Page 17 of The First Spark

Time for a bubble bath and a glass of wine. Yes, that will do nicely.

I snatch the pumpkin from its hiding place under a table, brushing away a stray cobweb.

Funny, but I’ve never looked at the space from this angle before. Kiki mentioned when I first signed the lease that this was a speakeasy during Prohibition, and celebrities from all over the area partied until the wee hours of the night.

Didn’t hurt that the police chief at the time was a regular, or so goes the story.

Even though it’s a bit on the dingy side now, I see the potential in the space. There is history in these walls and stories just waiting to be told. In the darkened corners, I can almost see the outlines of her former patrons, leaning against the brick walls, gin in hand, as jazz music ebbs through the air.

Even the original oak bar still stands along one side, now coated in a fine layer of dust.

“The things you’ve seen,” I murmur aloud, tracing my fingertips along the bar’s brass inlay. “And the secrets you keep.”

She needs work, but it’s a magnificent spot for a bar,and it would be a huge draw in Sparkwood. Locals here love their history and their spirits—liquid and otherwise.

There have been rumblings in town about renovating the basement and returning her to her old glory. Word on the street is that Asher Hammond wants to take the reins on that project.

Not that he’s said a word to me.

No surprise there.

However, if he hopes to move forward, he must ensure I’m on board with the idea.

After all, that’s the agreement in the original lease. When he showed up in my store earlier today, I assumed that was the reason, but instead of breaking bread and laying to rest our past grievances, he saved my ass and then played on my last nerve.

Interesting negotiation style, to be sure.

Will I grant him use of the space?

Maybe. Maybe not. I have no intention of making it easy for the man. He’s going to have to—insert a gasp of shock and awe—be nice to me and humble himself enough to say he’s sorry for treating me shabbily.

Then, and only then, I might consider his request.

Until that happens, he can kiss my ass.

Petty? Perhaps, but the bastard has it coming.

I carry the pumpkin to the back corner of the basement and safely stow the decorations on the shelves.

Time to get out of here. That glass of wine sounds better with every passing second.

A creaking sounds from the top of the stairs, startling me.

“This is what you get when you talk to ghosts, Ori,” I mumble to myself with a chuckle.

Old buildings make all sorts of noises. The chance of an actual haunting is slim to none.

But then I hear footfalls on the stairs.

And that I’m not imagining.

My heart races in my chest as I realize, quite foolishly, that I never verified if Mina did indeed lock the door to One More Page.

“Crap. I’m not in the mood to die tonight.”

Sparkwood is a safe town, but that doesn’t mean it’s without incident.

Just last week, the liquor store got robbed at gunpoint. Granted, it’s more of a mark than a bookstore, but that doesn’t mean someone hasn’t been watching.

---