The Lost Rainbow Mage: Complete Trilogy Edition, page 2
I stepped around one of the ornamental lamp posts. Walking Main was a little like stepping back in time: Mom and Pop shops with scrolled signs and candy-striped awnings lined the street on both sides. We also had an old-fashioned ice cream parlor, boasting a soda fountain of all things. I deliberately averted my gaze rather than look at that one head-on. It would be all too easy to slip inside for an ice cream every time I passed, but I somehow managed to resist temptation more often than not. I was sure the waistline of my pants thanked me, even if my taste buds and stomach did not.
A movement to my right caught my attention, and I stumbled a little as I turned to look, catching my toe on the edge of one of the low cobbles. Someone grasped my shoulder to straighten me as I concentrated on holding the two cups of coffee without spilling.
“Thank you,” I mumbled, flustered as I met a pair of kind brown eyes.
“No problem. Sorry if I startled you.” The man turned away and walked a couple of paces, stopping in front of the antique store window to study a display of 1920s tea sets.
He slipped a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and pushed them onto his face, drawing my gaze from the wire coiled into his ear to the broad shoulders that filled out his finely tailored jacket. He was older than the guy I’d exchanged glances with at Sunshine Brew, but the two of them obviously belonged to the same group.
And there was something intimidating about both of them—barely repressed energy, like they were on full alert and waiting for something big to happen.
I glanced upward, but the blue sky held only the barest wisps of cloud; tree leaves rustled gently above me. No unexpected aircraft and no hulking alien spaceships or dancing lights.
So what were these guys doing then? I shrank back toward the other side of the path, trying to ease away without being too obvious about it.
My purse buzzed with an incoming call on my cell, and I hurried to a nearby wrought iron bench to put my drinks down so I could answer. It was probably Bess wondering where I was. I chuckled at the irony of my boss making me even later by trying to find out why I was late in the first place.
But there wasn’t a caller ID on the screen, and I shoved the phone back down to the depths of the pocket, among the gum wrappers and emergency tampons. I’d started avoiding calls when I had no idea who was on the other end of the line.
There’d been one too many hang-ups recently. At first, it had only happened at my house, on the ancient landline that was already installed when I moved in, and I’d assumed those calls came from people trying to reach the previous homeowner—or perhaps on behalf of a faulty line. I hadn’t found time to call the phone company before I started getting the same type of thing on my cell.
Of course, they didn’t happen often, but just enough to creep me out—especially since they’d increased in frequency recently.
I shoved my purse back onto my shoulder and picked up the drinks.
“Miss?”
I glanced at the man in the black suit who’d kept me from falling earlier, but all I could see was myself reflected in his dark shades. I didn’t speak. Just waited to see what he wanted.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
“Just a wrong number,” I said. Then I pressed my lips into a line.
He nodded and returned his attention to the store window as I hurried away. Apparently secret service guys were strange, no big surprise there.
I’d barely moved ten yards before Florence Kilkenny stepped out from the door of her tiny little craft store. The window was full of projects—knitted items, embroidery, painted canvases. I could have lost track of a few hours just admiring all that was on display before even venturing inside.
“How are those new paints working for you, honey?”
Shit. I didn’t have time to stop. I didn’t have time… but my feet froze, and my body jolted into action, turning me toward Mrs. Kilkenny—it being way more polite than my brain.
She drew me into the doorway and leaned close. “You got time to call in this morning, Meira? I just had a new delivery. You know what that means.”
I glanced at the coffees in my hands and grimaced. “Not this morning. Will you still be open when I get off work?”
She nodded. “For my best customer? You betcha.”
I laughed, but the humor in her words didn’t prevent them being true. I had no idea how many other sales Mrs. Kilkenny made in a week, but I came in fairly regularly—and even more now that I’d started painting the hummingbird each day.
“You said you’ve had a new delivery?”
She nodded, her face forming gentle wrinkles as she smiled. “Lots of beautiful new colors in that paint brand you like.”
