When the Woods Go Silent (Haret Chronicles: Dark Fae #1)

CHAPTER SEVEN

R OSE

By late afternoon, I've completely reorganized and cleaned the biography and memoir room and compiled a long list of new titles to stock, but really I'm just watching the clock impatiently until it's time for Ruby to get back.

I’m already restless when a text message comes through.

Ugh stuck in traffic jam, eta after 6 now

Huffing out a sigh of defeat, I grab my bag and a handful of new books. I lock up the shop and head out to one of the local coffee shops, hoping the different ambiance will distract me until Ruby arrives.

A cloudy sky makes sitting outside a chilly option, so I settle into a small booth inside, which is empty at this time of day. The barista wanders the room, wiping down tables and looking bored, and as she nears my booth, her eyes scan my stacked titles.

“Are you in town for some ghost hunting?” she asks with a grin, pointing to the one on top.

I put down the smutty time-travel I’d been looking at and pick it up instead. It’s Spirits of Clearwater , and I didn’t even realize I’d grabbed it.

“Any good ones to see around here?” I ask, happy to have an actual conversation with someone close to my age.

She leans against a table, tucking her pink hair behind one ear. “Well, that book is shit - I’ve read it before. But there’s one story in it worth checking out. ‘Sweet Dreamer.’ Definitely something there, if you’re here to find a ghost.”

I skim the table of contents and find the story, but she’s already launching into her own version.

“The woods at night are usually full of raccoons, deer, whatever, right? But when everything goes silent, people say you can hear the Dreamer singing. Kind of like the Pied Piper. And if you hear it, you start to follow it.”

“Sounds like a siren,” I say, thinking of mythology.

“Yeah, except the Dreamer only sings to sleeping people. She climbs in your mind at night, calling to you through your dreams. And you sleepwalk your ass straight into the forest, never to be seen again.”

Her grin is infectious, and I already know I’ll be reading the story later.

“And there’s actual evidence, or something?” I ask, flipping the pages and seeing some supposed first-hand accounts.

“There’s a list of people who have gone missing over the years. Tourists, mainly. Hard to track and prove, so we get to keep our rep as a safe little vacation town. But yeah, there are a few people who woke up before they got too deep in the forest. They’re in that book.” She gestures to the page I have pinned open.

“I’ve had the dream before,” she boasts. “A few times, but it always ended with my mom shaking me awake before I could make it out the door.”

“Sounds creepy,” I say, and she nods, lifting an eyebrow in agreement. “I’m Rose, by the way. My friend and I just bought the old bookshop.”

“Oh, awesome. Got any horror? I only read that. Oh, and I’m Abby.”

“We have a few things, but I’ll definitely stay on the lookout for more. Let me know if you have any favorite titles I should stock.”

“For sure.” She nods, the ring in her eyebrow glinting. Before we can continue our conversation, a young couple comes in, and Abby heads to the counter to take their orders. It feels good to have made a connection - I need to get out and meet more of the locals, get to know our neighbors better before the season starts and we’re even busier.

I start the “Sweet Dreamer” story, but I’m only a few paragraphs in when another text from Ruby comes in.

Moving again, 20 min and I’m freaking starving I want pizza nowwww

I snort and open the app for the pizza place we’ve been using way too often, placing our standard order. I give Abby a little wave as I collect my books and coffee, heading eagerly back to the bookshop.

The delivery driver is just pulling away when Ruby's black car slides into a parking spot across the street.

"Finally!" I leave the food on the checkout counter and throw the door open again, thudding down the porch stairs and meeting her with the kind of hug only best friends know how to give.

"Christ on a cracker, that drive felt like forever," she exclaims, wasting no time in throwing open the hatchback to show off her purchases. "Crazy-sexy-gorgeous, right?"

"Holy fuck, Ru,” I say, laughing. “Did you let anyone else buy books?" I have to tease her a little, but I'm just as excited to check out the new inventory. Of course, we'll sell plenty of genres, but the heart of the shop will definitely be romance, with a super special focus on dark, smutty, fantasy romance.

That stuff is so addictive, and nobody does smut quite like the independent authors who don't have crusty old male publishers to answer to. Add a mouth-watering cover into the mix, and it's easy to tell why romance is the number one selling genre in any bookstore.

We load ourselves down and start lugging everything inside.

Ruby almost drops her box as she takes in the redecorated front room, mouth hanging open in a grin. "Wow, Rosey. This is everything . The fern stencils are freaking perfect. And those pink ombre shelves? Ugh, I'm in love."

She dances around the room, sliding her fingers across the painted shelves.

"Enchanted garden, right?" I show her the picture of the rug I ordered, too.

"Our own little magical garden. You did such a great job - it’s all so freaking perfect."

