Page 61 of The Spirit Key
To say I was having second thoughts would be an understatement. The window had a long crack in it, covered with silver tape. The door didn’t even have a window, just a sheet of plywood that someone had spray-painted with some pretty honking sexy-ass angels fucking. If I had known angels werethatsexy, I might not have been so cheesed about dying.
Tim was right. This was a really bad idea.
“Because we need to. At least to see if they have answers. Besides, I know if I don’t get you in here to satisfy your curiosity, you’ll bug me until I go out and buy that ball gag. Now let’s go.”
I must have hesitated, because before I realized it, Tim was dragging me toward the door.
“Okay, maybe I was wrong. Maybe this isn’t important.” I pulled back on his hand, but he kept moving forward. “I’ll call you ‘sir’ whenever you want.”
Bastard didn’t even slow down.
When we got to the door, I half expected it to creak open and have some old dude standing in a black cape telling us to enter and be not afraid. I wasn’t expecting flashes of color on every wall from tie-dyed scarves, racks full of charms and knickknacks, a rotating display of various scents of incense, and an old man sitting behind the counter picking his nose.
Okay, he wasn’t really picking his nose, but I figured I’d add that to enhance the creepy factor. He was, in fact, just an ordinary old man, with gray hair, a dark beard that was flecked with gray, and pale green eyes, who smiled at us as we entered.
“Hello, young men. Welcome to my shop. I’m George Howard, the owner. How can I help you today?”
Tim nudged me forward. “My boyfriend wants to ask you some questions.”
He called me his boyfriend? The thrill that sent through me reminded me that he still made me feel like a gawky teenager, instead of a grown man.
I glanced back at him—I’m sure with love in my eyes. He scowled and nudged me forward. The old guy was sitting there, a smirk on his face.
“It’s good to see young love.”
I turned back to Tim, who stood there, arms crossed, staring at me.
Remind me again why I thought this was a good idea.
“I saw your website and—”
“It’s in the process of being updated. Really.”
“Uh-huh.” Tim didn’t sound convinced at all. “That’s not why we’re here.”
“It’s about the symbols on the front page.”
George cocked his head, and for a moment, his eyes went comically wide. He got off his chair and lumbered toward us. He reached out, his hand trembling. Tim was there instantly, grabbing George’s arm and pushing him back. George clutched the counter, keeping himself from falling. He turned back toward us and huffed out a breath.
“Tim!”
“Don’t touch him. Don’t get near him. Say whatever you have to say from back there.”
The overbearing attitude again—only this time, it wasn’t so hot.
“Tim, leave him alone.”
George held up a hand. “No, no. It’s okay. I shouldn’t have gotten near you. I remember the tales. The lock won’t ever let anyone touch his key.”
I spun around and stuck out my tongue at Tim. “See! Told you so.”
Hey, it was good to be right for a change.
Chapter Fifteen
GEORGE WASN’Ta bad guy. He opened the door, hung the Closed sign out, and then shut and locked it. He bustled through the room, into the back, and when he returned, he’d brewed up three cups of tea. He sipped his, so I figured it was okay and reached for my cup. Tim pushed his away, then reached over and did the same to mine.
“We’re not here for tea.”
