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Belle’s mind was such a flustered mess going over everything Cindy had said that she missed her stop to get off the bus at her house. It would be an hour now before the bus would loop around back to her place. She got off at the next stop, the boardwalk, figuring that walking back now would be quicker at this point.
She waded through the light Sunday crowd and stopped at Treats and Eats for a bottle of water to take back with her on the trek. Realizing she’d never ventured to the far end of the boardwalk, curiosity got the better of her and she decided a quick stroll to the end and back wouldn’t hurt.
Ernesto was usually never home before dinner and, really, the only reason she was antsy to get home was to have that very long overdue chat with her uncle about the state of supernatural affairs in their lives.
She passed one quirky store after another, thinking that each store’s uniqueness enabled them to survive outside the all-consuming retail mall, Peacock Plaza. She practically ran by a joke shop where a worker stood outside in suspenders, checkered pants, and the fake Groucho glasses/mustache combo, offering to spray passersby with a mystery fragrance. Someone shrieked close behind her, and Belle caught a whiff of sweaty sock.
A window display case of last-century items made her stop in her tracks. There was a 1990s boombox sitting next to a gramophone and two mannequins wearing clothing from different eras, ‘60s hippie and ‘80s rocker.
“Annie’s Antiques!” she said under her breath.
Okay, this boardwalk officially felt like Diagon Alley to her. She shivered with excitement as she pulled opened the heavy glass door. The musty, glorious scent of dusty, old things hit her nostrils, and an Elvis Presley jam filled her ears.
From what Eddie had said on the bus, real books awaited her here.
She walked in and resisted the urge to rub her palms together like a greedy bank goblin. The store was a long, narrow room with wood-paneled walls lined with shelves of blast-from-the-past artifacts. Eclectic light fixtures and different chandelier styles hung from the ceiling. Racks of decade-clothing peppered the central floor space.
It was a literal house of horrors for the OCD-inclined.
But for Belle, well, she was in love. She stared rapturously around the room, imagining herself in period outfits and the many stories she could play out. She didn’t care that the store wasn’t empty. Three other customers cast odd glances her way as she stood transfixed before a grand suit of armor displayed on a wall.
A high-stakes Arthurian joust against another knight cued up in her mind, completely oblivious to someone calling out her name in the store.
Just as she knocked Sir Lancelot off his horse, a too familiar, too male voice suddenly spoke by her ear, “That’s sixteenth century armor.”
Startled, she bumped into a rack of wooden staffs and swords.
Strong hands caught her by the arms, steadying her. Her eyes connected with a set of amber ones. “Oh, wow! Hi, um, Eddie.”
The wow-part couldn’t be helped. Again, that face up-close, unannounced, was like accidentally smacking into a gorgeous stained-glass window and not even being mad about it. She had to just step back and marvel at the artwork.
And that’s what Belle did. She took in his soft tousled black hair that beckoned her fingers to run through it; the thick, dark eyebrows, usually tensely furrowed, now relaxed and slightly raised as if surprised to see her, too. His wide lush lips and stone-cut jaw made her wonder for a wild moment if he and Liam could possibly be related. He wore a black t-shirt with a bald-anime guy that Millie’d probably recognize, but Belle’s gaze was a bit snagged on how the front of the shirt stretched across his chest and how the short sleeves hugged his biceps. Her gaze stalled there, so she didn’t get to notice the rest of his wardrobe at the moment.
“And this,” Eddie palmed his chest, “is modern-day armor.” He was teasing her, making it clear that he knew she was outright staring at him.
And she was. She totally was. Her mouth responded on its own, “Right.” And that’s when she remembered Candy saying, “And you were just clutching at his shirt and burying your face in it.”
She squeezed her eyes shut at the wave of embarrassment that rushed over her. “Last night,” she murmured.
He reached out and squeezed her left forearm while studying her face. “Looks like you’re all better now,” he said, frowning.
“What is it?”
“That was blood on your shirt last night, Belle, not ketchup.”
So someone had noticed. She blinked a few times at the accusation in his tone. “There was,” she said bluntly. “And I was hoping someone could explain that to me.”
