Fifi was one lucky lady. But then, she was gorgeous too, so they seemed to be a well-suited match. Not that Roy was the only impressive one in the shop. Looking around, it seemed like Haven Hollow was a smorgasbord of attractive, middle-aged men. You had the roguishly handsome blonde and deliciously undead vampire Lorcan (who Indie loathed on sight—which was actually pretty funny). Speaking of vampires, there was a whole clan of them in town, which almost sent Indie into an apoplectic fit. It was hard to hold down a polite conversation with any of them while she was sputtering and cursing in the back of my head. They were all older than I was, but with their youthful faces, I couldn’t really view any of them as potential dating material. From their looks alone, any one of them could have been my son, if Rodney and I hadn’t been unlucky in that arena. We’d done tests which had conclusively proved that he was the problem there, not me, but Heaven forbid that man ever admit it. Nope, his family was convinced my uterus was more hostile than my demeanor most days.

  As to the other men—there was the warlock, Maverick, who was quiet and brooding, but certainly handsome. Apparently, he was also married to the Chief of Police, but they didn’t really act like they were a married couple and I wondered if there was some sort of story there. They acted more like teenagers who had crushes on one another, but neither wanted to admit it.

  But the yummiest of all the men, in my opinion, was still Angelo, who’d shamelessly found every opportunity imaginable to strip off his shirt during the unloading and construction process. I was absolutely certain I drooled when he set to work on building my bookshelves. I wasn’t sure how he’d managed it, but every seemingly innocuous motion looked better suited to a male strip club than my dinky little shop. The faerie princess cop, Taliyah Morgan (Maverick’s wife) assured me Angelo wasn’t even directing mojo my way, which meant the embarrassing flush of desire that came when I watched him was all on me.

  Great.

  The head witch for the Hollow, Wanda Depraysie, must have noticed my preoccupation with watching Angelo, because she actually played ‘Taking Care of Business’ on a Bluetooth speaker, which made the incorrigible incubus indulge in an incredibly suggestive dance, using the hammer as his microphone. And while he meant to be funny, he was also incredibly sexy, and I didn’t think I’d ever be able to wipe that visual out of my mind ever again. Not that I wanted to. I was sure my embarrassing lack of decorum had something to do with the lemonade Wanda had been plying all of us with. The water was slowly being edged out by the vodka she was slipping into the glasses as the night wore on.

  As to Wanda and the rest of her coven, as soon as I’d reached Haven Hollow, the lot of them had set to healing me which had taken them a whopping twenty minutes. Afterwards, I didn’t have a blemish, never mind any wounds. And I felt better than I had in years. Even though I’d been healed, none of the townspeople of Haven Hollow would even listen to the idea of me helping and, instead, I simply directed them where to put everything. Talk about a warm welcome.

  In the midst of all the theatrics, it was easy to overlook the man who strolled in late. In comparison to the supernatural hotties slaving over my shop, he looked somewhat plain. In other company, he’d probably be generically handsome, and he certainly outstripped my ex, Rodney, in the looks department. He’d aged gracefully, his hair and beard peppered lightly with gray. It contrasted pleasantly with the deep blue of his eyes and the lines around his eyes and mouth made him appear softer and more friendly than the more chiseled types hunched over my bookshelves.

  And, as he approached, I realized he was tall. Not Roy Osbourne tall, but still fairly tall for a human man. Six two or six three, if I had to guess. Either way, he dwarfed my five foot three by a considerable amount. He was broad-shouldered and had long legs that would have made him look lanky if he hadn’t put on muscle. Muscle that hadn’t been there recently, if I was reading the surprise on Wanda’s face correctly. Was he going through some kind of midlife crisis and decided to bulk up to attract the ladies? Was that why he was approaching me with a smile, one hand extended? I hoped not. Between Angelo and Anthony, my dance card was already full.

  The man stopped shy of me, offering an outstretched hand. His voice was a nice, even baritone that set me at ease, even as he spoke.

  “Hi, I’m Marty Zach. You must be Lydia Rourke?”

  “Morton,” I corrected with a light laugh.

  “Morton?” he repeated, appearing confused.

  I nodded. “I’m still waiting on the paperwork to go through on the name change, but I definitely don’t want to keep my ex’s last name. Morton is my maiden name.”

  “Then you’re a gypsy?”

  I nodded. “I am. How did you know?”

  He inhaled deeply. “Call it a hunch.” Some emotion flickered briefly across his face but was gone before I could read it. His smile stretched, but it looked a little forced. “Any relation to Poppy Morton, by any chance?”

  I racked my brains, trying to review what I knew about my family tree. Eventually I shrugged. “Maybe. I have a lot of extended family, so it’s very possible we’re cousins several times removed. The name doesn’t ring any bells, though.”

  “Um, I think you’ll soon meet a family member that you might not have known about,” Marty said, eyes wide.

  “Are you saying there’s another gypsy in town?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  I was surprised by that. Even more surprised than I’d been when I realized Haven Hollow had been claimed by a coven, Scapegrace, and yet I was still allowed (and apparently, invited) to move here. Certainly, the rules here were different to those I was accustomed to. “I wouldn’t have expected that, given how many witches live here.”

