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“One?” Jan, the waitress at Ridge Rats Bar and Grill, asked hopefully.
Belle Montague glared at her. “Two. My friend’s meeting me here.”
Jan’s prejudice against Liam Rawlins was obvious from the last time the two had eaten there. Or tried to eat there.
That is until the cook, Miguel, decided to leave a particularly organic you’re-not-welcome-here sauce on Liam’s grilled chicken.
She hugged the latest novel she was reading to her chest as Jan led her to a corner booth of the restaurant, far away from the busy section of innocents the waitress didn’t want Liam to murder.
Jan wiped down the table. “Would you like to order now, or wait for your guest?”
“I’ll wait. Just a glass of water for now, please.”
The waitress left behind two menus, and just as Belle was feeling grateful that the Timbuktu-section of the restaurant was perfect for some quiet reading, she reappeared with her water.
“Thanks, Jan.”
The waitress perched her hands on her hips with a concerned big-sister look on her face. “Do you know what you’re doing, sweetheart?”
“Um, reading a book?”
“I mean about Liam Rawlins.”
“Oh.”
Before Belle could summon a defense on his behalf, Jan started ticking off on her fingers. “He’s known for three things in this town: football god, millionaire playboy, and,” she whispered loudly, “killing his family.”
“He’s innocent.”
“Maybe.” Jan raised her palms. “Maybe it’s possible he’s not a murderer, and the news reports weren’t totally accurate. But, from one female to another, that playboy business? You can write a country song album off the number of hearts he’s broken.”
Belle felt her temper simmering beneath her skin and knew where that heat would fire up next. She clenched her fists in her lap. “I’d like the grilled cheese, please.”
Jan glanced at the empty seat in front of Belle before looking back at her as if she was going to be the next track number on Liam’s Achy Breaky Heart album. She shrugged her shoulders. “Sure thing. White or wheat?”
After Jan left, Belle re-checked the text message Liam had sent her that morning:
Meet me at Ridge Rats. 1:00. Come alone.
Three weeks. An eternity since she’d seen him and enjoyed his barrage of kisses. It seemed like the universe had ushered them into each other’s arms.
She’d moved there to Elmridge, town of the uber-rich and exclusive, from her one-room life with her father in Littleton, just after he’d died in her arms. Meanwhile, Liam had secluded himself for a year after being blamed for his parents’ murders, when in fact, they had been killed by her own mother.
Well, her possessed mother, who was hundreds of years old and could shoot lightning from her hands.
And that dose of deadly and weird is what had woven Liam and Belle’s lives together. Hunting for the truth together. And occasionally tripping and falling onto each other’s lips.
Belle blushed thinking of the last night she’d seen him. Those kisses and embraces had been so full of promise.
So much so, they’d made her forget the hellish hours just before. Her mother, Abigail Prynn, possessed by a centuries-old vengeful spirit, Violet Wickeby, had tried to kill her uncle and then had made off with the golden pixie dust. All for some ridiculous endgame of crowning herself queen of the world.
Then, after having been locked in a dungeon of his castle by Aunt Emily for his own safety, Liam had shown up later that night, spilling his soul to her and sealing his words with kisses.
Oh, and he’d used Shakespeare as his wingman. What Elizabethan-loving girl could resist that? And then, before leaving her swooning on the front porch, Liam had promised to return within half-an-hour.
It was now three weeks.
Unreturned phone calls had her thinking the worst. Had Violet gotten to him and made good on her threat to hurt him?
Her uncle, Ernesto, had stopped her from marching over to his castle after a few days of non-replies, and he’d gone in her stead. He’d returned with the news that he’d had to stick his gun in Jacques’s face to get the butler to take him to Liam, who’d claimed he didn’t want any visitors.
Ernesto had found Liam living in a pigsty in his bedroom, as if he hadn’t left the place in a week. All her uncle would say then with his stoic ex-KGB or CIA demeanor (she still didn’t know who he used to work for) was that Liam needed time to “process everything.” Soon after, Ernesto found out Liam had crossed the Atlantic Ocean on a business trip to Europe, where he’s been ever since.
And time to process everything?! That was euphemism for I need to stay the heck away from you for a while. Even she understood that, and her experience with real-life boys was sadly lacking compared with the book-boyfriend ones that thrived in her head.
She was just so confused.
How does a guy go from making you feel like you’re the most special thing in existence to Hey, let’s take a break because you’re a weirdo who can spit electricity from your hands. And, oh yeah, your mom killed mine.