“Did you ask Candy or Millie?”
“No. They probably thought it was just ketchup, and I didn’t want to worry them.”
“Are you hurt anywhere?”
Her hands flew to her chest, right over her heart. When he narrowed his eyes, she dropped her hands. “I don’t think so. I checked.”
Her heart was beating so loud on this topic of conversation, it was a wonder he didn’t hear. The blood on the shirt had to have been her own, she hoped, but that was definitely none of his business.
And what was with the angry face?
“Are you mad at me?” she blurted out. “Did I do something to offend you last night?” He looked taken aback. She rushed on, “If I did, then I’m sorry. Truly. I was out of it, and, in fact...” Maybe she could use kindness to throw some cold water on his sour attitude. “I-I actually want to thank you for, um, helping my friends last night with me. I mean, it mustn’t have been easy lugging me around. I’m not exactly a sack of feathers.”
It must’ve worked because the hardness in his eyes melted, and he slowly closed the distance between them, as if he was going to say something. Something moody probably.
But he didn’t open his mouth, and his focus on her lingered. She noticed the limbal rings of his eyes were a thick black, making his irises look almost yellow by contrast. The bright store lights must be having some sort of effect on them because his eyes were luminous now, especially when his gaze dropped lower and rested on her mouth.
The air in her lungs stalled. Was he, was he going to—?
He lifted a hand to her face, and the pad of his thumb swiped gently over her bottom lip.
A small gasp escaped her, and his eyes widened as they met hers. He retracted his hand. “Forgive me,” he said gruffly. He turned away, facing the shelves of merchandise.
Still rooted in her spot, she watched his face through a mirror angled downward from the top shelf. He didn’t seem to be aware of it. He lifted a small porcelain figure to inspect it, and then casually brought the wandering thumb to his mouth and sucked on the pad. A look of pain crossed his features and his eyes fluttered shut. He whispered a curse and then, “Just like candy.”
Elvis Presley’s song Only Fools Rush In crooning from the store’s hidden speakers should have drowned out Eddie’s words, but Belle’s keen ears heard every syllable.
And she was no fool. This was proof Eddie liked her.
And what was she to do with this information? Her inner life coach reminded her, No boys. You already have too much life-drama.
But her silly heart was too busy doing cartwheels, and her body was a useless ball of flame still reeling from the fact he’d touched her mouth and snuck a taste of her lip gloss.
“What are you doing here, Belle?” The edge was back in his voice.
Great. The good old Jekyll and Hyde switcharoo. Classic mood-killer.
She followed him as he turned his attention to the racks of clothing, sliding hangers aside. “Distracting myself. What are you doing here?” she asked. “Looking for something in particular?”
“I am. It’s Q’s birthday this week.”
“Oh, I’ll get him something too then.” A pleasant warmth invaded her at Eddie’s thoughtfulness for their friend. “That’s really nice of you.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew my motive.”
“‘Fess up then.”
“I’m buttering him up for our D&D campaign next weekend. I’ve never lost, he’s never lost, so I’m...” he threw her a cautionary glance, “prepping my victim.”
“Quite devious of you then, Mr. Helsing.”
He couldn’t help smiling and decided to humor her. “I am of the mind, Ms. Montague, that the red Dungeon Master cloak will be perfect for our mutual friend.”
Clap-happy pleased he was playing along, her grin spread from ear to ear. She asked in her best British accent, “And pray tell, my dear Mr. Helsing, what gift do you suggest I buy for Q?”
But he was staring at her now, his facial features flickering with a vulnerability that confused her. He cleared his throat, and after a moment of trying to decide something, he pivoted and left her standing there.
How rude. She watched, mouth agape, as he strode to the back of the store. Two female customers’ heads turned to watch him pass, no doubt admiring the view.
Eddie exchanged words with the store attendant, a “Melanie” in a Renaissance-peasant dress, who then nodded and disappeared through an Employees Only door.
Well, forget him then, Belle huffed. She moved on to her primary objective: books. When she finally found one solitary shelf of eight books, her shoulders slumped after reading the titles.
