Page 12 of Shift of Destiny
5
Moira had taken Mr. Maxen at his word about her casual wardrobe, but she brought her only sweater just in case it made her look slightly more professional. Pandora found it in the open backpack within thirty minutes and brazenly made it into a nest.
Though the business and Mr. Maxen seemed as old as some of the small antiques he sold, his computer-networked cash-register system was state-of-the-art, and even allowed him to offer free Wi-Fi to his customers. Maybe she could use it after the store closed to catch up on her emails. Not that she’d have many, since she couldn’t keep any friends. She used secure, anonymizing software and changed accounts and providers often, so she wouldn’t be traceable by Witzer’s snoops. At least it kept the spam down.
Fortunately, the morning wasn’t as busy as the day before, which gave Mr. Maxen time to teach her how to record sales, handle refunds, and enter special orders. In between customers and lessons, she kept Pandora out of trouble and familiarized herself with the store’s eclectic merchandise. She’d always had a fondness for mirrors, and practically every display had one, some jaw-droppingly expensive.
As long as she stayed out front where it was bright and cheery, the peripheral vision flashes were minimal. The moment she got close to the hieroglyph-decorated doorway that led to the back area, the motion-activated lights came on, and her vision flickered like she was at a rock concert.
In idle moments, she found herself thinking of increasingly outlandish strategies to run into Chance sooner than after work. He was not only hotter than high noon, he was the nicest man she’d ever run into, literally or figuratively. No ordinary man would let a woman he’d just met cry on his shoulder about her insane life, and actually believe her wild story, then make out with her on Tinsel’s porch. Her dreams of him last night had left her drenched with unquenched need that she’d had to take care of in the shower. It was probably just as well she didn’t know where he lived, or she’d be stalking him on her lunch hour.
A few minutes after eleven, Mr. Maxen handed her a square wooden cube carved with floral decorations that turned out to be made of tiny Nordic runes. “Please make a place for this in the antiques cabinet by the door. Then I’ll send you for lunch. Where would you like to go?”
The box felt old and warm to her, like it had been sitting in a sunny window. She rubbed her thumb over it, admiring the hand-tooled workmanship. “I’ve only been to one restaurant, so I’m no help. You choose. I’ll eat anything.” She looked at the bottom of the box as she opened the cabinet, hoping to see the initials of whoever made it, but it was covered in runes, too. She traced almost invisible lines and realized what it was. “This puzzle box is beautiful.”
Mr. Maxen gave her a sharp smile. “What else do you think it is?”
He’d been doing that all morning, asking her to guess what things were for, and correcting her when she got them wrong. She’d been nervous at first, trying to be serious and remember everything, but he’d made it seem like a fun game, and encouraged her whimsical imagination. “Storing secrets, of course,” she said breezily. “The kind you’re dying to tell, but can’t trust anyone with, so you lock them in the stalwart heart of the box. The runes make the box indestructible.”
Mr. Maxen laughed. “You have a telling gift.” He pulled out a folder with a collection of menus. “It was originally meant to hold keys. They were bigger back when the box was made.”
“Oh, like the fake rocks for hiding a spare door key? Sweet.” She opened the glass-paned doors, then gave the box a place of honor on the shelf, nudging aside a stand with a fussy hanging glass chime that seemed to quiver with the slightest breeze. She decided its job was to announce the presence of people with bad intentions, like shoplifters. The gorgeously detailed miniature cheval mirror on the right was for seeing the unseen, like ghosts… or better yet, seeing someone’s true nature. Its small size made it seem harmless and belied the true strength of its magic. She laughed at herself. Maybe she should take up storytelling for a museum.
She closed the cabinet door gently, then went back to the counter, where Mr. Maxen handed her the menu he’d selected. “I’ll take the vegetarian pot pie and a large milk. Order whatever you want, and tell them to put it on my tab.” He handed her the phone. “In the meantime, I’ll find the fluffy monster and feed her, too.” He went through the beaded curtain toward the back.
Moira had indulged herself at Tinsel’s huge breakfast buffet that morning, so she called in Mr. Maxen’s order and a simple sandwich and iced tea for herself. Outside of hauling a few boxes, her new job wasn’t nearly as physically taxing as mucking out stables. She felt a pang for her lost friendships. She even missed the dairy cows, who’d had surprisingly varied personalities and liked being cleaned and brushed.
She was making new friends in Kotoyeesinay, and knew she’d soon have to leave them, too. She’d lost too much time between Nunn and Kotoyeesinay. Witzer wouldn’t leave her alone now, not after coming so close to catching her again. It wasn’t fair to bring his violently delusional brand of crazy down on the gentle crazy that was Kotoyeesinay.
“Why the long face, Ms. Graham?” asked Mr. Maxen.
Moira straightened up and pasted a smile on her face. “Just a sad thought, sir. I’m sure the walk to the restaurant will banish it.” She slid her backpack on her shoulders.
Mr. Maxen raised an eyebrow, but thankfully, he didn’t pry. She wouldn’t have liked to lie to him, but the less he knew, the safer he’d be if Witzer’s a-hole team ever questioned him. She’d learned that lesson the hard way, after what happened to that poor woman in Vancouver the day after Moira had left.
* * *
Despite the high altitude and relatively northern latitude, the heat of the noonday sun had the locals complaining about a heat wave and Moira going out of her way to stick to the shaded areas on the way back from the restaurant.
The walk took her by Knight’s Garage, where poor Frankie languished in the back lot. The owner, Shepherd, confirmed her suspicion that the engine was toast, but quoted her a surprisingly reasonable price for a rebuilt engine to replace it. Apparently, he had one taking up room in storage that he hadn’t been able to use for anything else, but with a little effort, would fit the Frankencar. If she hoarded her funds, she’d be able to pay for everything within the week. It made her uncomfortable not to be able to pay Tinsel, too, but her temporary hostess had adamantly refused any money for either the bed or the breakfast, and wouldn’t even let her move to a smaller room in the castle. Moira needed to think of something she could do for Tinsel in trade before leaving.
She ought to be relieved that she could soon move on, to stay ahead of Witzer, but all it did was depress her. The thought of having to leave kind, sexy Chance McKennie before she even got to know him made her shoulders slump. Life on the run was truly the pits.
Before she knew it, she was back on Wizard Street. She gave herself a shake. Wallowing in her sorrows didn’t help anything, and it made her inattentive, which she couldn’t afford. She threw her shoulders back and marched herself into Turn of the Cards.
She couldn’t help but smile when she saw Chance standing at the counter, talking earnestly with Mr. Maxen. She resisted the temptation to saunter up beside Chance and caress the back pocket of his jeans, which just happened to be covering his beautifully muscular butt. She suspected Mr. Maxen wouldn’t approve.
She didn’t know if she’d approve, either. She wasn’t the sexually aggressive type, but something about Chance made her want to throw off her usual reserve and pounce. Maybe she was a sucker for chiseled men with wavy red hair.
“Lunch,” she announced as she set the bag on the counter. “What are you two conspiring about?”
Chance smiled like he was happily surprised to see her, which was odd, because he knew she worked there. “We were just discussing a mutual interest.”
“Really?” She set the drink tray on the counter and pulled out the straws. “What?”
They exchanged a glance. Mr. Maxen reached into the bag. “I’m hiring Mr. McKennie to renovate the upstairs area into a livable space. He’s agreed to move in here starting the day after tomorrow while he works.”
Chance’s eyes widened momentarily, giving her the impression that at least part of that was news to him. “Uhm, yes, the general store let me go, so I have some free time.”
