Page 143 of Dark Endures

That man.

“Hello,” I kind of croak into the phone.

“Hey,” Dahlia answers. “Maverick says that you’re living on Willow Street now. Isn’t it fabulous?”

Kind of, but not the why.

“Anyway, Maverick needs to visit with Maddox about something, so we’re heading over. Wanna meet up?”

No. I wanna hide in this bed, but I need to be a grownup and deal with my problems. “Sure.”

“Maverick suggested the library.”

“Sounds good. I’ll meet you there in like twenty.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be waiting. Don’t rush. You know how I am when I get around books.” Dahlia clicks off.

Absorbed would be a good word. I cuddle down in the blankets. They smell a bit like Maddox, which is comforting.

Can he really fix this so there’s no blowback?

***

Willow Street Library lives in a world all its own. Someone made this into a wonderland. If all libraries were like this, I would have actually become a reader.

How do the children leave this place? There must be a dozen or more of them spread out on rugs, beanbags, and couches with their noses stuck in a book.

It’s tempting to walk up to one of the shelves and pull one off to read.

But that would just prolong the inevitable. I need to talk to Dahlia.

There she is with a book in her hand, staring at a knife handle sticking out of the wall.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” she says as I walk up.

Knives aren’t my thing, but as they go, the jewel-encrusted handle is pretty. “Are they real?”

“Yup. That knife is probably worth millions.”

“And they just left it here? That sounds like something Louisella would do.”

Dahlia laughs. “That’s because it is. Her now husband gave her a pair of them as a wedding gift. On her wedding day, she threw this one at the wall, and it’s been there since then.”

“Someone would have to be crazy to steal from her.” But leaving millions on a wall in a public library is still crazy.

“Exactly my thought.”

You’re looking for excuses to avoid talking to her. Just do it. “Can we sit down and talk somewhere?”

“Oh, of course, I forgot how tired you must still be.” She walks over to a comfortable-looking couch in a little alcove. “What was wrong with you?”

“Adonis beat me up.”

“What? When? I shouldn’t have left. Why didn’t you say something? It was all my fault. I should have called Maverick. He wouldn’t have let that—”

“Stop.” I place a hand on her arm. “None of this was your fault. I told you to go.”

“But I shouldn’t have listened. I knew he was drunk and bigger than you.”

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