Turning to hang her sweater on the chair, Litha knocked her satchel off the table strewing papers on the floor. In the messy stack were some sketches and a little watercolor of a pink, Italianate villa with red bougainvillea trailing from pots on steps.
Squatting down to help gather the spill, Storm picked up the small square of colorful art and examined it. “What is this?”
"Oh nothing," she took it from his hand. "It's a pretty little vineyard close to where I was raised. It sits high up on a cliff, the ocean on one side, the Russian River Valley on the other." She smiled at the little square. "To me it's heaven on earth."
Storm stared at her for a split second then straightened and walked to his chair. He had a photograph of the same villa in his luggage. It was dog-eared from being with him wherever he went. It had been in his pocket that Yuletide day when he walked away from Elora Laiken. He had been planning to show it to her on the plane, hoping with all his might to see her face light up with a description of his dreams for the future. He'd been in love with that place ever since he was sixteen, but had kept that fact hidden from even his teammates, because there was a part of him that was afraid his desire for it was dangerously close to obsession.
For over half his life, he had been saving so that one day, when the time was right, he could walk up to the front door, ring the bell, and say to the owner, "How much?"
It was hard for Storm to concentrate on the details of the briefing. His mind kept drifting to the unlikelihood of such a coincidence. Plus his eyes kept wandering back to the witch's red, red lips. Or her dark, green eyes. Or her skin with the bronze patina that made it look heated from the inside. Or her mess of black hair that fell to her shoulder blades and curled like she had just been well loved.
Completely aware that he was taking her measure, Litha finally looked him straight in the face, not bothering to hide that she hadn't been kidding about wedding plans.
When they had finished lunch and were ready to begin structuring the new department, the door opened and a young woman hurried in carrying a large stack of papers. The latest arrival hesitated, eyes darting around the room, registering that the only vacant seat was next to Baka. He took in her chestnut curls, amber eyes, and generous curves in one practiced sweep - along with her hesitation about taking the chair next to him.
Simon glanced over his shoulder. "Ah. Help has arrived."
Baka gestured to the empty chair next to him. "Please."
She appeared to be gathering resolve. Once decided, she walked to the end of the table purposefully and sat next to Baka. With conspicuous formality and unmistakably Anglish dialect she said, "How do you do. I'm Heaven."
“I can see that,” he said in his usual flirtatious manner.
“Right. And I've never heard that one before, have I?” Turning her attention to Simon she said, "The newly arrived employees are familiarized with sexual harassment policies are they not?"
Before Simon could decide how to answer, Baka had bristled at the suggestion that he would sexually harass Heaven or anyone else and had taken personal offense. “I beg your pardon. What I meant to say was that Heaven is an excellent stage name for stripping, but most 'dancers'..." He formed air quotes when he said the word 'dancers'. "... take on more understated names when they enter respectable occupations such as this.”
Her amber eyes took on an angry glow and narrowed on him while the flush on her face began to spread downward.
“I don't know much about stripper names, Master Vampire." She drew out the word vampire and said it like it was something the plumber would throw away after clearing a drain. "But I did a two-year internship in Chronicles when I was taking certification in demonology and read some of your history. Until, what? Three weeks ago you were classified a demon yourself. Was that the sort of respectability you had in mind?"
They stared at each other with enmity having instantly taken root and growing by the second. Baka was speechless. His jaw tightened visibly revealing that he was clenching his teeth.
Tvelgar thought it might be a good time to mention why Heaven McBride had joined them. Looking at Baka, he said, "Meet your personal assistant." The Director's tone managed to be dry and wry at the same time.
While Baka stared at Simon like he must be deranged, Heaven was saying, "Not by choice I assure you," under her breath.
Baka wasn't pleased to let her have the last word. The conflict he was experiencing was almost painfully unnerving. He was attracted to her and repelled by her at the same time. The first was understandable. The second was not. Something about her put him on edge and made him want to flee the room.
The rest of the afternoon was spent sorting out a starting point for one of the biggest and most involved projects of the century: a mass migration of refugees from hell to the everyday problems of humanity, including shortcomings like weakness and mortality. Every time Baka gave his assistant a task, she glared at him, eyes flashing, nostrils flaring. It was most unfortunate that her new boss enjoyed the fallout of her distress. When he had realized that the nature of the job gave him the upper hand, his mood was restored to stable, if not outright euphoria.
Elora had decided that, since Katrina and Kay's sisters were leaving the following morning, she would organize a night out: pub food, live music, and maybe a pint or two. She included Baka, Aelsong, and Litha in the invitation then had a nice long chat with the doorman about the best place in walking distance for good stew and an unplugged jig. He suggested a pub in the shadow of the Balmoral Hotel, six minutes walking distance. So Elora told everybody to meet in the lobby at eight. Ram was not all that excited about a night out in Fairyland, but Elora wanted it so, naturally, he agreed. Kay said he would go by the hotel for his women and meet up at the pub.
When the meeting broke up, Litha stopped Storm in the hallway and held out the little watercolor to him. He started to reach for it, but then pulled his hand back.
"What's this?"
"You seemed interested in it so I want you to have it."
He stared at the colorful square in her hand for a few seconds. Finally, he raised his eyes to meet hers, but didn't raise his hand to accept the gift.
"I can see myself sharing it with you," she said.
He gaped, completely incredulous at the bold and ridiculous assertion. He was also starting to wonder if she could be a little psycho. He'd heard about such things. “Anybody ever told you that you move kind of fast?”
She was undaunted. “I was home schooled. I guess I never learned the point of not saying what you mean. Seems like a senseless waste of time.”
Storm's stubborn streak was compromised by his curiosity about the witch's odd behavior. “Okay. I’m as much a fan of honesty as the next guy. Why me?”