Ten Thousand Words (23 page)

“What?”

“You’re going to make the name FairFawkes huge. Famous. We always thought it would be our hard work and dedication that would make people notice us, and so far, it has. But it’s going to be you, Oliver. I don’t care if it’s for your face and body, and neither should you. It should be a relief. It means we’ll be noticed without having to kill ourselves for our work.”

He had a point.

I ended up eating half of the sandwich before my stomach started to squirm. Trey was happy that I had gotten that much in me, and he cleaned up while I snuck off into my back garden.

I was itching to call Ronen.

“Motherfucker,” was how he greeted me. “You still a man?”

“Yes.”

“Ricki’s slacking then. The fuck you want?”

“I need to talk to Xanthe.”

“You need to fuck the fuck off!” he half-shouted.

“Who the fuck you talkin’ to, Ronen?” came Lilla’s irritated voice.

“The fucking douche bag who ran out on Xanthe.”

“Oh. All right then.”

“Is she okay?” I asked quickly. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with her, and I just need to know she’s okay.”

“Define fucking okay,” he snarled.

“Is she alive? Did she make it back from Boston? Is she somewhere safe? Because she’s not here. I went—”

“What do you even care, man? You fucking ditched her. She was counting on you, and you fucking bailed, like a little bitch.”

“I know. I…I wish I could go back and do all of this over, Ronen. I was angry, and I let that cloud my judgment. Please…I need to know.”

“I ain’t telling you shit.”

“For fuck’s sake!” exploded out of my mouth. “I’m fucking gutted here! I fucked up! I fucking
really
fucked up! I was wrong, and I need to make it right. Nothing in my life is fine, okay? I fucking need to know that she’s alive somewhere—”

“Of course she is, man. She’s alive and safe,” he said, his voice softening.

“Where?”

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

“Is she coming home to Amsterdam?”

“Yes,” he grudgingly admitted. “But I’m calling Ricki and making sure your ass stays the fuck away—”

“Not a fucking chance,” I fumed.

“You—”

“Yeah? You never fuck up with your woman, Ronen? Can you honestly tell me you’ve had a perfect relationship with Lilla from the get-go?”

He went silent.

“That’s what I fucking thought. I royally fucked up. I know that. I just need the chance to make it right, all right?”

He exhaled loudly. “Fine. I’ll wait and see what happens before I call Ricki—”

“What the fuck does that man do? I thought he was a tattooist. Is he some sadistic vigilante revenge-seeker on the side?”

“Yes. Now, this is your last chance with
all
of us, you hear me? You fuck her over one more fucking time, and I swear to God, Ricki is gonna slice off your junk and fucking feed it to you while Rex rapes you from behind. And if Xanthe tells you to fucking fuck off, you’d better fucking fuck off.”

If Xanthe told me to fucking fuck off, I’d be slicing off my own junk. It would distract me from the pain of completely losing her.

“I hear you,” I told him.

“Good. But, yeah, I dropped Xanthe off at the airport yesterday. She called to let us know she made it safe. She’s good. Just taking the fucking time needed to get her head together. I’m not sure when she’ll be home.”

“Thank you,” I said in relief.

“Fuck you, douche,” he replied before hanging up.

I had to admit, I liked the man a whole lot.

“You know,” Dr. Reise was saying as he stuck the needle in my vein, “you could just abstain from sex for a while. It’d save you from coming in every few weeks.”

“I met someone. I just want to make sure I don’t give her anything,” I muttered.

“Oh. Are you using protection?”

I nodded. “The last condom broke though, and I just want to be sure.”

Capping the blood sample, he casually mentioned, “Your results will be in by Friday.”

With my appointment finished, I headed out into the late afternoon. It was a brisk, gorgeous day. I had my digital camera with me. I thought that it’d be nice to get some shots around the city, what with the fine weather.

