Page 28 of Tested
Of course, once I’m standing in the parking lot, I have to wait for him because I don’t know where we’re going. He gets out and inclines his head toward a place called Ron’s Books and Trinkets.
“Trinkets? I want a trinket,” I say, and follow Connor’s lead. He opens the door for me and I can’t help rubbing up against him on my way by.
“Behave,” he says through gritted teeth, but before I can come up with an appropriate response, I’m overcome by the scene in front of me.
There are books. Like, hundreds of books. They fill shelves and they’re stacked on the floor, and there are boxes under a window that I know intuitively are filled with more. There’s also a rack of vintage postcards and one of old baseball trading cards, and a whole shelf dedicated to comic books.
And that’s just what my first glance takes in. “This is crazy,” I whisper.
Connor pats my shoulder on his way deeper into the store. There’s a counter running down the left wall, and that’s where he’s headed. I follow, although I really want to poke around more slowly. The dusty smell of old books and the dim lighting have me intoxicated.
A display of vintage jewelry near the cash register catches my attention. There’s a Black man behind the register, Connor’s apparent destination. As we close in on him, the old book smell gives way to another.
Magic.
I glance at Connor but his expression hasn’t changed.
“Excuse me,” Connor approaches the counter. “I’m wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”
The witch? Warlock? Whatever he is, he waits a couple heart beats, as if he’s weighing Connor’s request. I mean, we’re the only people in the store. It’s not like he can’t afford to take five minutes away from pricing the pile of junk spread over the counter.
I might even buy some jewelry if he plays his cards right.
“What can I do for you?” he says finally. He’s short and stocky, a Dead Kennedys tee stretched tight over his belly.
Connor introduces us and hands him a business card. “I got your name from Stone Parata. He said you hear a lot of things, and you might know something about a murder victim, Adaline Nosaka.”
The witch – or whatever – listens to all of that without giving us his name, and when Connor finishes, he doesn’t move for a good fifteen seconds.
“You said his name is Collins?” The witch speaks to Connor but points at me.
“Mmhm.”
“Weird.” His expression takes on the barest glimmer of humor.
“Why?” I ask, more annoyed than anything else.
“Someone told me a wolf from the Collins pack has a target on his back.”
“I’m not part of the Collins pack.” The words hurt to speak out loud.
The witch’s grin turns mocking. “Well then, pretty boy, it can’t be you.”
I keep my eyes on the pile of old pipes, strings of plastic pearls, and silverware that might be real silver that covers the countertop. Mentally, though, I’m weighing the odds that I am the Collins with the target on his back, and whether one of my uncle’s allies is looking for revenge. Dad would have cleaned house after thebeurteilung. He couldn’t afford not to.
Right?
“Who told you this?” Connor asks.
The witch gives him an expectant look but doesn’t volunteer any new information. After a minute or so of this stand-off, Connor gives an exasperated snort and pulls out his wallet. He lays a couple of twenties across two old pipes that look like they’re made from real corncobs, and asks the question again. “Does that help your memory?”
The witch pockets the money with a smirk. “Whoever he is, he’s probably in the wind by now.”
“What else have you heard?” Connor asks. “Do you know anything about Adaline Nosaka?”
“Now that’s an interesting question.” The witch – who still hasn’t given us his name – runs his fingers through a box of rhinestones near the cash register. “I don’t know who did her, but word is she’s only the first.”
Connor’s intensity would wilt a lesser – or smarter – man. “The first victim?”
