Page 42 of Crossroads Magic
“I was going to say angry, but okay.”
“That’s Harper for you. One angry lass.”
“Then it wasn’t just me?”
Hirom chuckled. “Harper gets up moody and goes to bed livid. Don’t worry about it.”
“Why is she like that?”
He shook his head. “Something in the water here?”
I reminded myself again that Hirom didn’t pass on information. It was inconvenient right now, but I was glad to know that nothing I said to him would be shared with anyone else.
But still, I was unsettled. How much had Hirom interpreted from my reaction to Harper’s news?
I got to my feet. “I need to stretch my legs. I’ve been sitting all morning.” It was the truth, after all. I glanced at the hikers. “Will you be okay for a while?” I asked Hirom.
“Now they’ve eaten, they’ll be good little doggies,” Hirom said. “Beer and a full belly…they’ll be wanting to snooze.”
And it was true that the conversation around the tables had grown listless and low volume.
“Hey, if you’re heading outside….” Hirom began.
“Yes?”
He looked embarrassed. “It just…your mother has a good coat. Better than the one you’re wearing. That is, as you’re heading out for a bit.”
My mind sheered off from stepping into the room where my mother lay. But that was where she stored her clothes, and my coat really wasn’t keeping me warm. I nodded. “I need to check on Ghaliya, anyway.”
When I reached the apartment, I stepped up the stairs and cracked open the door to her room. Ghaliya was asleep on the window seat, curled into a tight ball the way she had once done as a child. The quilt from the bed was over her. On the floor by the seat was one of the thick pottery mugs and a plate with crumbs on it. She’d eaten crackers and, I hoped, kept them down.
I closed the door, then faced my mother’s door. I pushed it open with reluctance. A dozen different horror movies flashed through my mind, some of them products of my own imagination, painting scenes of dead bodies rising, or maggot-riddled bones in a pile on the floor.
But my mother lay where I had last seen her. It was possible that her cheeks were slightly more sunken than before, but I didn’t linger to examine her for very long. I was an intruder. I moved over to the standalone wardrobe opposite the bed. It was a massively old piece of furniture made of polished walnut, with clawed feet and a curved crown. The doors had traditional keyholes, each with an iron key sitting in the lock.
I used the key to pull the door open, for there was no handle. I found the coat at the end of the rod, which was exactly where I put my coats in my closet. Had I learned that as a child?
I pulled out the heavy dark green wool garment and held it up. It wasn’t a coat. It was a poncho that looked as though it came down to the knees and the side edges down to the wrists. It was stitched together just underneath where the hands would emerge, making a sort of arm hole. The poncho had a hood hanging down the back.
I rolled my eyes. “Really,mother?” I glanced at the bed. “You might as well have made it a cape and been done with it.”
The poncho was lined. Interior pockets held a pair of black leather gloves. They would be useful, too.
I took the poncho out into the sitting room, closed the bedroom door behind me, then donned the poncho. I felt mildly ridiculous wearing it, but itwaswarm. I tramped down the stairs, and stepped out of the inn into the chilly air. It felt colder than yesterday. Colder than this morning, too…was it possible for the temperature to peak early in the morning? The afternoon wasalwaysthe warmest part of the day in L.A.
I resisted donning the gloves. It felt like overkill. Instead, I pushed my hands into the slits at the front of the poncho, up by my waist, which was a comfortable height. The slits gave access to the same pockets, and my hands nestled up against the gloves.
I turned left and headed for the intersection. I didn’t know where I wanted to go. Walking had been an excuse, rather than a need, but I did want to stretch out my legs.
The town was utterly still. The clouds overhead seemed low enough to touch. They were thick grey things, with beer belly bottoms. The air was completely still. I thought I could hear the sound of small creatures in the trees beyond the town, borne through the utterly still atmosphere.
No one moved. Olivia was not on her porch, watching her town and collecting gossip. Benedict’s front door was firmly closed—but not locked—for he was in the inn.
Far, far away, I heard a crow give a long, dying caw.
It was as if the world was holding its breath.
I found myself with the toes of my boots on the edge of the sidewalk, right at the corner of the intersection. The sidewalk did not continue along the greenway. It stopped here.