We dive into the new books and the pizza, sitting right on the floor in the middle of the shop. Ruby's words tumble and flow around us like a breeze of fresh air as she delivers even more gossip from the conference. Part of me still wishes I'd been there, but I'm so proud of the work that was done while she was away. The pristine windows glisten, and the freshly painted shelves look fucking awesome as we arrange and rearrange the new books on them, getting the layout perfect.

Before we know it, it's well past two in the morning.

"Damn, I need to get to bed," Ruby says with a yawn as she stands and stretches. She smiles sleepily around at the bookstore's front room like she doesn't quite want to leave it, and I follow her gaze.

"This is going to be amazing," I assure her, and despite my hesitation around the forest, I know it's the truth.

"Thanks for riding shotgun," Ruby says as she squeezes her arm around my shoulders, referencing our little joke that I'm along for the ride in her plans.

"Thanks for letting me pick the music," I tease, taking off toward the stairs to the apartment before she can shriek her answer. We might agree on books, but music is a whole other story.

"Hey, what's this?" Ruby asks as she puts the last two slices of pizza into the fridge and pulls out the tart box. I'd totally forgotten about saving some for her.

My mouth sours just enough that her eyebrows raise.

"Okay, bedtime is officially postponed. Allegra Rose McKinley, did you go on a date while I was gone?"

"No need to bring out the full name," I grumble. She knows me too fucking well. I'd just told her about the alarm system needing a tune-up, but I'd held back on the weirdest parts, including Arlo. I'm not even sure why. I have quick flings with guys all the time, so it shouldn't be an embarrassment.

Yet, it kinda is.

"Spill it," Ruby commands, swiping her finger through the tart filling. A moan spills from her lips as she tastes it. "That’s wicked good. If there's a man who created this, then no wonder he messed it up with you. Goddess doesn't overpower her men like that. It just wouldn’t be fair."

I finally feel the laughter bubble up as I tell the story about finding the pop-up restaurant and the pastry box that appeared on our doorstep, followed by the interrupted date, if I can even call it that.

"He's hot, yeah. Willing and able, from what I could tell."

"But?" Ruby prompts, setting the tart on the kitchen counter and propping a hand on her hip. Her dark eyes glint at me, and she brushes a stubborn strand of purple back impatiently.

I shrug. "I don't know. I probably shouldn't care, but it was weird for him to just... leave. And then not call or anything today." I roll my eyes to show it's no big deal, but Ruby is already glaring in anger on my behalf.

"No, you should absolutely care. Who the hell does business in the middle of the night? Shiesty. And to not call today? So rude. Sounds like he's just another hot douche bag, Rosey. Although I wouldn't blame you if you still want to ride."

She winks right along with her fury, and the maniacal combination makes me giggle.

"You’re crazy, and I love you," I say, shaking my head. Having Ruby feels even better than having a sister. We balance each other out in the best ways, and she helps pull me from depression as much as I help her make sense of the world.

"Hey - you never get mad when you should, so I have to remind you that sometimes violence really is the answer. Or sex. Two sides of the same coin, right?" She shoves a huge bite of the tart in her mouth, her eyes rolling back in her head. "Hold on. I’m about to have a private moment with this pastry."

Her dramatic moan gives me the giggles, and the negative feelings I'd been holding onto about Arlo begin to dissipate. Ruby isn't completely right - I get mad plenty of the time. I just never show it to anyone, because anger doesn’t change anything.

"Don't worry. He's not worth a boycott. We'll still check out that restaurant the next time it opens, if you promise to take normal bites."

"Fine," she mumbles, swallowing the rest of the tart. "But I won't promise not to have a food-gasm. That tart was better than ninety-eight percent of the guys I've been with."

"Your standards are too low, then," I tease, keeping it light. Ruby has a way of attracting all the wrong guys, and if she's here to get mad for me, I'm here to remind her she's worth more.

"I just wish I wasn't a straight girl," Ruby says over another yawn. "We'd make the perfect couple, deadass."

"Platonic soul mates forever," I agree, linking my pinkie finger with hers. Her yawn coaxes one out of me, and we both smile. "Bedtime, Ru."

"I'm so glad you're here with me, Rosey. Sweet dreams," she says, giving me a quick hug before she heads to her bedroom, leaving me alone in the kitchen, rolling her words over my tongue.

Sweet dreams.

Common words, something that one of us has said to the other countless times over the years of sleepovers and late-night phone calls. But I’ve had so many intense, strange dreams since we moved here. I think again about Ruby’s childhood memory of a fae woman in the forest, and something seems to crackle in the air, as though an icy breeze has sneaked through a gap under the door.

After hearing Abby’s ghost story today, part of me wonders if maybe Ruby’s been remembering a dream all these years, although I’m not ready to say she saw a kidnapping ghost, either. No matter what wild explanation I think of, there’s one thing I’m certain of.

Clearwater is hiding secrets in these woods. Ruby is already working to unearth them, I’m sure of it.

And if she ever found something, what would it change between us?

