The space looked smallish from the outside, with bay windows on either side of the door facing the street. One window held the intriguing hat-shaped cups, an assortment of teas and stacked caddies of delicious-looking scones. The other window held lotions and bath products. Glancing into the windows, it was easy to see that the store was quite spacious, which was good, given that he had a difficult time with confined places. He could see at a glance that behind the counter there was at least one more room and another exit.
There were tables and chairs in one area. Most were for two people; some were for four. There was one larger table that could handle at least six. The tables were a distance apart from the other half of the store, creating a feeling of openness. He thought if Zyah and her grandmother really wanted to go there, he might make the sacrifice and take them.
Player walked on past to the end of the block, turned and made his way slowly back, trying to look as if he were just looking at the various stores. Coming up beside him, Preacher began whistling a tune off-key, making him wince. “Love Potion Number Nine” seemed to be a favorite lately with him whenever he was around Player and the subject of coming to Hannah’s shop came up.
“What is that infernal racket you’re making? You sound like a dying cow.”
Preacher grinned at him. “Just wanted to get you in the mood.”
Player flipped him off, glaring at him as he paced back up the sidewalk, carefully avoiding looking into the store he was weighing whether or not to go into. “Don’t look, you moron, she’ll notice,” he hissed. “She’s standing right by the window.”
“It’s your third time walking past her shop, Player. I think she’s noticed,” Preacher said, shoving a hand through his wealth of out-of-control curls, the bane of his life. “Our Torpedo Ink cuts kind of stand out, don’t you think? And then there’s Destroyer, sitting over there looking mournful with the bikes, and Lana and Alena across the street, grinning like apes, pretending they’re shopping at the clothing store when really, they’re making fun of you.”
Player stopped walking and turned his head alertly to look for his Torpedo Ink sisters. “Why would they be making fun of me?”
“Because this was the dumbest idea on the planet, that’s why. You need a love potion, I can make you one,” Preacher assured. “You don’t need to come here.”
“I’m not looking for a love potion. Who the hell said I was looking for a love potion?” He gave Preacher his fiercest scowl. “Get the hell away from me. Go over and wait by the bikes with Destroyer. At least he’s got the good sense to stay over there when he thinks we’re doing stupid things.”
Preacher grinned at him. “Not a chance. You’re going into that shop, and I’m not letting you go in alone. Hannah Drake Harrington is one powerful witch. Someone has to save your worthless ass.”
“She’s not a witch. She’s the wife of the local sheriff, and if you call her a witch, he’s going to put a bullet right through your fuckin’ heart. Seriously, Preacher, go away. This matters to me, and I don’t want you to embarrass me.”
Four little boys ran down the sidewalk across the street, nearly running right into Alena and Lana. “Hannah! Miss Hannah!” they called out in unison. They were all laughing. They looked to be around eight.
Player stopped to see what the woman would do. She couldn’t fail to hear the raised voices. They sounded excited. Hopeful. Daring. All four boys stared at the shop with bright eyes. Preacher, Destroyer, Alena and Lana all paused as well, eyes on the door of the shop, as if they too waited for something huge to happen. Player had no idea what to expect, only that those four little boys were so excited, and whatever they wanted, they were so hopeful, he didn’t want Hannah Drake Harrington to let them down.
The door opened slowly, the bells announcing her presence, setting those hats tinkling in warning. The boys went ramrod straight, mouths opening in suspense. Player found himself tense. There was a sudden silence as if everything on the street paused.
A breeze blew leaves down the street ever so gently. Suddenly, without any warning at all, the wind gusted, right over the four little boys, taking the baseball caps from their heads and throwing them capriciously into the air. The hats whirled just above the boys’ heads, then traveled down the sidewalk, just out of reach, as the boys ran after them with outstretched hands, laughing. Player watched the boys run for a moment, realizing the wind wasn’t really blowing that hard, yet the hats dipped and wheeled, like bats in the air, but at no time went near the street. The wind died down completely and the hats floated into the boys’ hands. They caught them, put them on their heads, turned back toward the shop and waved. Player glanced back to the door, but it was closed, and Hannah Drake Harrington was back inside.
“What the hell was that?” he asked Preacher.
“I don’t know,” Preacher replied, “but you might want to rethink your opinion of the witch theory.”
Player tapped a beat out on his thigh. He wanted to make things right with Zyah. He’d felt that shift in power the moment that door had opened and Hannah Harrington had stepped outside. It had been subtle, but it had been there, coming from the doorway of the Floating Hat. Maybe he’d come to the right place.
Abruptly, he made up his mind, turned his back on his Torpedo Ink brother and marched, ramrod stiff, a man going to his doom, back to the little shop sandwiched between the wine shop and the gift shop. The display windows looked harmless enough. Nothing out of the ordinary. Well, okay, a little girlie and froufrou.
He’d seen Hannah Harrington around town a few times. She was stunning. Breathtaking. She wasn’t a witch despite that little display with the boys and their hats. He wasn’t certain what that was, but he had his own talents. All of the members of Torpedo Ink did, and they knew that the Drake sisters did as well.
Hannah had been a model, the kind that graced the cover of every magazine and worked runways, in such demand that she could pick and choose which designer she worked for. She’d been considered the top model in the world, and everyone wanted her wearing their clothes. Tall, large blue eyes, high cheekbones, a generous mouth, with her signature long blond hair, which fell in natural spiral curls down her back, she had truly been one of the most beautiful women in the world until a madman attacked her with a knife and reportedly slashed her to ribbons.
The attack was caught on film, shown over and over on international television for weeks while she fought for her life and then retired to the small town of Sea Haven and the protection of her family and Jonas Harrington. Now she ran a small shop selling personal products made from organic materials she grew herself or purchased from the farm Blythe was part owner of.
Player had never actually been introduced to Hannah Drake Harrington, but he’d heard of her and he’d seen her a time or two walking down the street. She was a striking woman, very graceful, and she still walked like she was that model on a runway. There was always someone with her, usually one of her sisters but often her husband or Jackson Deveau, at least that was the report from Code when he’d asked about her. Player liked to be prepared.
He took a deep breath as he paused at the door. Was he really going to go through with this? Zyah was worth humiliating himself for. Hannah was no witch. She had strong psychic talents, no doubt about that, and she probably could wreak havoc on him, but he’d risk anything to try to find a way to get back in Zyah’s good graces. He wasn’t cheating by getting something stupid like a love potion. That might be a last resort, but he wouldn’t mind a little advice on gifts. On things women liked. Surely in a shop like Hannah had, there would be special things that appealed to women. Things with special scents.