  Marty nodded. “Yeah, there’s Poppy and her son, Finn. And Poppy is actually a member of Scapegrace Coven.”

  “What?” I started, mouth dropping open. “A gypsy as a member of a witch’s coven?”

  “That can’t be right,” Indie piped up. “No self-respecting coven would ever allow a gypsy in.”

  Marty smiled. “Welcome to Haven Hollow, where we do things a little bit differently.”

  “A lot differently.”

  There was a twinge of pain in Marty’s eyes every time he uttered Poppy’s name, and it didn’t take an empath to see it. He definitely had history with this Poppy person, from what I could tell. I glanced around, searching for any face that might even vaguely resemble mine, but came up empty.

  “Is she here tonight?”

  Marty shook his head. “Nope. She’s out of town for the weekend with her son.”

  Oh yeah, they definitely had history. There was hurt in his eyes but when I tried to drill a little deeper, to pick up on his feelings, I came across a wall which surprised me. It was like I couldn’t actually get in—couldn’t get past his defenses.

  “So, are you here to help set up?” I asked, injecting a note of cheer into my voice. “If so, thank you. I honestly wasn’t expecting so much of the community to turn up.”

  Marty’s smile turned more genuine then, reaching up to touch his eyes. “Yeah, they’re good people. And yes, I’m here to help. Sort of. But first... could we... um, talk somewhere?” He glanced around the room. “Alone?”

  When I followed his gaze, I found people leaning toward us, trying and failing not to look like they were eavesdropping. I nodded, then called over the sounds of music and laughter, “I’m going to walk down to the Bar and Grill and order something for all of us. Do you need anything else while I’m out?”

  “Vodka,” Wanda said promptly. “You’re almost out.”

  Of course, I was: she’d been plying us all with booze since the start. It was almost funny. I smiled and gave her a nod of acknowledgment before walking to the door, Marty following close behind. He waited for almost a block before speaking.

  “We should be in the clear now. Even the most sensitive supernatural hearing can’t make out our conversation from this far away.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “And why do we need to be out of earshot?”

  Marty stuffed his hands into his pockets, adopting a leisurely stride so I could keep up. He could outpace me if he really wanted to. He then stared straight ahead and was silent for a long moment before he cleared his throat.

  “I don’t want the rest of them to know what I’ve been up to recently. I think they might be offended, and I don’t want them to take it the wrong way.”

  I chewed the inside of my lip, wondering if I should turn around and walk back. This didn’t sound like it was any of my business. But he’d been insistent that he needed to talk to me. Why me? I had no clue but figured I was about to find out.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What do we need to talk about?”

  “Anthony.”

  “Anthony?” I repeated, completely flummoxed. So was Indie.

  Marty nodded. “I got a call from him last night.”

  “Oh?”

  He nodded again. “I’m being assigned to your case.”

  My steps stuttered for a second. Did he mean what I thought he meant? How could a man who looked so unassuming be one of them? Indie was equally nonplussed. She had an image in her head of what an officer should look like and Marty didn’t fit it.

  “You’re a hunter?”

  Marty shrugged again. “Sort of. I’m still in training. I only joined up this year, and it’s mostly just martial arts and weapons training at the moment. My real talent is... well, my lack of talent.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m a null.”

  “A null?”

  He nodded. “Nothing supernatural can mess with my head.” Ah—that explained why I couldn’t read his emotions then. “Jonathan Moses, the leader of the hunter’s guild, thinks that makes me an ideal candidate to handle your case since things will be after you. Reeper demons are especially good at bending the mind from what I understand, and I’m immune to their power... well, to everyone’s power, actually.”

  I had a feeling that whatever had prompted him to start this training had to do with this Poppy person. If I had to guess, he hadn’t just been involved with her. He’d been in love with her. I recognized a spurned lover when I saw one.

  “So, you’re like my parole officer?”

  He laughed. “No, of course not. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m sort of your... bodyguard, I guess—for lack of a better word. I wanted to give you my contact information so you can get ahold of me if something happens. I’m moving to a house that’s closer to your shop so I can get here quickly. I didn’t want to slip you my number in front of everyone. They’d probably think I was hitting on you.”

  He didn’t sound happy about that prospect either. Maybe that should have offended me, but honestly, I was glad Marty wasn’t interested or, at least, he didn’t seem interested. A relationship with a man this tied into knots over another woman would almost certainly flop. I didn’t think training to be a hunter was the best therapy he could pursue, but I couldn’t deny I was happy to have someone who knew most of my situation and would be looking out for me.

  Marty pulled one hand out of his pocket and offered me a business card. He’d scrawled a number and an address on the back. The front bore the faded logo of a graphic design company. Quite a shift to go from graphic design to hunting down monsters.

  “Text me tonight so I have your number too, okay?” he asked.

  I pocketed the card. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  His smile returned, warm and genuine. “So, are we really going to go to the bar and grill, or was that just a ruse?”

  “We’ll go. Everyone has been incredibly generous. I owe them dinner at least. And I think Wanda might hex me if I return without the vodka.”

