Chapter 43

 

Benjie was practically beside himself when Sam walked into the kitchen at Sweet’s Handmade Chocolates.

“Look at these!” he exclaimed, almost dragging her to the boxing room where today’s newest chocolates waited. She hadn’t even put away her keys yet.

He reminded her of a kid wanting Mom to see his newest art project. She smiled—indulgence turning to awe as she saw lustrous autumn leaves, delicate cherries imprinted on top of cherry-almond creams, and dark chocolate triangles decorated with detailed fern patterns.

“Bobul is awesome,” Benjie said. “I mean, I can’t imagine a better teacher for me to learn from.”

Sam glanced to the kitchen doorway, saw Bobul checking the candy thermometer in the large pan. She nodded to Benjie.

“He is pretty amazing, isn’t he?”

“I’m going to learn so much here. I really appreciate the opportunity, Sam.” Benjie looked toward the back door and she could tell his energy was flagging.

“Just because Bobul tends to stay and work odd hours doesn’t mean you have to. Go ahead. It’s been a full day.”

As Benjie drove away, Sam took a peek at Bobul’s latest creation, which smelled like curry and appeared to contain coconut. He poured the mix into dome-shaped molds and walked back to a bowl of tempered chocolate which was cool enough to handle.

“Are you living near Taos again, Bobul?” she asked as she unbuttoned her coat and set her pack on the counter near the sink.

He gave his version of a smile, one corner of his mouth slightly lifted. “Bobul always find place to stay.”

“I suppose what I’m getting at is whether you’ll be here awhile and if I might persuade you to work for me. At least a few months?”

“Christmas good time in candy business.” His fingers worked tiny bits of chocolate into the shape of a pinecone, which he placed atop one of the solid ovals he’d molded earlier.

“It is a good time, and we’ll be busier than ever this year. We’ll need chocolates for the shop and for this new client. He pays very well. I can afford to do better than last time—pretty much whatever salary you would want.”

He formed another pinecone while she let him digest her offer. He set the chocolate piece down and stared at her backpack on the counter.

“Box not friendly to this house,” he said.

“What?”

“Witch’s box, you still have. It act strange here?”

Sam felt the hairs on her neck rise. “Bobul … how do you know that?”

He shrugged, as if he’d said nothing more odd than ‘weather’s changing.’

She remembered how he’d shown fear of the box when he learned she had it, how he’d been the first to warn her of its strange powers and his belief that it had originally come from an old witch in Romania. Of course, Sam had never verified such a thing and the only powers the box exhibited around her seemed to be beneficial ones.

On the other hand, Isobel St. Clair from the Vongraf Foundation had also warned Sam. St. Clair’s research had shown of the other, similar boxes in existence, at least one might not be so benign. Perhaps she really should be keeping the box locked away in the safe at home, not bringing it around this old house whose history was still largely unknown to her.

Bobul finished a third pinecone and set it aside, his dark eyes meeting hers. “Box protecting you.”

“Protecting me? How? What do you mean?”

“Bad people nearby. Box keep them out.” She remembered the sensation of being watched, before she installed the curtains.

But how could he know? Sam shook her head, trying to get rid of the otherworldly feeling. She felt tired all at once.

“Doors lock. Keep people out.”

She ran hot water in the sink and put a few utensils to soak, looking for something ordinary to do to take her mind off this weird conversation.

“Is that batch nearly done?” she asked him after a few minutes of silence. “I really do need to get home in time to make dinner for my husband tonight. I’ve put in too many late nights recently.”

Bobul smiled again. “Miss Sam tired. I finished.” He picked up his tray of chocolates and carried it to the boxing room.

“You will come back tomorrow, right?”

“Ja, Bobul come.”

His voluminous coat hung near the back door and he reached for it.

“Think about my offer for work through the Christmas season. It would be a big help. The money would be good.”

“Bobul think.”

Sam gave the kitchen one final glance, put on her coat and picked up her pack, wondering again how the peculiar Romanian had discerned that the box was inside and how on earth he knew the box had reacted so strongly to this house. She switched out the lights and locked the door behind her.

Outside, there was no sign of Bobul although he’d walked out no more than a minute ahead of her. She’d often told herself not to wonder about him, where he lived, how he managed to come and go almost invisibly. No matter what she told herself, however, the whole situation left her perplexed. How did the man exist?

The last of the daylight was fading. She climbed in her van and looked around as she drove away. No sign of Bobul along the road or in the open fields around the place. She chuckled nervously. What if he lived in that house up the road? He might have been on hand to watch her renovations and the move.

Nah, she told herself remembering the ramshackle cabin he’d occupied the winter he first showed up. How it appeared almost cozy the one time she’d seen him there. Then it was clearly long-time abandoned when she went back a few days later. The man was truly a puzzle, and trying to solve it only made her head hurt.

She resolved to quit thinking about him and drove straight home.