The only rationalizing Belle could do was that once Liam had gone home after their snuggle/smooch-fest, reality had hit him, and he realized he had to get off the crazy train he’d boarded when he got himself involved with her.
If she really thought about it, really put herself in his shoes, then she guessed she could respect that. She wouldn’t want to be involved with herself either.
An incoming text-chime startled her.
Check in.
She slumped against her seat. Just Ernesto and his random daily check-ins.
Belle: Having lunch at Ridge Rats.
Ernesto: With who?
Belle: By myself.
Ernesto: Why?
She let a few seconds pass, her uncle probably watching her text-bubble “thinking.” She shrugged as she hit send, Why not?
Ernesto: Ok.
Typical. No frills, to the point.
These days, Ernesto was holed up at the Wall, the militaristic fortress that enclosed the town. He’d learned through some secret intelligence that Violet Wickeby was spotted in Europe, and so with the main threat on another continent for now, Ernesto didn’t hesitate to leave Belle behind at home on most days so he could chase Wickeby’s virtual trail.
After all, the Jäger, fabled hunters who eliminated dangerous supernatural targets, wouldn’t bother with Belle, especially since she hadn’t killed anyone. So Ernesto didn’t need to worry so much about his niece’s safety since no hunters would have been “activated” to her presence.
Or so he thought.
Belle hadn’t the heart nor the guts to tell her uncle that she’d already killed three men. Albeit, in self-defense. But still. Was it enough to draw a hunter to her? Wickeby had sure taunted her with the idea, and assured her, quite gleefully, that it was only a matter of time until she met the end of a hunter’s blade.
Belle wrinkled her nose. A crisp burning smell came from the pages of the book gripped tightly in her hands. Her eyes widened as she lifted her fingers, each one leaving behind a charcoaled spot on the pages.
She closed her eyes, trying to keep her breathing steady. Think happy thoughts.
An ostensibly silly piece of advice given by Aunt Emily. Surprisingly useful for getting her raging firecracker hands under control. This—and blood on her hands—was why the Jäger, no doubt, would be after her.
Her hands were sparking now like live electrical wires.
She glanced around to see if Jan or anyone else was close enough to notice. A waiter was wiping down a table in the next aisle.
“Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts,” she chanted, panicking.
Liam came to mind. With his golden skin and hair and mint green eyes, the feel of his strength beneath her hands as he held her...and how long it’s been since she’d seen the jerk.
The sparks in her hands erupted into fire.
“Aaack!” She waved them around frantically beneath the table and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to grasp like straws at any memory that brought her happiness:
Papa’s crinkly smile. My two best friends, Candy and Millie. Aunt Emily finally reuniting with her long, lost son, Peter, before he took her away.
The crackling noise was dying down, so she held onto that last memory.
Emily, eyes shining with pure joy as her prodigal son held her hand and guided her to the open window. Then, Emily turning her head to spare Belle—who was seated, watching, from a dark corner of the room—a tearful wink and a smile of thank you.
The fire finally dissipated, leaving behind a strong, smoky odor that was sure to arouse Jan’s suspicion when she returned.
Belle collected her things and moved three booths over.
Looking down again at the soot fingerprints on the book, she sighed. It wasn’t even her book. It was her new friend’s book, Eddie Helsing, a newbie at the school who’d recently joined her and her friends, Cindy and Q, in the cafeteria at their table. He’d had to earn his seat by passing Q’s rapid-fire round of fantasy and sci-fi trivia.
Eddie, the friend who’d finally made her feel something after being numb for weeks. Given her a miraculous kick out of her emotional hidey-hole with just one smile.
At first, she’d treated his arrival like a passing breeze: she’d acknowledged it, and then forgotten about it.
All she knew was that he was tall, had dark hair, and sat a few seats away from her at lunch. And if he had ever addressed any questions her way, she’d grunted in response and continued pushing the food around on her tray.
At the time, everything had been filtered through her Liam-abandoned-me goggles, leaving her world a dismal gray.
Eddie had sat at their lunch table every day, and after quietly answering Cindy’s polite questions, had withdrawn into himself. Once more, the routine of perpetual silence had settled at the table.
The lunch table had already emanated a society-rejects-sit-here vibe, and so it seemed as if the new-arrival had naturally gravitated to his “people.”
He was probably a kindred spirit, if Belle just gave him a real chance.
Whatever the case, she still knew in her mind the right thing to do would be to show him the same kindness she’d received at the lunch table when she’d first been the newbie. But whenever she tried to think of friendly openers, the gray fog in her brain crowded them out.