  He laughed, a sound full of bottomless mirth. For a second, I thought I spied the man he used to be. A softer man with a big heart. I was disappointed I’d never gotten to meet that version of Marty.

  “That she would, Lydia. That she would.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lydia

  As it turned out, I was related to Poppy Morton.

  We even looked somewhat alike. Or we had, before Indie’s magic had entered my system, turning my hair black, instead of my usual blonde. Poppy was a little bit taller and curvier than I was, her face softer and sweeter than mine. She was like an effervescent lightning bug, bobbing around trying to be helpful, brightening people’s days however she could. I gravitated toward her on reflex. It was rare to find someone so devoid of self-pity or conflicting emotion. Standing near her was like a shield of negativity against the world. She’d also taken it upon herself to find me a group of friends in the Hollow, inducting me into the Black Cat Cocktail Club the second I was settled.

  The club was less of a club and more of a group of gossiping girls drinking cocktails on the weekends. I volunteered my loft apartment to host this week’s meeting. Now, my kitchen was pleasantly crowded with warm bodies and it felt nice. It had been a long time since I’d hosted a party, even one as low-key as this one. Rodney wasn’t the social sort and only broke out the drinks when he was trying to schmooze an investor. It was incredibly relaxing to listen to town gossip while sipping a cocktail. Wanda called this one Jekyll and Gin. I was on my second of the night and had no intention of stopping until I was well and truly buzzed.

  The regular members were Fifi the succubus, Wanda the witch, Darla an ex-ghost, Libby a zombie that Wanda had raised from the grave (and one who didn’t drink anything but juice), Taliyah Morgan, the Winter Princess and a Sidhe of the High Courts of Faerie, Bailey a medium, and Imani, who owned a bewitched hair salon in town. Tonight, we also had a special guest: a dryad named Alba. She had been invited along specifically to talk business with me. Fifi was pretty sure that Alba could coax the water, mold, and sundry stains from the books I’d put in my ‘maybe’ pile, restoring them to a pristine condition. And that was fantastic, as far as I was concerned.

  Darla was convinced my shop name was boring and that it needed a change. Since Rodney had been the one to name our shop in the first place, I agreed. It would be nice to set my shop apart from his influence now that I’d set up in a new town. The club spent twenty minutes in heated debate, floating different names. Black Magic Books. Arcane Archives. Bewitched Bookshop. Tattered Tomes. But in the end, I chose Occult Oddities, an Enchanted Emporium. I liked the way it sounded, and it fit with my new life.

  Fifi drew me away from the group about an hour in, using the gales of laughter from the others to disguise our conversation. She pretended to wash out her drink in the sink and leaned into my side so I could make out what she had to say.

  “I just wanted to, well, to warn you about my brother, Lydia.”

  “Warn me?”

  She nodded. “I can see that you both are... well, interested in one another and I just wanted to let you know that I don’t think it’s a good idea, Lydia. You don’t know what he’s like.”

  She craned her neck, aiming a rather pointed look at my couch. The loft had an open floor plan, allowing most of the space to be visible at a glance. It wasn’t much, but it was cozy and better furnished than I expected after the supernatural citizens of Haven Hollow were through with it. Her focus wasn’t on the quilts on the back of the couch or the donated end tables that Checkers delighted in lounging on. No, she was focused on the man on the couch. Angelo had sprawled artfully on the surface earlier and had lounged in the same spot for hours, reading a book while ignoring the rest of us.

  “He’s broke,” I pointed out. “He wiped out his savings trying to save me and it will take a while to earn it back with his current salary. I think it’s only fair I give him a place to sleep.”

  Fifi rolled her eyes. “Oh please. He should just stay with me—like I’ve told him ten times already.”

  “And listen to you and Roy every night?” I laughed, repeating what Angelo had told me. “I don’t imagine any single person would sign up for that.”

  Pink dusted Fifi’s cheeks as she considered it. Eventually, she shook her head. “Still. Inviting an incubus into your house is just asking for trouble. There are a lot of people Angelo could stay with if he doesn’t want to accept my hospitality. My point is: he doesn’t need to stay here.”

  “It’s okay, Fifi.”

  But she shook her head. “It’s not okay because you’re kind and sweet and you don’t know my brother. He did you a solid favor by releasing you from that place, yes, but that was the exception to his personality, not the rule.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he’s going to try to seduce you at some point, I just know it. And, knowing how Angelo is and what he’s after and how he is after he gets what he’s after... well, I don’t want my brother breaking your heart. He’s infamous for it.”

  I shrugged, trying to keep the doubt from showing on my face. Of course, that possibility had already occurred to me when I’d issued the invitation. If he was as much of a manwhore as I’d been told, he’d probably bring women home to defile my couch on the regular. Even so, I still couldn’t ignore the fact that Indie and I owed him a debt. If Murrain had gotten his hands on us, he would have killed us. And that meant I owed Angelo my life. And I couldn’t put a price on my own life. What I could put up with, was allowing him to live here, even if it meant dealing with him christening every surface of my house. I’d buy industrial-strength cleaner in bulk, if I had to.