I fill a glass of water and sip it, staring out the kitchen window, focusing carefully past my reflection in the glass and into the dense, dark woods.

"Sweet dreams," I whisper to the woods, challenging the edge of fear that creeps up my spine. As soon as the words are out, I see a shadowy hint of movement between the trees, definitely too big to be a raccoon. A flash of eyes reflects the porch light, and a shiver runs sideways across my shoulders. I step closer to the glass, intent on meeting this odd paranoia head on. I scan the tree line intently, but everything is still and quiet.

Ghosts aren't real, and neither are fairy women. Just people, and with an alarm system and a few locked doors, I'm as protected as I can be. I repeat this to myself again as I close the curtains in my bedroom, and again as I strip down and dive beneath the covers.

And again, as I shut my eyes and hope that my dreams tonight are sweet and playful, with nothing at all about angry-eyed men or sleepwalking ghosts who lure dreamers into the silent woods.

TORRENCE

"Where's your fucking head these days, boss?" Arlo says, playfully beaning a wooden kitchen spoon off my shoulders. "Even I know better than to let a dumbass server get under the skin like that. Bodies are bad for business, even if they’re ours."

I could end him where he stands with less than a spoon, but I let the insult bounce off me just like the tool. He doesn't know everything I know about why we’re here in Clearwater, and it needs to stay that way. Even though I trust him enough to help clean up the occasional mess, how I handle Goblin Market behind the scenes - and what Julianna and I are looking for - are none of his fucking business.

“Discipline,” I answer shortly, tossing him a lazy middle finger over my shoulder before turning away from the window. I've been staring out into the night-black woods again, and there's still no point.

Whatever elusive magic I felt between the trees last week hasn't been back since. The two pretty bookshop owners are the only humans new to Clearwater this year, and they aren’t the source of the magic. Maybe my instincts were wrong this time, misled by a need to prove myself. Maybe I was imagining what I'd scented, my mind desperately trying to give me an edge over Julianna when I know I have nothing.

"Maybe you just need a girl to fuck. Take your edge off," Arlo offers, going back to stirring the bubbling fruit compote on the stove. "Or a guy. You know I don't judge." He gives me a questioning side-eye, but I don't bite.

Who I fuck - or don't - is also none of his business, and he knows it. The only reason I haven't sent him underground is that he keeps his mouth shut around the others, even if the same courtesy doesn't extend to me. He believes we’re friends, and I allow it because it’s rare for someone to speak their mind to me. He provides an honesty I can’t always find elsewhere, and no matter how aggravating that is, I need his bluntness.

"Tourist season starts any day now," I say, by way of distracting him. We'll open again tonight, hoping to catch the early wave and get the gossip going. Already, our social media is flooded with questions about possible dates and menus, but my strategy is to stay silent until an hour before the doors unlock. It creates a flurry of activity and anyone who misses it is left fucking salivating for the next time.

Arlo grins, tucking his chin-length hair behind his ears. "Fuck yes, it does. So many fresh... patrons... coming in to try our delicious food." I can practically hear the hunger in his voice, and it echoes my own excitement. He needs to forget about the redheaded shop owner, anyway. We don't get involved with locals for a reason, and I can’t afford to discipline any more of my staff right now.

I allow myself a single proud moment as I cast my gaze around the silver and white kitchen, my eyes greedy as I count and measure the platters and piles of fresh local fruit, towers of organic vegetables, and mounds of exotic tropical produce that arrived this morning.

What began as a simple supply chain for our growing army has turned into something I didn’t expect to enjoy. I’d never admit it out loud, but I’m dreading the day I know is coming soon - when we have enough humans to shut it all down and disappear into the dirt. I’ve become used to the human world, and the more time I spend here, the less I care about my mother’s war.

But I can’t forget the truth. Goblin Market has always been a means to an end, and a life in Clearwater is something I have no business thinking about.

"Is it ready?" Arlo asks, using a clean spoon to offer me a taste of the fruit compote I'm teaching him to make.

The flavors are intense, mixing in a burst of sour, then sweet on my tongue. The texture is silky and unctuous, and I nod, allowing the points of my teeth to sharpen into razors against my lips.

Biting deep into my wrist, I slice open the flesh and let the beads of blood fall like jewels into the pot. They sizzle and dissolve, carrying my powerful gobbelin magic into each mouthful.

We serve only the best at Goblin Market , but our business model isn't the real reason why our food is so addictive, and our patrons are so obsessed. We don't even need to serve meat here.

The meat comes to us.

"Here's to another night of successful hunting," I say to my sous chef. His wide black eyes are edged with an icy-blue hunger, and his own teeth have sharpened across his lower lip.

"Here's to the first and best 'Gobbelin' Market on Earth," Arlo returns, stirring the last swirls of my blood into the steaming pot, where it will make its way into the mouths of customers all night, tempting the weakest to come back again and again.

Until they can’t imagine ever leaving, and then they don’t.