“What do you think?” David drew back from the window as two I.S. vehicles tore by, sirens off but lights flashing. “You can’t beat the location,” he added, but I said nothing as I moved behind the oak display case and began opening drawers so old they had to be original. “Price is right for what you’re getting.”
I struggled with the bottom drawer, finally giving up when I heard him cross the room, boots lightly scraping. “Street seems a little busy,” I said, rising up to see him moving with the confident grace of an alpha Were. Behind him, a FIB cruiser raced past, the human-run police force forever outclassed by their Inderland counterparts. Late to the party again.
“Busy street, busy business,” he prompted as he leaned one elbow on the counter, his dark eyes on the street as the traffic resumed. There was a hint of gray around his temples, but it only made him look better, in my opinion. Pack life agreed with him. He was his best when taking care of someone, and his pack was growing. Fast. Sometimes I wondered what might have happened if I hadn’t abdicated my female alpha position.
“You’d have a clear definition of public space and private with the living quarters upstairs,” David continued. “A door that locks between them. The church never did, and it always bothered me.”
“Who is going to mess with the last living Tamwood heir?” I countered, tucking a stray curl of red hair behind an ear in a show of unease. But Ivy was still in DC trying to convince the long undead that it was a much better thing for her to hold the soul of her undead lover instead of letting it slip away, in essence allowing Nina to sip her own soul along with Ivy’s blood. It gave Ivy a smidgen of control in the traditionally one-sided scion/gnomon pair, and the old undead didn’t like it. At all. Even if Ivy had been in Cincy, she wouldn’t be living with me anymore. All good things, even if they hurt.
But even I had to admit that this was a great space. I could maybe turn the display counter into a coffee bar, put my desk behind it, make a good first impression. The downstairs storage room would make a serviceable small spelling lab. I could work and man the door at the same time, freeing Jenks to do what he needed to do. Add two chairs and a low table in front of the window for interviewing clients, and a rack of service brochures—maybe lawyers specializing in Inderland issues, morgues, state-licensed day quarters for the poor undead, that kind of thing.
Leaving the church for good would be hard, though. It had been standing fallow for the last three months, repairs having abruptly halted when the construction crew saw the pentagrams etched on Kisten’s pool table. Apparently word had gotten around, and I couldn’t get a construction company to even take my calls anymore, much less set foot in the church.
Jenks was ready to sell, which had surprised me until I put it all together: he’d lost his wife there, and with his kids scattered, there was nothing left for him but reasons to leave.
My shoulders were almost to my ears and, not wanting David to know it bothered me to just . . . abandon the church, I forced them down, took a breath, and tugged my short leather jacket square as I came out from behind the counter. Yes, a locking door would be nice, but I’d have to pay someone to reroute the gas line under the floor to make an area where I could set an unbreakable circle. Not to mention that after the expanse of the church, and then having Piscary’s old restaurant/lair all to myself for the winter, the two tiny rooms, half kitchen, and upstairs cubby bath felt confining. Tight. There was no outside space at all, and trying to do my calisthenics anywhere within the walls was impossible. I’d have to go to the gym.
Welcome to the real world, I thought as I leaned back against the counter beside David and watched the traffic as we waited for Jenks. But then I frowned, recognizing that same beat-up brown Volvo that I’d seen in the morning at the airport parking. I remembered it because I’d thought it odd that someone would be sitting in their car at the curb, risking the airport police yelling at them, instead of parking it where they were supposed to. A dark-haired living vamp was behind the wheel this time, his black glasses and scruff giving him a rough look. Two blonds dressed like him sat in the back, and a bad feeling crept out from between my soul and reason. I didn’t like it when vamps dressed the same, even if the leather was classy. Unified looks meant unified purpose, and that could be deadly when it came to vamps.
“That’s the third time around for them,” David said softly.
“Maybe they’re looking for an open meter.” My eyes went to the three substantial locks on the door. Only one was mundane, the others were spells. They had expired, but I could fix that, and as I gazed out at the world, I decided I could handle downtown Hollows just fine—even if I’d miss the church like the undead miss the sun.
I forced a smile when Jenks’s wings rasped on the narrow stairs. Sharron was following, going almost sideways in her tall heels. “Roof looks okay,” he said as he alighted on the counter to brush the dust from his head-to-toe black silk. “It’s old and flat, so snow might be an issue. But it’s not leaking, and it gets sun for a good part of the day. We could put some boxes up there. Get something green growing.”
Which would help take care of Jenks’s needs. It wouldn’t be a garden, but as a widower, he didn’t need much. He was right about the sun. It would be on the face of the building most of the afternoon, making it bright and pleasant.
“It’s a good neighborhood,” David said, wincing when a fire truck roared past, honking to clear the nearby intersection. “I’ve got a few pack members a block down. They could hear you if you shouted.”
Hence him knowing about this place, I thought, wondering how I’d become the deciding voice here.
“Lots of restaurants, shops,” Jenks said, now on David’s shoulder to look right as rain among the man’s long, wavy hair. Distracted, Sharron gazed out the window, eyes following the emergency vehicles. “We’d have living quarters upstairs, and a public area downstairs.” His wings hummed. “New furniture that doesn’t smell like Ivy. With a few pictures on the wall and a rug, this could be a nice place. You could spell in that back room and still hear the door.” He hesitated, and then, as if he was only now checking, he added, “Ley line is pretty near.”
Again I reached out a thought and found it, agreeing as a soft, welcoming warmth and tingle spread through me and a stray strand of red hair began to float. It was close. Not as close as the one we used to have in the church’s backyard, but not bad.
But even as I considered it, a feeling of loss took me. Flowerpots and raised beds were not a garden. I’d have to buy everything I used to get for free. There was no view, no space, and the off-street parking that came with the place would hardly hold my tiny MINI. Being right in downtown Hollows might sound good on paper, but maybe I’d be too accessible, spending all my time tracking down straying familiars and telling people I didn’t make love charms instead of finding murder suspects and kicking ass.