Page 10 of Home to the Hollow

Exiting the Impala,I snap my fingers and my uninvited guests follow at my heels as I stride towards the Atwater’s grocery store. As far as I know, Percy’s parents have resisted all attempts to be bought out by mega corporations that are dying to tap a money spigot like the wealthy folks in the Hollow.

I’m sure a shiny new Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s would love to be in place of Atwater General Store, but the folks in town don’t like outsiders coming in to take over their old-world charm. I checked Google during my stint in traffic—there’s a Wally World, a Whole Foods, and a Joe’s within a short drive of town.

Yet on a random Monday evening, Atwater’s is humming with activity. Looking at Jekyll and Hyde, I frown. The cats have refused to leave my presence since they appeared in my living room like a miniature hurricane. I don’t know if Atwater’s allows animals inside, and even if they do, it might be limited to service animals.

Before I can address my furry stalkers, Mayor Cornelia walks through the electronic doors, nearly slamming into me. I look up at her, taking in her youthful appearance and striking features.

“Jolene! Aldous mentioned he ran into you this morning. I planned on contacting you later in the week once you were settled.”

I smile, feeling nervous about meeting the woman that my parents called a ‘juggernaut’ of local politics as a fully grown adult. “That’s very kind of you, ma’am. I’m doing well. I have lots to do, butI would love to connect with you once I’m moved in.”

Her raven brow arches, and she looks down at the two servals standing on either side of me. “What’s this? Souvenirs from your travels abroad? We don’t have breed specific laws in town, Miss Whitley, but exotic animals will require licenses and collars if you are bringing them into town proper.”

“You don’t know who they belong to? These guys broke into my house earlier today and have become my stalkers. Servals are fairly expensive, and rare in the States, so I thought they must be pets that got out on someone.”

Cornelia Sykes simply smiles at me mysteriously, her head shaking slowly. “No, I know all the exotic animals in town, and these two are not registered. The citizens of Whistler’s Hollow know they would only need to ask for a license—I would never deny them a…partner… of choice.”

My brows furrow in confusion at her wording, and I look down at the perfectly behaved, attentive cats at my feet. “Well, I’ll check around before I decide. I appreciate your advice, ma’am.”

Her raven tresses fly as she laughs. “Oh, Jolene! Stow that ma’am away for someone much more tightly wound than me. Call me Nelia. And…” she stops for a moment, as if weighing her words, “… you can ask young Wolfgang. As the town vet, he’d know if anyone had animals they were missing. However, I highly suspect that you, my dear, have been chosen.”

Chosen? What the hell does that mean?

But I give the Mayor a polite nod and my typical pasted-on ‘social smile’ as I reply, “Thank you, ma—Nelia. I’ll check with him and uh, think about what you’ve said.”

“Don’t worry, Jolene. No one will ask you to leave them outside. That’s not how we do things here.”

I blink, wondering how in the hell she knew exactly what I was thinking when we bumped into one another earlier. “Cool. And um, thanks again.”

She winks at me, gives the cats a stare, and flutters off towards the parking lot with the air of a woman who knows that she is in charge of the world she lives in. I watch her get into the Rolls Phantom and speed off, chewing on my lip. What is it about the people in this town that make me feel like they have locked me in an escape room?

“MMrrrrrOOOW!”

“Oh, shit, Jekyll. You’re right. We need to get some food before we all waste away,” I reply absently. It doesn’t occur to me I’m talking to them as if we’re old friends and they speak English. I just knew he/she was trying to get my attention.

They trot behind me happily as I walk in, looking around to see if the store conjures up memories of when I was a child. Things should look familiar, but there’s a… haze… …around it all in my mind. I remember the registers—upgraded now to computer POS systems—and the produce section is sectioned differently because of the ‘organic’ craze but feels like it’s the same. Running my hands over my face as I stand by a display of bananas, I close my eyes and try to imagine coming here with my parents.

I can’t. And I know we came here all the time. It’s just out of my grasp in a fuzzy space in my mind.

Hyde pushes his head into my palm, and I come out of the trance-like state I was in. I shake my head, heading for the fruits to pick up some snack food. I love junk food—I truly do—but I have to make certain that I eat enough fresh food. Not because of my weight, but because I get really slow and off when I don’t consume the right amount of ‘real’ foods. I don’t mean sick, loafy, or anything like a normal person. I mean, completely off-balance in a way the docs in Europe never did figure out.

“What should we get for dinner, guys? Pizza?” I murmur as I stuff berries and melon and assorted produce in my cart.

“Mow!” Jekyll answers.

Perhaps he doesn’t want pizza.

Shit. I reach into my bag, pulling out my phone to Google ‘serval cat diets’ as I walk over to the beverage aisle to load up on my energy drinks. I’ll need milk and ice cream for milkshakes as well, and some various flavoring to feed my habit. I’ll get a pizza for me to heat up in the oven.

Chips! I would kill for Doritos.

Whirling around, I head back to the aisle labelled snacks, and I run flat intoyet anotherperson.

I’m a one-woman wrecking ball today, I fucking swear.

“Easy there, Tíogair. No need to knock me into the bloody biscuits.”

My face floods with color as I lift my head to apologize to the dude with the lilting accent. For the second time today, I’m completely speechless. I lick my lips, stalling as my eyes rove over the tattooed, leather wearing redhead with the mischievous glint in his eyes. He looks like a Weasley got run through a bad boy blender and he sounds like a hitman in an IRA movie.

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