the time. She didn’t know how it was possible, but sometime between dinner and returning home, she had lost six hours. How could that be? She recalled feeling a little disoriented during dinner, eating when she wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t remember anything after that. Had she fainted?
Worrying about it had her tossing and turning all night long. It was near dawn when she fell into a troubled sleep populated by white rabbits and Cheshire cats and a frightened Alice who ran through the night, fleeing from an unseen terror with bloodstained fangs and hell-red eyes.
In the morning, Kadie stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She looked pale, the bags under her eyes mute evidence of a mostly sleepless night. She didn’t usually remember her dreams, but she remembered the nightmare she’d had. She had never dreamed about monsters before. But maybe it wasn’t so unusual, considering her bizarre circumstances.
There was nothing to eat in the house. With her stomach growling, she dressed quickly, grabbed her handbag, and headed for the grocery store.
She bought the necessities—coffee, milk, bread, eggs, butter, sugar, flour, salt and pepper, as well as some fruit, mayonnaise, blueberry jam, and ice cream. Thinking ahead to dinner, she added a package of chicken legs and a box of stuffing.
The woman at the register smiled as she rang up Kadie’s groceries. “You must be Kadie Andrews,” she said. “I’m Maricela Romero, but my friends call me Marti.”
Kadie nodded, surprised by the woman’s friendly welcome. She guessed Marti to be in her late twenties, with glossy black hair, brown eyes, and a figure Kadie couldn’t help envying.
“Welcome to town. I hope you’ll learn to like it here. If you get lonesome, some of us meet at the library Wednesday mornings at ten thirty. We have coffee and doughnuts and talk about books and things. Sometimes we go out to lunch. You should come.”
“Thank you,” Kadie said politely. “Maybe I’ll do that.” She bit down on her lower lip, suddenly uncomfortable at the thought of telling Marti that Darrick was paying for her groceries. But it wasn’t necessary.
“I’ll just put this on your bill,” Marti said, handing Kadie a receipt.
Kadie looked at the white slip of paper. There was nothing on it except her name. Curiouser and curiouser, she thought, fighting a rush of hysterical laughter.
“Can I put those in your car for you?” the bag boy—his name tag identified him as Jeremy—offered.
“I’m afraid I don’t have a . . .” The words died in her throat when she saw her SUV pull up to the curb. Groceries forgotten, she hurried outside to confront the man behind the wheel. “What are you doing in my car?”
“Hey, back off,” he said, holding up both hands as he exited the vehicle. “I was just bringing it to you per Mr. Vaughan’s orders.”
“Who’s Mr. Vaughan? And where did you find gas in this town?”
“You’re Kadie Andrews, right? His protégée?”
“Protégée!” she exclaimed. Well, that was a new word for it.
“You must be something special,” he said, his voice tinged with envy.
“Why would you say that?”
He snorted. “You’re the only one in town with a car that runs.” He thrust the keys she’d left in the SUV into her hand, then turned and walked down the sidewalk.
Kadie stood staring after him. Protégée, indeed!
“Shall I put these in your car, Miss Andrews?”
Glancing over her shoulder, Kadie saw the bag boy—who wasn’t a boy at all, but a young man who appeared to be in his early twenties—standing behind her with her shopping cart. “Yes, please.” At least she wouldn’t have to walk home weighed down with her groceries. “Who was that man?”
“Oh, that’s Claude Cooper. Nobody knows much about him, except that he’s a real grouch. Keeps to himself, mostly.”
Thinking that she couldn’t blame the man for being out of sorts, all things considered, she thanked Jeremy for his help, and climbed behind the wheel. After checking the gas tank—it was full—she put the car in drive, and drove straight toward the bridge. It was one thing for Vaughan’s magic, or whatever it was, to stop her. Let him stop a four-thousand-pound SUV!
When she reached the other end of the bridge, she stomped on the gas pedal. And the engine died.
After restarting the car, she put it in drive and pressed gently on the gas. But the results were the same. The engine died.
She pulled her cell phone from her handbag, knowing even before she looked at the display that the battery would be