This was a quieter side of town. If I’d been in the metropolitan area, the local Paranormal Hunters fans would most likely harass me. Somewhere along the past week, I no longer saw them as weirdos. Maybe it was because I was now a fan myself, and the fact that the brilliant author had seen me and been reminded of her hero struck some chord within me.

Donovan was someone every man should strive to be—loyal, determined, smart, resourceful, and unafraid to make the woman he had fallen in love with his. I wanted to be Xanthe’s Donovan.

Once again, I was close to finishing the book, and I could tell something epic was going to happen. It would end in a cliff-hanger, and I was looking forward to it and also feeling utterly petrified. I should go and try to find a copy of the second book,
Phoenix Rising
.

My camera ready, I began to wander, snapping the occasional photo here and there. I loved Amsterdam. It was the city of my heart. The people were so diverse, so wonderful to capture.

I passed a deli, and the bakery I was scheduled to do some work in this Friday. I took a few shots of the front. It was a cute little place, its window display a sinful work of artistic confection. I got a whiff of something cinnamon and had to move on.

Helmersen’s was my coffee shop of choice, and it was right down the street. I’d hit it up on the way home. Getting stoned might help ease the tightness in my chest.

I passed a novelty butcher shop and another bakery, one that specialized in bread. I snapped more photos. Then, I saw a small bookshop on one corner that faced out over the water.

I froze.

On the broad window was the name Flight of Fancy, and behind it, an old woman was placing large hardcover copies of a book in an artful display. Heart tripping in my chest, I hurried across the street. Above the door hung a wooden sign—
New, Used, and Book Swap
. A magazine stand stood outside, next to the door.

Really?

I’d walked down this street a million times, and not once had I ever noticed this shop. I knew it was here, but I never even stopped to glance at the name.

When the mood to read struck, I would go to the big-name bookstore. Seeing this little shop, I could easily imagine that the people who worked here loved books.

I pulled open the door, charmed by the tinkle of bells as I did so.

Oh God, it smells like Xanthe in here!

Xanthe smelled of parchment and some sort of chai tea. I wanted to permanently move in here, so I could saturate myself in this scent.

Old wooden shelves were packed with all sorts of volumes with handwritten signs indicating genres, languages of the books, and if they were used or new.

My eyes began to water. I
loved
it. Clear as day, I could see Xanthe sitting behind the counter, her bushy hair piled high up on her head, her hipster glasses flashing in the soft light. I could see her climbing one of the ladders to retrieve a volume high up on a taller shelf, wearing those tight jeans that showed off her incredible arse—

“Hello! Is there anything I can help you with?”

My eyes shifted to the old woman. A bright smile on her wrinkled face, she was adorable. Her white and steel–colored hair was a riot of wispy curls, and I knew that Xanthe must have inherited the hair from this side of the family.

Great-Aunt Ellen
.

Her smile faltered. “Are you all right?”

I nodded. “I’m fine,” I said softly. “I was in the neighborhood, and I’ve never stopped in here before. I thought…I believe a friend of mine works here.”

“Well, I would definitely remember meeting such a handsome man, so you must be looking for my niece—unless you’re looking for Jaime or Rex? They help me from time to time.”

I shook my head. “No. Xanthe Malcolm.”

Ellen nodded. “She’s on holiday right now. She’ll be back next week.”

Yes!
Now, I had a timeframe to work with.

“Would you like to leave her a message?”

I shook my head. “I was thinking that perhaps you have any works by Elaine H. Ford? I, uh…I’m nearly finished with
Haunted Bonds
, and I was hoping to find the rest that have been written. I understand there’s three in all.”

Ellen’s eyes sparkled, and her face broke out into a huge smile. “Of course. Elaine had to stop production of her first editions, but we still have a few. We’re really not supposed to sell them, but I doubt Dreamstone is keeping track of one used bookstore in Amsterdam. The new edition is out.”

“I know. I’d like to purchase the second and third books, if you have them.”