That is, until one day, Eddie so happened to have the conversation piece that had rebooted Belle’s brain. A book. A real live book in his hands. Outside of Liam’s castle library and her family’s small collection in the museum, all literature in Elmridge was digitized. Tragically so.
So how did Eddie get his hands on an actual book? Just maybe, he had his own stash. So as a book-addict, Belle’s mind sharpened up rather quickly at the prospect of scoring a new book to read.
And that meant making Eddie her new friend.
Only she hadn’t been prepared for the total onslaught of finally looking him in the face.
“What are you reading?” she asked, a sporkful of spaghetti paused midway to her mouth.
Eddie, sitting two seats away, ignored her. He was busy slurping up a noodle while his eyes remained glued to the page. His wire-rimmed glasses sat precariously at the edge of his nose.
Belle looked to Cindy Ellerson, sitting across from her, for support.
“Welcome back,” was all Cindy said to her.
For the past two weeks, their roles had been reversed. Before, her utterly beautiful blonde friend had been a silent shell of a person due to the abuse she’d suffered at her stepmother’s hands, who’d also happened to be principal of the school.
But with the wicked stepmom out of the picture now, her father fully recovering from a coma, and the new, fun-loving Dr. Earheart as principal now, Cindy was slowly returning to her old, slightly more outgoing self.
With her hood continually drawn up and her hands stuffed into its long sleeves, Cindy still walled herself from others, but she was smiling more and meeting people’s eyes now. “Baby steps,” she’d said.
Now, Belle was the quiet, sullen one at the table.
“Um, Eddie? Belle’s talking to you,” Cindy said.
With one finger, he slid the glasses back up his nose and brought the book closer to his face, so only his messy black hair peeked over the edge.
Frowning in annoyance, Cindy picked a grape out of her fruit cup and launched it towards the book.
Like lightning, Eddie snatched the projectile fruit out of the air and popped it into his mouth.
Slack-jawed, Belle mirrored Cindy’s shock.
Even Q, who’d been typing away at his laptop the whole time, paused long enough to state, “The likelihood of that happening was 1 in 1,132.”
Eddie still hadn’t responded. He chewed slowly, his eyes roaming the page more quickly now before turning it.
As Belle watched him, waiting for him to acknowledge their existence, she realized she was really seeing him for the first time. And not like the quiet, fuzzy figure through her peripheral vision these past three weeks.
Call it a serving of cold karma, but after pretty much ignoring him this whole time, now that she wanted to talk to him, he was ignoring her. Feeling she deserved that, she was about to retreat into her shell again, when he suddenly snapped the book shut, causing her to bounce on her chair.
“Hunger Games,” he said, looking straight at Belle. He turned to Q, who merely raised an eyebrow at him, “And with enough LARPing, making that sort of catch becomes very possible.”
“What is LAR-” The girls were cut off by Q, “You Live-Action-Role-Play?”
Eddie nodded. “I’m the Highlander Samurai.”
The girls exchanged incredulous glances. They’d never seen stone-cold, logical make-a-Vulcan-proud Q this excited—the only indicators being his wide eyes and laser-focus on Eddie and not his laptop.
Q shook the ruddy hair out of his eyes and adjusted his tortoise-shell glasses. “It would not be illogical to presume that you are also familiar with Dungeons & Dragons?”
Eddie nodded. “I’ve never lost a quest.”
“Yet.” And Q actually smiled. A disturbing Cheshire Cat smile. “You have never served at my table.”
“You’re on, Dungeon Master.”
And then, Eddie smiled. Just a small side-smile that tugged up his left cheek.
Belle couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“You’ve never asked me to play?” Cindy whispered at Q, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. “It’s always work, work, work at your store.”
“You would not talk before.” He retreated behind his laptop again and muttered, “Now you talk too much.”
Cindy glared and chucked a handful of lettuce at him.
Belle laughed at the large piece that landed on his hair like a little hat.
Q frowned and flicked the offending lettuce off. “You are fortunate you top my Friends List.”
Belle stifled a guffaw, and when she caught Eddie’s eye, her laughter dissipated.
He was staring at her intently with his glasses in one hand and one of its temple-arms caught between his teeth.
Oh Mylanta. He was...stunning. Like he must have fairy and vampire blood mixed together because the beauty was ethereal. And not of the good-fairy, tame-vampire kind. But the kind that your mother warned you about and your father wouldn’t let you leave the house with.
The kind that ruined a girl.
