Page 9 of Rescued By the Dour Demon

LEITH

The next day, Leith walked into a shop called Questionable Curiosities. a bright flare of protective runes prickling over his skin as the door clicked shut behind him.

“Welcome to my Curiosities,” a feminine voice warbled from somewhere deeper inside, the owner’s exact location hidden within the myriad of overfilled shelves that stretched up towards a tall ceiling covered in patinated tin tiles. “Let me know if you need any help finding anything.”

“Will do,” Leith said, aiming his words in the voice’s direction.

If he was looking for anything specific, he’d need the help. The packed shop reminded him of an old dragon’s horde, stuffed to the brim with treasures and semi-organized in such a labyrinthian fashion only its owner could understand it. His hands tucked in his pockets, he strolled down the narrow aisles, examining bottles filled with herbs and mysterious liquids, complicated-looking puzzle boxes, shelves of LPs and mass market paperbacks, paintings of all sorts and ability levels, various skulls and bones, an entire collection of taxidermyanimals including mouse detectives investigating gory crime scenes, and countless other treasures.

He easily imagined someone getting lost in the cavernous space. Hell, he was barely past the first row of shelves and, if not for his heightened demon senses, he wouldn’t know which way to turn for the exit. Possibly the work of the runes or a secondary confusion spell he’d tripped somewhere along the way.

Rowan had the ability to crack and dispel glamours. Seemed her grandmother packed some power as well. Made sense, since human magic tended to extend through a matriarchal line. But it wouldn’t surprise him if there’d been some intermixing of their bloodline with something from the fae or monster side of the tracks at some point. With Stonyburn built on multiple intersecting ley lines, it was only natural for supernatural beings to flock here, and the Cannell family had been here for generations.

A woman with a head of fluffy white hair popped around the corner just as he was examining what appeared to be an authentic green glass Lalique vase from the 1920s. “You like?” she asked, startling him as her power flickered over his senses.

He bobbled the vase before carefully returning it to its place on top of a mid century modern credenza.Not a witch, he thought as he studied her,but her soul tastes of the same power as those runes and thrumming through this building.

“Careful there. Like the sign up front says, you break it, you bought it. That one would have cost you.” She snickered, making it very clear she was aware the worth of each and every item in her horde. “Lucky for you, you’ve got good hands,” she said with a broad wink. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“Hi. You must be Ms. Cannell. I’m Leith Mamon,” he said, moving towards her with his hand outstretched. When she grasped his hand, that’s when the full extent of her powerwrapped around him. He’d bet anyone who tried to steal from her would sorely regret it, especially while in her domain.

“Nice to meet you, Leith,” she said, reaching over to adjust the vase so it sat exactly how she wanted it.

Huh, he thought.No reaction to my name. So Rowan hadn’t revealed she’d hired him yet. Such a naughty girl. He briefly considered informing Ms. Cannell what her granddaughter had done, but rejected the idea. Tempting, though.

“Rowan must get her good looks from your side of the family,” he said, then rolled his eyes at the cheesiness of the line. Not that he was mistaken. If he didn’t already know of their connection, he would have guessed. Those wide green eyes and delicate, almost elfin features were a dead giveaway of shared lineage.

She didn’t seem to mind his not-so-smooth line, her face lighting up when he mentioned Rowan. “Oh, you know my granddaughter? How delightful. I didn’t know she had such a handsome male friend in town.” She cocked her head, her sharp gaze taking him in from the top of his head right down to his toes. “You from around here? I don’t remember seeing you in my shop before.”

“Took over Jim Pratchett’s law practice a couple of years ago,” he said, sliding his hands back into his pockets to keep from fidgeting with all the little knickknacks around him. Though he could afford it, he didn’t want to upset Rowan’s grandmother by breaking any of the items she’d so lovingly collected. Her pride in her shop was apparent from the curated displays to the warm lighting that brightened even the darkest corners. Dust bunnies didn’t dare show their faces here. “This is my first time in your store, though. Amazing collection you have.”

“I remember Ida mentioning the new lawyer.” Her nose wrinkled like she smelled something bad. “Not much for lawyersmyself,” she said. “Too much sneaky talk and backhanded dealings for my taste.”

“I try to avoid sneaking and backhanding whenever possible, Ms. Cannell,” he said politely.

Her eyes narrowed, pinning him in place, and she harrumphed. “Well. You don’t seem like the knickknack type. You’re here for Rowan, then?” Before he could answer, she bellowed for her granddaughter and shooed him back to the front of the shop. “She’ll be here in a minute. You wait over there.” She pointed towards the front windows where a small round table flanked by two blue and white rattan bistro chairs sat.

Though he wouldn’t have minded poking around the intriguing shop a bit more, he followed her orders and took the opportunity to loosen his tie and roll up his sleeves, needing to cool down after his first meeting with Rowan’s grandmother. It’d been more intense than he expected. Rowan was right. She really didn’t like lawyers.

8

ROWAN

Rowan rolled her eyes as her grandmother’s bellow rolled through the store and found her in the back office, reviewing the books. But she’d take the excuse to put off decoding Granny’s chicken scratch handwriting and wonky bookkeeping. Tucking everything away in a battered roll-top desk, she patted her hair to make sure it was still stacked in its messy bun, ran a hand over her paint-stained overalls, and wound her way through the aisles towards the sound of voices.

Her footsteps slowed as she drew close, and she cocked her head, listening. That was Leith’s voice. Her heart skipped a beat. What the hell was he doing here? And why was he talking to her grandmother?

Ooh, he’d better not be, she thought, picking up her pace, a task made more challenging by the stacks of new items they hadn’t yet found proper places for. They needed to do that before Granny got a visit from the fire marshall or code enforcement. They’d cite her for being a hazard, making it even easier for DownHome to pry her out of her home. With growl, she mentally added, making sure they were up to code to the ever-growing to-do list.

Rounding the corner, she spotted Leith seated at their Parisian window display. Granny hovered nearby at the wide wooden counter that served as their cash wrap. She tried not to notice how good he looked sitting there, bathed in a stream of sunshine, the light blue sleeves of his crisp cotton shirt rolled up to bare his forearms. Heat coiled in her belly, and she had to duck behind an antique breakfront filled with porcelain doll heads and mismatched tea cups to catch her breath.

Shit. Eloise was right. I am hot for the demon lawyer. Her friend was going to have a grand old time roasting Rowan about this. But, at the same time, Rowan found she didn’t mind. Leith was incredibly handsome, both with and without the glamour. It had been too long since she’d truly lusted after someone.

Come on. Nothing earth-shaking is going to happen between us, she assured herself.

She’d never been much of a settle down, long-term relationship woman. Truthfully, she enjoyed her role as the mercurial artist, flitting from flower to flower as it suited her and avoiding the garden when it didn’t.

But as she crept deeper into her 30s, the idea of a long-term partner, someone to cuddle up on the couch with to watch a show or to go on a rock-collecting hike with sounded more and more appealing.

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