“Read all of them?” Eddie said by her ear.
She jumped and stopped short of swatting him on the arm. “Jeez, you’re like a ninja. A little warning next time?” She turned back to the books and pouted. “And, yes, I’ve read all of them. I might come back for Wuthering Heights for a re-read, though. I kind of miss Heathcliff.”
She turned for his response but found herself talking to nobody. He’d drifted away again.
This guy just doesn’t know how to stick around properly for a conversation.
She marched over to him to explain the etiquette he was sorely lacking but found herself giggling instead at the shirt he was inspecting that read, “Don’t trust atoms, they make up everything.”
She joined him at the t-shirt rack. “Papa would’ve loved this one.” She pulled the shirt out. “I’d tell you a chemistry joke, but all the good ones Argon.”
He showed her another one and gave her an exaggerated smolder. “Are you made of Copper and Tellerium because you’re Cu Te.”
Belle laughed. She came back with a shirt of William Shakespeare in dark sunglasses. “I’d challenge you to a duel of wits, but I see you are unarmed.”
He clutched his chest like he’d been hit. “Oof, shots fired.”
And so a battle of comebacks began with the shirts, with the loser having to buy a shirt for the other.
Eddie surrendered when she attacked with a famous snarky line by Winston Churchill. “Alright, you win,” he said. “Take your pick of the spoils.”
Feeling mighty pleased with herself, she chose a Jane Austen shirt, which he slung over his shoulder to purchase later.
After they wandered over to a medieval times section, Eddie plucked up a purple wizard’s hat with silver stars on it. “I suggest you buy this for Q. It might earn you an invitation to the D&D table.”
“If it involves costumes, sign me up.” She tried the hat on, but her massive hair bun was in the way. She unraveled it and shook out her hair before tugging the hat back on.
“You won’t be much of a wizard without this.” He held out a wooden staff as tall as he was. The top end branched out and closed back in on itself as if it could encase a small sphere.
“Alas, my brave knight,” she said in deep character-voice, “my staff is missing the Arkenstone. I have need of it, if I am to work my magic.”
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
She poked him in the shoulder with the staff. “You started it this time. Besides, this place is like a toy store to me.”
There was a spark in his eye now. “Then, let’s play.”
He strode over to a nearby wall with famous replica swords displayed. A sign above it read, “Do Not Touch. Ask for Assistance.” After ensuring Melanie wasn’t looking, he pulled Andúril from The Lord of the Rings off the wall.
He pointed the sword at Belle, and promptly laughed.
Belle was sporting a long, gray beard she’d plucked off a nearby rack of facial disguises. She twirled the end of the beard and arched an eyebrow. In her deepest voice, she said, “You are a fool if you think you can defeat the great Saruman.”
“But you look more like Gandalf.”
She muttered, “You’re ruining it.” Thumping her staff once against the floor, she boomed, “What say you, Aragorn? Strike, if you dare.”
With one flash of his sword, he smacked the staff out of her hands.
Belle blinked. “Awkward.”
He smirked. “Want me to teach you, oh mighty Saruman?”
“Yes, please.”
For the next few minutes, she mirrored his moves on how to wield the staff and parry his strikes. It was incredibly difficult at first to concentrate on his directions because she kept getting hung up on the outline of his muscles moving and twisting beneath his shirt in distracting ways. At one point, when she couldn’t get a particular stance and grip right, he moved in closer and repositioned her fingers on the staff for her. His touch sent a bolt of heat through her that ended as a spark in her palms.
At that, he paused, promptly letting go of her fingers and stepping away.
Holy canoli, he noticed, Belle thought. She let out a nervous laugh. “I think this wool beard is turning me into a static electricity conductor.” She blushed at her lame excuse as she tore off the beard and hung it back in place.
Eddie took up a sword stance and pointed the weapon at her. “En garde, electro-wizard.”
“Okay then.” She readied her grip on the staff and spread her feet into the new stance she’d just learned. Her palms still tickled with heat. “You know what? I’d rather—” Eddie struck by her ear, and she quickly parried. “Hey,” she protested. “I wasn’t ready.”
