet of pale hair, but hers was the pure, glittering white of untouched snow. Her eyes were neither blue nor green, but trapped between the two, like the perfect teal color of the ocean at sunrise. The subtle lines on her face didn’t detract from just how attractive she was.

  And her body was... well, fit enough to belong to someone half her age. Judging by her face, I’d have guessed her to be around forty or a little under. But, her slender, athletic build and perky breasts would have been the envy of some twenty-year olds. Even dressed in a pair of sweats and a cutoff Def Leppard tee, she looked like a million bucks.

  As she approached, I realized she was quite a bit shorter than I was, which was saying a lot because at five-four, I wasn’t exactly tall. But, Bailey had to be five foot or less. It was only the dangerous hum of her aura that let me know she wasn’t someone to be trifled with.

  “Thanks for coming, Bailey,” Marty said as he then turned to face me, but just as he was about to introduce us, she interrupted.

  “You must be Poppy,” she said. Her voice matched the rest of her exterior. Soft, almost girlish, at odds with the steely look in her eyes. I wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t seem happy to meet me.

  “Yes, it’s nice to meet you,” I said and extended my hand. She took it and shook it briefly, her own grip tight.

  “Yeah,” she said, those perfectly blue eyes narrowing in suspicious splits. She scoured me, taking in every detail. And her eyes were hard. For some reason, this woman didn’t like me.

  And I had a good idea why. Clearly, she had a thing for McFly…

  Marty didn’t seem to notice, which wasn’t a surprise, given how oblivious men could be, in general. Instead, he started up the walkway to the Clemmons’ front door, and I noticed Bailey hung behind.

  “What are your intentions with Marty?” she demanded in a whisper as I felt surprise ricochet through me. Wow, she was certainly to the point. No beating around the bush with this one.

  It took me a second to compose myself enough to splutter out, “W-what?”

  She shoved up on her tiptoes so she could put her face level with mine. “I heard through the grapevine that you’re dating Marty. And I just wanted to know what your intentions are with him?”

  I watched as Marty knocked on the door, and then waited for someone to answer it. He turned to face us and smiled, clearly not realizing I was being interrogated by his… friend? Girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend? Scary stalker?

  I blinked down at her, unsure of how to get the tiny, furious woman to back away long enough to let me think. “Marty and I aren’t dating and I don’t have any intentions where he’s concerned,” I managed at last. “We’re… just friends. Are you his… girlfriend or something?”

  Bailey blinked in surprise, leaning away from me with another, more speculative look on her face. When she scanned me the second time, she seemed less hostile. We both turned to watch as Marty knocked on the door again. Then Bailey looked back at me.

  “I’m not dating Marty,” she said and finally smiled, revealing a set of perfectly white, straight teeth. The smile transformed her face, fanning lines out around her eyes, making the blue twinkle.

  “Are you sure?” I asked with a frown. “I mean, you sounded like a jealous girlfriend.” I felt the need to defend myself.

  She shook her head. “No. Marty’s my friend. Possibly my best friend, and has been since high school. He looks out for me. So, I return the favor.”

  This was her way of looking out for him? Scaring off any potential girlfriends? Not that I was a potential girlfriend… because I wasn’t… I was just a friend, but…

  Oh my gosh, Poppy, why are you tripping over your words inside your own head?

  “Okay, so why did you get in my face if Marty isn’t your boyfriend?” I demanded.

  “Just because I was worried about him and wanted to make sure you were a good egg.”

  “Well, I think you can rest assured that I am a good egg,” I answered, finding this whole conversation beyond strange.

  “Good. Just wanted to see for myself.”

  “And?”

  “And I think you’re a good egg, as far as I can tell.”

  “Okay, so does that mean we can be friendly now?” I asked. Even though she’d come off as tough and angry, I still liked her, though I couldn’t exactly put my finger on why. I mean, after that introduction, I had all the reasons in the world not to like her. And yet… There was something about her—she was genuine and she genuinely cared for her friends. Clearly. I respected that.

  “Yes and, uh, please don’t tell Marty about our… little conversation,” she said as the door opened and a tired looking woman stood there. She and Marty said their hellos, and I took a step closer, figuring Bailey and I should introduce ourselves soon—well, if Layla Clemmons hadn’t already met Bailey, that is.

  I didn’t say anything in response to Bailey, which Bailey must have mistaken as my being angry because she held up two hands in a defensive gesture. “You have to understand—Marty is a good guy. The greatest guy. My best friend. We went to school together when we were both living in Portland. I had a... a weird reputation, to put it mildly.” She took a deep breath. “No one believed me when I told them I was seeing the ghost of a murdered cheerleader. And when I accused a well-liked faculty member of the crime... well, you can guess how well that went over.”

  She nodded as she took another deep breath and started into another long-winded explanation. “I was eventually kicked out of school. I made bad choices and I had a record. Got into what I realize, in hindsight, was a very icky and unhealthy relationship with the lawyer representing me. We got married when I was nineteen and divorced when I was thirty-eight. He took pretty much everything I had, except for my six Pomeranians: Greg, Peter, Bobby, Marcia, Jan, and Cindy.”

  I glanced back at Marty and Layla, who were still busily chatting and paying us zero attention. Bailey, meanwhile, made a face at the ground, like even talking about the ex left a bad taste in her mouth. I could empathize. Every time I thought of Jeremy, a taste like bitter bile welled up in my mouth and it was all I could do not to vomit.

  “Anyway, my ex was thorough,” Bailey continued as I wondered how much time we would have until Marty beckoned us forward and into the house. But, as I looked at him, it seemed he was still lost in conversation with Layla.

  “Most of my family died or they live out of state,” Bailey continued with a shrug. “I didn’t have a place to stay or money to rent a hotel room. Marty heard about my situation and he invited me to stay with him, free of charge. That’s the kind of guy he is. And he didn’t even seem upset when he realized I was bringing the Pomeranians with me.”

  “That’s really sweet,” I said and I meant it. Marty was a good guy. Clearly.

  She nodded again. “I’m making enough money now that I was able to move out of his house. Anyway, the point is—Marty doesn’t have a bad bone in his body and he’d give you the shirt off his back.”