He had the chiseled jaw and lush lips that struck an uncanny resemblance to Liam’s. But Eddie’s thick, black eyebrows were permanently angled in a way that gave him a resting smolder-look. And without his glasses as a buffer, that look had just been unleashed on poor, unsuspecting Belle. Those caramel-colored eyes made his allure even more unnatural. Even if those eyes did look angry. Glaring, in fact.
Wait, why was he glaring at her?
“What?” Belle asked.
He slid the book over to her. “You like to read?”
Did she like to breath?
Cindy answered for her with a giggle, “Like a fat man likes cake.”
“That was size-ist of you,” Q said drily.
Belle gazed longingly at the book. She missed books. And Liam’s library. And Liam.
She sighed gloomily.
Eddie leaned forward again, ensnaring her in his gaze. “Take it. Take the book.” He stared intently, unblinking, and even narrowed his eyes as if concentrating.
“I think he’s challenging you to a staring contest, Belle,” Cindy said. Oddly enough, she added, “You should take the book, though.”
“Go ahead and borrow it,” Eddie said, not once relinquishing his stare. “I insist.”
Ok, now she could feel a creepy-stalker vibe clutching at her like a tentacle. She shivered and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Um, no thanks.”
He blinked.
She returned to her plate and twirled up another bite of spaghetti. A gorgeous creepy dude was still a creepy dude.
His eyebrows flew up in surprise. “That’s not...supposed to happen,” he mumbled to himself.
Belle gave him a sideways look as Cindy took the words out of her mouth, “You mean like you’ve never lost a staring contest?”
He slid his glasses back on. “Uh, something like that.” But that fierce façade he’d been projecting for some reason shattered. He looked as if his center had been thrown off kilter. “I-I have to go.” He stood and slung his arms through his backpack, his black sweater displaying an anime character that her friend Millie also sported as a patch on her bookbag.
He turned to go, but Belle held up his forgotten book. “Wait, what about this?”
He faced her, his expression gentler than before. “You should read it.”
She turned it over and looked at its cover. “What’s it about?”
“Hunters.”
The word sent a chill through her.
He held her gaze as he continued, his tone dead-serious, “Ordinary citizens selected and primed to hunt others.”
She had to look away. He was striking too close to home. She noticed the bookmark stuck halfway through the book. “But, um, you’re not even done.” She offered the book back.
“It’s fine. She’s just deciding whether the guy she thought was a friend is really trying to kill her or not.”
“I’ll bet the guy’s just in love with her,” Cindy said. “That’s how it always turns out.”
Eddie blanched. “Yeah, um, that’s not always the case. Later.” He turned abruptly and hurried away.
“What was that about?” Belle asked as she carefully stowed away her new prized possession into her bag.
“He’s weird,” Cindy replied, biting into a baby carrot. “Insanely hot, but weird.”
And now, sitting in her lonely booth at the Ridge Rats restaurant, Belle almost laughed out loud at how alarmed she’d been over his talk of hunters. Having reached the point where Eddie’s bookmark still stuck, she knew now it really was just book-talk.
Frowning as she scraped at the charcoaled fingerprints on the page, she wondered how she was going to explain this away, when another text chimed in.
I’m here. Meet me behind the restaurant.
Liam. Her heart lodged itself in her throat. She couldn’t text back. Her fingers trembled too much.
She looked toward the entrance, wondering if perhaps Liam had tried to enter, and Jan greeted him and pissed him off with her “warm” welcome.
Instead, what she saw made her sink lower into her seat.
The Princess Posse from school had arrived. All gorgeous eight of them. Bearing gifts and balloons as if they’d each stepped off a photo shoot for Teen Vogue’s “Birthday Brunch” spread.
Maybe that was why Liam wanted to meet out back.
Belle peeked around. She couldn’t use the front entrance now without being seen. Back exit through the kitchen? It always worked as a quick get-away for the movie heroes.
Before she lost her nerve, she dashed into the kitchen, responded with a sheepish grin and an innocent “Where’s-the-bathroom?” to an outraged waiter’s questions, and then cringed as she ducked past an unkempt cook—probably Miguel—who’d just finished wiping a snotty nose before grabbing a pair of hamburger buns.
Ugh! Note to self: Find a new burger joint.
She paused as she touched the Emergency Exit bar and took a moment to re-arrange her facial expression. She was not going to be greeting Liam with that lit-up Christmas grin she no doubt wore right now.
Remember, he kissed you, teamed up with you against a possessed witch, snogged you some more, and then abandoned you. What was the term nowadays? As Candy would say, “You got ghosted, girl!”
Belle was fuming.
Okay, now she was ready. She pushed against the bar and slipped outside, the door slamming shut behind her.