“Hmm,” he said, sounding impressed.
He came at her again with three short, consecutive swings, but she blocked them all. They were clumsy blocks, but they stopped his sword, nonetheless.
“You’re fast, Belle.”
There was something in his tone that made her worry, as if he was really asking, Why are you so fast? She wasn’t sure herself, but she knew she could add speed to her growing list of powers on her personal magical “Belle” trading card.
“I had a great teacher.” She scrunched up her face, as if changing her mind. “Eh, to be perfectly honest, he was only sub-par.”
Better to use banter to keep him distracted from her freaky quirks, she thought.
He stilled as his eyes flashed, his smile turning dangerous. “You’re right. I haven’t been giving my best.” He started moving, forcing them to circle each other.
The steel look in his eyes made her question, “W-We’re just playing, right, Eddie?”
Without warning, he came at her in a flurry of thrusts. She could only block some of them; the other blows never landed, but she felt the wind of each one against her skin.
Feeling like this play-fight was starting to get too real, she let the staff clatter to the ground and raised both hands. “Okay, okay, you win!” If he thought she was fast, then he moved like lightning. “How do you move like that?” she gasped, her hands on her hips as she tried to catch her breath.
Eddie squared his shoulders. “Practice.” He casually lay the flat of the long sword behind his neck, across his broad shoulders. “So, since I’m the champion, what’s my prize?”
But before she could wonder at the possible insinuation behind that smug tone, the smirk on his lips faded into concern as his eyes zeroed in on something on her face. Aware now of a stinging sensation on her cheek, she touched the spot. Her fingers came away with blood.
He’d cut her. Accidentally or not, he’d drawn blood.
Sword tossed aside, Eddie was already before her, the tips of his fingers cradling her face. “I’m so sorry, siren. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It’s just a scratch,” she replied. “I’ll be—” Her eyes popped open. “What did you call me?”
Eddie’s eyes were wide. He’d recognized his error before she did. He stepped away slowly, his hands up in the universal please stay calm gesture. “I was going to tell you.”
“It’s you.” She pointed at him. “You’re the J—!”
“Don’t. Don’t say it out loud.”
She palmed her forehead, the wizard hat toppling off her head. “‘Jeez, you’re like a ninja’?” she repeated, not believing her own earlier admission. “God, I feel so stupid! How could I have not known?”
“I wouldn’t be good at what I do if you knew.”
Hot tears stung her eyes. “Good at what you do, huh? At assassinations?”
But he’d raised his voice and was talking over her, “But I slipped up just now. That’s never happened before.” His voice strangled with emotion when he said, “I’m always slipping around you.”
She shut her mouth at that last part.
All the clues to the Jäger’s identity flashed before her. So obvious, but she never put it together. He was Eddie. Her new friend who, like her, appreciated books and solitude and play-fighting in the middle of a store. But also the Eddie who showed up on the bus right after the Jäger-attack in the alley. No wonder Eddie had beelined for her lunch table—he didn’t really fit in with them, he was just scoping out his target. It was like that illusion drawing of either a rabbit or a duck, depending on how the viewer looked at it.
Only she always saw Eddie, and never the Jäger. Until now.
Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, Belle thought, feeling bile rise up in her throat. This must be his creed.
“Talk to me, siren,” Eddie said, looking worried.
She inhaled deeply through her nose before exhaling slowly through her mouth. He waited patiently while she did it again.
She felt the urge to throw up pass. She had a million questions, a million thoughts to process right now, but the most important question remained. “Are you going to kill me?”
A beat passed before he responded, just above a whisper, “I don’t know.”
She knew she shouldn’t ask. It was probably counterproductive to her staying alive, but she was barely maintaining her sanity at the moment. “What’s stopped you so far then? You say you keep ‘slipping’ around me. Are you trying to say you can’t do it because you have a crush on me?”
She’d meant that last question as a jab, but her cheeks blazed with regret at the way it sounded out loud.
Eddie scoffed in a low voice, “A crush?”
She tilted her chin up to show she meant it, even though her insides felt like quivering Jello. She opened and closed her hands at her sides, the electricity dancing in them.