I grinned. It didn’t seem like a coincidence that she was ordering things she knew I’d want to buy. “Oh, the paint I like, right?”
“Of course. I like to keep my customers happy. Especially my regulars.” She winked at me and then glanced around conspiratorially. “What have you been working on?”
“You’re just an enabler,” I said with a slight laugh. “Feeding my bad habits.”
She mock-gasped and brought her fingers to curl at the base of her throat. “Blasphemy,” she declared. “Art is never a bad habit.” She paused long enough to tip her head to the side as though calculating. “And judging by the amount of paint you’ve bought recently, you’re producing a lot of it. Are you going to show me any of your latest pieces?”
I shrugged but stopped mid-motion when the coffee sloshed inside the cups. “I don’t know. They might not be ready.” My stomach clenched at the thought of displaying any of my work, any of my self in public like that.
Still, the words felt like a lie. The pictures of the hummingbird were among my best pieces to date. I’d just been thinking about selling them at a craft fair.
She eyed me, her expression shrewd. “I think we both know that isn’t true. You’ve been painting up a storm. Something about being here must inspire you.” She cupped my elbow.
I nodded. Holy hell, inspiration… That was the truth. I glanced down Main Street toward the direction of my house. “Yeah. Inspiration. It’s beautiful here.”
Mrs. Kilkenny leaned forward. “Beautiful and strange today, don’t you think?” She motioned farther down the street, to where Main joined Tyler, the nose of a black car just visible. “That car has been there all morning. Just sitting at the corner of the street.”
I looked from the car to the speaker and back again.
Apparently that was all the motivation she needed to continue. “And there was a guy in here earlier looking at the paint.”
“Huh.” That was a bit more interesting than her other observations. At least it was news to me. “Is there another artist in town?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so, hun. His suit looked far too nice to mess up with splotches of paint.”
“His suit?” How many of these guys were there?
“Yeah.” She leaned back a little, her gaze faraway and thoughtful as she directed it over my shoulder into the sun-drenched street. “It’s like something out of an action movie.” She smiled and snapped her eyes back to meet mine. “Or a sci-fi one. Do you think we’ve been invaded by aliens overnight and this is the clean-up crew?”
I chuckled. Mrs. Kilkenny was pretty well known for being the local conspiracy theorist as well as the art supply store owner. She even ran a group for local UFO enthusiasts and other conspiracy believers. I’d never attended, and I wasn’t sure she had too many other members to join her. Still, all of this secret security action was definitely right up her alley.
“You mean like Men in Black—like the movies?” I cast back into the reaches of my mind. “Those were a long time ago.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Men in Black are a documented phenomenon after alien visitation.”
“And have we had one of those?” I suppressed my grin.
She lifted her hands. “I don’t know. But I’ve called an emergency meeting of the Sweetwater Spotters. If there has been any activity, one of the others will know.” Her tone didn’t invite argument.
Noting that the coffees in my hand were quickly cooling, I edged away. “So, I’m good to come by later? To see the new paints?” My chest lightened a little at the idea of more art supplies.
Yup, I definitely had a problem. But maybe collecting pretty things wasn’t so much an issue when I genuinely used them all.
She grinned, less serious now we were talking arts and crafts again. “Absolutely. I have some pearlescent shades that are just to die for.”
I almost stepped the rest of the way into her store then and there. Those sounded like something I wanted to see. But Bess’s face appeared in my mind and I took a step back. “Sounds great, Mrs. K. I’ll see you later.”
She lifted a hand. “Okay, dear. You have a good day.”
I smiled at her again and turned to continue the rest of the way to work. Coffee had seemed like a good idea at the time, but unfortunately, cold coffee wouldn’t cut me any favors with Bess. I could either chance grabbing another cup or just hurry the rest of the way and hope for the best.
I chose hope.
Thank God I was wearing flats. I wasn’t a heels fan, not that they would have been practical on the old-world Sweetwater cobbles. Everything about this town seemed to harken back to a different time.
