Page 16 of Throne of Secrets

“But, anyway, yeah, when you can, could you come over? I’ll be here all day tomorrow working.” She exhaled sharply. “Okay, so, bye.”

Hanging up, she stared at her phone and then up at the cracked ceiling.

“Of all the hardware stores in all the world,” she muttered, “I had to walk into the one where some Mafia wannabe was planning a hit.” She lifted her hand, pinched her fingers, waved them in the air, and said, “I should’ve had the cannoli and stayed at the freaking deli.”

CHAPTER5

The sun barely peeked over the horizon when Ethan climbed out of bed. As usual, he and Thor set out for their morning walk. The crisp air carried the scent of dew-soaked grass, and the steady rhythm of Thor's paws on the sidewalk echoed through the quiet streets. Their routine was familiar, comforting—a grounding ritual for both of them.

They stopped at the local coffee shop, where Ethan ordered his usual large black coffee and a caramel macchiato for Star. He knew she was an early riser, so arriving at her place that time of morning wouldn't be an intrusion. Thor sat obediently by his side, eyes fixed on the counter. His tail wagged with restrained excitement as they waited.

The barista and owner of the shop, Bianca, leaned over the counter with a wide smile. “Good morning, handsome,” she cooed, holding out a small cup filled with whipped cream. “And good morning to you, too, Ethan,” she added with a wink.

Thor's ears perked as he eagerly accepted the treat, his tongue diving into the fluffy white goodness. For an old wolf, he still had a puppy-like enthusiasm for his daily pup cup. Bianca, a widow in her mid-sixties, adored Thor and made homemade doggy cookies just for him. Ethan would never deprive either of them their morning ritual of cream, cookies, and affection. He watched Thor close his eyes in bliss, his whiskers coated with whipped cream.

“That dog,” Bianca said with a chuckle, “could charm a steak right off a butcher's block.”

“Yeah, well, don't let his sweet face fool you,” Ethan replied, giving Thor's head a fond pat. “He's a teddy bear until someone makes a move they shouldn't.”

“Good boy,” Bianca whispered as she rubbed Thor's ears one last time.

With both coffees in hand, Ethan turned toward Star's house, his mind drifting to the voicemail she'd sent the night before. The message had been vague but enough to stir concern. She'd insisted she was fine. Otherwise, he would've been on her doorstep regardless of the hour. Still, her tone had been off. Star rarely downplayed trouble. When she needed help, she said so outright.

Ethan carefully climbed the porch steps, balancing the drinks in one hand as he rang the doorbell. The familiar Westminster chimes sang softly from the back of the house.

“Oh, poo! Hold on! Just a minute!” Star's voice floated from within, fraught with frustration. “No, no, no! Dang it!”

Ethan's brow furrowed. He tested the doorknob and found it unlocked. “Strike one,” he muttered under his breath as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Star?”

“Over here!”

Her exasperated voice drew him toward the staircase. Thor padded ahead, his nails clicking on the hardwood floors. Ethan turned the corner and froze.

The staircase was a disaster zone. Three distinct stain colors dripped down the steps like a melted art project gone horribly wrong. Thick streaks pooled along the edges, creating glossy puddles.

He lifted his gaze to find Star standing at the top of the stairs. Her hair was askew, her cheeks streaked with various colors of stain, and a sticky handprint decorated the side of her face.

“Star,” Ethan said, blinking in disbelief. “It looks like Jackson Pollock puked all over your stairs. Were you in a paint war, or is this a new design concept?”

“It's called retro chic spillage,” she huffed, throwing her hands in the air. “The stairs are winning the war, and no one told me a war had been declared.” She swiped at her forehead, adding another streak of whiskey-colored stain to the mess. Ethan bit the inside of his cheek to stop his laugh.

“Did you bring me coffee? That’s so sweet.” She lifted her hands. “I can’t drink it right now. Never mind, I'll warm it up later. I need to clean this mess before it hardens.”

“I’ll put them on the table,” Ethan said, placing the cups down. “What do you need me to do?”

Star pointed toward the parlor. “There's a huge box of rags in there. Grab those. Oh, and there are garbage bags in the kitchen under the sink. We'll have to throw the soaked ones away. No saving them.”

Ethan commanded Thor to stay. Star didn't need tri-colored paw prints to add to her home's current abstract decor. The dog obeyed immediately, sitting beside the coffee table with a sigh.

“You know,” Ethan said as he stepped into the parlor, “if you ever get tired of home renovation, you could always start a performance art career.” He waved at the mess. “People pay money to see things like this in museums.”

“Don't tempt me,” she muttered.

Ethan smiled as he gathered the rags, vaguely wondering what other disasters the Star Curse would summon next. He stopped in his tracks. No, don’t start thinking things like that. He didn’t want to actually manifest something else.

Ethan hefted the large cardboard box of rags and carried it to the foot of the stairs before heading to the kitchen. He crouched, rummaging through the cupboards until he found a box of black garbage bags. With the supplies in hand, he climbed the stairs, passing over the sticky stains and handing Star a generous armful of rags while she battled the spill from the top. He crouched at the bottom, mopping the residue off the hardwood steps.

“You're here awful early,” Star said, twisting a soaked rag and dropping it into the open garbage bag with a splat. “I mean, I get it, you're usually up early anyway, and I’m always doing something ridiculous by sunrise, but still … it’s early even for you. Unless you couldn’t sleep? Or maybe you ran out of dog food for Thor and decided caffeine was the answer? Or maybe—oh wait—my message freaked you out, didn’t it? Right. Sorry about that.”

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