She made her way around, plucking the paperbacks from a shelf titled Paranormal Romance.

“Don’t get too many gents looking at this genre,” she casually mentioned.

I smiled. “I think it’s much more than what the genre implies.”

“Most books usually are. It’s hard to categorize books. Each story is a world unto itself. But if there’s a general theme, I suppose some people like to be guided in the right direction.”

“What is that smell?” I asked unexpectedly. “The cinnamon scent? It’s lovely.”

Heading toward the register, she placed the books on the counter. “It’s Xanthe’s favorite tea. I was getting ready to put the kettle on. Would you like a cup?”

It was then I noticed a couple of small tables and chairs were next to the waterfront-view window.

“I’d love one,” I replied, desperate to taste Xanthe’s favorite tea.

“It’s a raspberry-and-cinnamon blend. She has the tea shop people make it for her. It’s not my favorite. I like a good English breakfast myself. But it does smell heavenly.”

She wasn’t joking. It was my all-time favorite scent.

From my camera bag, I pulled out my wallet and made my way to the register. She rang up the books only.

“The tea?” I asked.

She waved her hand. “Friends drink for free.”

Grinning, I handed her the cash.

“Do you need a bag?”

“No, thank you,” I replied. Picking up the pristine copies, I studied the artwork on the covers. I found these to be much more interesting than my scowling mug on the front of the rerelease.

Ellen grabbed the electric kettle and made her way to the back of the shop. I heard a faucet turn on as she filled it, and moments later, she was back, plonking it down on the base and popping the switch. Retrieving two canisters from a shelf behind the counter, she scooped out the loose tea leaves into individual strainers and then placed them into large coffee mugs.

“Have a seat,” she warmly told me.

I sat down next to the window, looking over the covers. From my bag, I retrieved
Haunted Bonds
, a little worse for wear, to compare the artwork. Something gave me a sense of déjà vu on the cover of the first Paranormal Hunters book. There was the haunted house that Lindsey and Donovan met in, both of them on their own mission to eradicate the apparition that had taken up residence in the vacant home. It was a chance meeting, one that changed the course of their lives forever. With the moon and its soft white glow above some spooky trees, on the branches sat two crows in silhouette. It was their stances, the placement of their wings…

“Did Ronen Kelly make this cover?” I blurted as Ellen came over with the mugs of tea.

Gingerly, she took the seat across from me. “He did,” she replied, smiling. “He did all the first editions. It’s a shame that the publishing house wanted something more titillating, but it’s what really grabs the readers, you know?”

“It
is
a shame. His work is brilliant.”

“Don’t tell Xanthe, but I like the new cover, too. She’d be scandalized. She’s a bit of a purist.”

“What of Elaine?” I asked, my eyes not leaving her face.

“What of her?”

I looked back down at the cover, my vision blurring, as I read over Xanthe’s pen name.

“Do you know who Elaine is?” Ellen asked.

“Elaine is Xanthe,” I replied quietly.

“Yes, and no,” she replied.

My eyes looked up at her again. “What do you mean?”

She smiled warmly. “Xanthe didn’t tell you about Elaine and Hanna?”

My heart thumped hard in my chest. “No.”

“My twin sister, Hanna, and her daughter, Elaine, were Xanthe’s grandmother and mother.”

My breath grew shallow, and my throat dried up. I reached for my tea and took a scalding sip, welcoming the burn. “I know about them, but she never told me their names.”
If she had, I would have put it together on my own.

Ellen nodded. “Xanthe’s funny like that. She takes her time with people. She’s had to.”

“Why is that? Was it their deaths that made her…introverted?”

“Indirectly, I would say.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” She looked as though she was seriously contemplating telling me. “I’m sure if you’re a friend, then Xanthe will eventually tell you this.”

I was more than a friend, damn it.

“She took their deaths like any other healthy twelve-year-old girl would. Elaine and Hanna were pretty much destroyed in the accident. Unrecognizable.”