“You think what this is, is a crush?” He took a step toward her and she locked up, so he stayed put. “Don’t you know what happens when someone like me finally gets activated? September 19, 2020. That was the day I started dreaming about you, and your face hasn’t left me since. Every night, every daydream, every bloody thought.” His British accent was seeping in. “It is physically painful for me to be away from you. So, no, siren, this isn’t a crush. It’s bloody torture, is what it is.”
“That’s not my fault,” she said weakly.
His eyes flashed a brilliant gold. “You want to know now how this is going to end up?”
“It would be nice.”
“This is how it’s going to be: I’m either going to kill you, or I’m going to keep you.” She inhaled sharply, and he erased the space between them. He brought his face so close to hers, she had to tilt her head back to look at him. “Either way, siren, you’re mine.”
Neither of them moved as they assessed each other, their mouths just mere inches away, already lined up.
She didn’t know what emotion he was seeing in her face. His words had rocked her to her core. The depths of his words frightened her, and she was ashamed to admit it, but at some obscure, primal level, they also thrilled her.
She felt his breath on her lips, and a sudden, extremely forbidden, irrational need to feel more pulsed through her.
Eddie’s heated gaze shifted to her cheek. His brows furrowed in confusion. “Looks like your wound has completely healed.”
Belle backed away, sucking in a breath to clear her romance-junkie thoughts. She needed therapy. All those love novels she ate up must have warped her mind. Jäger-Eddie did not belong in the swoon-category.
She wiped her cheek with her hand. It didn’t sting this time when she touched it.
“May I?” he asked softly. “You still have blood on your cheek.”
She should say, “No, never. Don’t touch me.” She should run from him. Scream for him to stay away from her. That liar, that deceiver—assassin!
Her mouth said, “Yes.”
His eyes were liquid gold as he reclaimed the space between them again. He withdrew a small white square cloth from his back jean pocket and unfolded it with a flick of his wrist.
Belle couldn’t help it. Even while her hands were jumping with electricity, and her mind was a rollercoaster she desperately wanted to get off of, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You carry a handkerchief?”
A small smile crossed his lips, too. He gently dragged the cloth across her cheek. “An old habit I could never break.” He pocketed it. “You know, you were right about my age. On the bus.”
Just as that extra truth bomb exploded in Belle’s brain, a woman’s voice called out, and they sprang apart. “Eddie-boy, you know better. No playing with the merchandise. Are you trying to get me in trouble here?” Melanie showed up with a red cloak over one arm.
“I’m sorry—” he began.
“I need this job,” Melanie continued, shaking her finger at him. “Annie will have a stroke if she sees any of her precious swords missing from that wall.” She turned to Belle and pointed at the wizard hat by her feet. “And are you going to pay for that, missy?” But before she could answer, Melanie gasped, “What’s wrong with your hands?”
Shoot. She’d forgotten to hide the fireworks show behind her back. “Uh...”
“I got this, siren.” He tilted his head toward the exit. “Go.”
Still reeling from shock, she held his gaze for a moment longer. “This isn’t over,” she said sternly. “I have questions.”
“So do I.” His eyes suddenly blazed like the Jäger’s, and Belle watched spellbound as he turned them on the poor, befuddled Melanie. “Stay quiet, and do not move from your spot until I tell you to.”
Belle gasped as the woman’s eyes glazed over.
“Belle?” he said, without breaking eye-contact with his target.
“Yes?” she squeaked.
“Do not tell anyone about me.”
She didn’t answer.
He waited.
A burning question made it out of her mouth instead. “Have you ever done that to me?”
“Compel you? I tried, once.”
“That day in lunch, right? When you told me to take the book.”
“Right. It didn’t work.”
“Why not?”
“That’s the same question I have.”
Another pause.
“Siren?”
“What? And stop calling me that.”
“Leave, before Melanie’s brains turn to mush here.”
Her breath caught in horror.
He chuckled. “I’m just kidding. She’s perfectly safe. Go. Please.”
“Fine. Only because you said please. But remember, we’re not done.”
“Indeed.”