Page 64 of A Touch of Brimstone

“This might sound ridiculous… You know what, I’ll admit it’s bananas, but Jackson said that Dominic’s obsessed with you. He thinks Dominic vandalized the store so he could have more time with you. Jackson’s convinced that you’ve been spending all your time with him.” Once it was out, she covered her face. “Ugh, it sounds even more ridiculous saying it out loud.” And she let out a mirthless laugh, spreading her fingers to look at me through the spaces.

“I have spent a lot of time with him. He’s interesting.” Not a lie.

“And hot as hell,” she added.

“I’m not going to deny that.” I grinned, still unable to shake a suspicion that she might have been compelled, as Jackson had been. But no, this was Emoni, a sardonic quirk in her lips, expressive eyes, and that charismatic presence that allowed her to get away with snarky and poorly veiled insults to “faux coffee lovers.”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” she admitted.

She led me to a table a few feet from Peter, who had taken over a table in the corner of the store, legs out, books, papers, tablet, and an uneaten sandwich and muffin in the middle of the table, making it uninviting for anyone looking to share.

Shaking my head, I jerked my chin in his direction. “Someone is definitely an only child.”

“Or a self-centered ass.”

“Possibly, but he seems nice enough. Just weird.”

She looked unconvinced and moved her attention to the window. “It’s nice out. Let’s go for a walk. Catch up. I feel like we haven’t talked in so long.”

Familiarity eased in. We took many walks around the eclectic neighborhood to people watch, admire the unique fashions, take in the smell of food from the restaurants, and make predictions about whether the dog spa, hemp bakery, or ‘I really didn’t think this through” store would be around the next year.

“Sure.”

Dominic was seated outside on the patio of the restaurant across the street from the coffee shop. Unless she was looking for him, he’d go unnoticed. Based on Emoni’s line of questioning, it was good that I’d suggested he stay away.

“This way,” she said, pointing away from the main street, through the alleyway. “We always take that route. Let’s go down Kern Way. I want to check out that new coffee shop,” she said when I hesitated.

Okay. Her smock was still on; she was going to broadcast her reconnaissance efforts.

“Tell me about Dominic,” Emoni said as she pointed at our destination, the coffee shop signage of a steaming cup of coffee next to the name Café Intermezzo. Would it appeal to Americans, or would it be considered pretentious?

“I don’t know a lot about him. He’s broody and standoffish.” Not a lie.

“So he doesn’t think you’re a witch?” she teased, turning to look at my expression.

“He changes the subject when I steer it toward that. He believes I am, but I think he knows the absurdity of it.” Lie. But I didn’t know what to tell her, and the guilt of lying to protect her left a heavy pit in my stomach. Emoni didn’t seem to notice any change in me, and the conversation quickly moved to her asking if I liked him. I gave a very unconvincing no. She let that lie slide. It was more complex than just a simple no. I couldn’t like the Prince of the Underworld. But denying my attraction to him was ludicrous.

The ardency of his promise to make sure I survived this had changed the way I saw him. I doubted he made many promises that involved protecting a life. Rather, he was definitely the type of person to make vows to take a life in the most painful manner possible.

Letting all thoughts of Dominic slip from my mind, I realized how much I’d missed being with Emoni, talking, the normality of it.

“The owner of the Kingmakers would like our band to be regular,” Emoni told me after we got a coffee from Intermezzo. I wasn’t sure if the sneer on her face was from all the shop’s designer coffees and super sweet desserts: frosted cookies and muffins, fudge and candy. “This isn’t a coffee shop, it’s a bakery,” she complained under her breath after the barista gave us a judgmental eyebrow cock at our black coffee order and rejection of pastries.

“Really.”

“It was the woman I was speaking with at Books and Brew after my performance.”

There was a hitch in her voice. Apprehension. Where she should have been excited, she wasn’t.

“She booked the band for twice a month,” she admitted. The heartache was so heavy in her voice, I stopped walking and looked at her. “And me and Gus on Wednesdays, as a duo.”

I blinked once and made my face emotionless. A blank canvas to give her what she needed.

“Does she want you to do covers, like you two did at Wine-Down?”

She nodded. “On Wednesdays, twice a month. She believes it will be a good fit with the Wednesday crowd. You know how I feel about covers. It’s fun occasionally but I need to do my own music. Songs that I wrote and I let her know that.”

“And?”

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