I glanced across the street, at another suited man sitting on a bench, supposedly engrossed in the paper. Well, that was original. At least there was one good thing about their presence. The Sweetwater Gazette had never boasted such a high readership rate.
This stranger was just like the others. Perfectly black suit, crisp white shirt, black tie. They all wore shades, too. Fitting funeral attire. Picture-perfect mafia members, really. Bulky shoulders, narrow waists. Hair either styled to within an inch of its life or with that bedhead tousle that created a spark of interest in the pit of my stomach.
I shivered a little as I remembered the piercing blue stare of the first one I’d seen in Sunshine Brew. Something about him. He’d looked right through me. But also into me, like he could see my soul quivering beneath the heat of his gaze.
I shook my head. More ridiculous notions. Maybe I needed to join Mrs. K’s Sweetwater Spotters after all, now that I seemed to believe in the recharging abilities of light and men who could see directly into my soul.
Oh, and hummingbirds that looked at me with human-level understanding. I was practically certifiable. I chuckled at myself as I quickened my stride again, nearly bumping into another black-suited guy loitering outside the deli.
“Sorry,” I muttered as I scooted around him and jostled against one of the troughs of brightly colored flowers that the Beautiful Town Association created and sponsored. Flowers were spread all up and down the street. One day I’d paint some of them.
I paused and studied the fresh blooms a bit longer. Their color palette would make an excellent inspiration for coloring someone’s hair. Maybe even my own.
I shook my head a little, watching as my multicolored strands of hair resettled in front of my face. Yup, that never got old.
“Are you all right, miss?”
When I glanced up, the secret service guy had his face aimed in my direction and a twist to his mouth that could have been concern, but I couldn’t see his eyes and thus couldn’t really tell.
A shiver of apprehension rattled my bones, and I sucked in a breath. “Yes, thank you. I’m late for work.” I shook my head at myself for sharing that detail and hurried off to apologize to Bess.
three
Ipushed the door of the salon open, noting that business already seemed to be bustling inside. Bess looked up, her gaze sharp over half-moon glasses. She narrowed her eyes at me, then glanced at the clock above that hung in the waiting area.
“I know… I know…” I added a bit of heavy breathing to suggest I’d run in an effort to make it on time. “But look! I got you a coffee.” I held out her cup triumphantly.
She took it without a word, offering me a mere nod in acknowledgment. After a quick sip, Bess’s features twisted in a grimace. “How long ago did you pick this up?”
I shrugged. “Not that long ago.”
Bess broke into a smile. “They always make it too hot, but it’s perfect. Thanks, Meira.”
I relaxed a little as I walked into the breakroom to store my purse and pick up my apron. I smoothed it over my clothes as I walked back into the salon, breathing in the lingering odors of perm solution and chemical dye. At the end of the day, I’d leave wearing the scent like a perfume.
The familiar swirls of smells relaxed me, and I breathed deeper. My workplace had already become like a second home. I created colorful art here, too.
I glanced at the customers already in. Mostly elderly ladies—the ones who most liked to gossip—sitting with their heads firmly under old-fashioned dryers. I doubted Bess had updated the place since the sixties. She swore up and down she had, though. The dryers were only kept to amuse the ladies who liked sitting under them to exchange the latest news.
“Meira?” Bess beckoned me over.
I finished tying my apron at the back and walked to join her at the counter that held our appointment book. “We’re busy this morning,” I murmured.
“Yes, well…” She shook her head in apparent frustration. “I had a little mix up with the scheduling.” She lifted her coffee and took another long draw through the small hole in the white plastic lid. “I definitely needed a good caffeine fix this morning, that’s for sure.”
“How’s the rest of the day looking?” I glanced at the neat writing filling the time slots.
Bess drew her finger down the columns until she reached my first appointment. “At least I didn’t book you anything too early this morning, hun. Musta known you were going to turn up with coffee.” She winked. “Creative chaos and all.”
“Yeah, sorry I was late.” I swept my hair from my face to tie it back in a ponytail.
Bess watched the movement then reached out her hand and trailed it through the strands of my hair, stopping the movement. “Beautiful,” she muttered. “I have no idea how you do it.”
“It’s in the way I mix the dyes and apply the colors.” I shrugged. It really wasn’t rocket science, but if Bess wanted to believe it was, I could live with that.
She shook her head, denying my words. “No… No… I’ve seen hair colorists before. I’ve seen a normal dye job. And what you do isn’t normal. You have real talent. If I could clone you, I’d do it in a heartbeat.” She laughed. “Since you came to work for me, profits are up, and things are good.” She nodded her head. “Nope. Things are great. Might even be a pay increase in it for ya.” She nudged me with her shoulder and chuckled. “But don’t remind me I said that.”
I laughed as well and grabbed my coffee from where I’d left it, taking a sip as I wandered to my area of the salon.
Bess let me work however I wanted so long as I continued to get amazing results for her clients. Creative chaos reigned. As long as my mess wasn’t immediately visible from the doorway, where it might scare off prospective customers, she was all good.
Still, things had gotten a bit out of control the past few days, and I could now straighten up a bit.
As I worked at clearing my clutter, Bess moved toward her customers. “Ladies, how are things going over here? Let me check on you.”
Leslie Seymour groaned. “We were just getting to the juicy part.”
I grinned as I moved some of my dye from the table to the shelf.
Bess whistled. “The juicy part? Without me?” She was the perfect hairdresser. Always interested in her clients’ lives and great at conversational fluff.
“My dear, haven’t you seen all of the gorgeous young men in town this morning?”
Rona Clarke butted in. “They’re not all young, dear.”
But Mrs. Seymour was undeterred. “I’m eighty-four years old. Everyone’s young these days—especially those men in the suits.”
“Which men in suits?” Bess bustled between the ladies, lifting the dryers, and checking on their hair.
“Haven’t you seen?” Mrs. Clarke sounded almost scandalized. “It’s like an episode of America’s Next Top Model out there—well-built men wearing designer suits treating the streets of Sweetwater like their own personal runway.”
Mrs. Seymour scoffed. “It’s not quite like that. Some of them are just loitering around, doing a fat load of nothing with their time.”
I glanced up in time to see Mrs. Clarke purse her lips. “If they’re loitering, it’s with some kind of ulterior motive, and they’re certainly very ornamental while they’re doing it.”
Both ladies cackled, and Bess looked in my direction.
“How about you, Meira? Did you see these model guys who seem to have been rained onto our town’s streets?”
“Mm.” I shrugged noncommittally as a vision of blue eyes entered my head once more. That damn guy. Why hadn’t he kept his sunglasses on like the others?
All eyes were fixed on me. I needed to say something more. “There are a few new strangers out there, yeah.”
Mrs. Clarke let out a laugh. “You’re still pretty new yourself, sweetheart.”
I nodded in acknowledgment. “But I won’t be the newest for much longer if more of these guys keep moving in.”
“True!” Mrs. Seymour crowed, and I laughed.
Bess’s movements slowed as she teased the ladies’ hair into their usual styles. “So what are they actually doing out there?”
“Just hanging around.” Mrs. Clarke sounded perplexed, like she hadn’t considered the purpose of the sudden influx of men before. “You know what? Leslie, maybe we need to talk to Florence—perhaps one of her spotty people knows something?”
I choked down my giggle. Mrs. K wouldn’t appreciate her Sweetwater Spotters being referred to as spotty people. The nickname fit, though.
The door to the salon burst open, knocking against the wall, and a woman raced inside, already removing big, dark sunglasses that seemed to cover half of her face. “I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “I know I’m late.” She lifted her reusable travel coffee cup to her mouth and took a loud, dramatic gulp. “Is my appointment still available?”
