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

CHAPTER EIGHT

R UBY

A notification I’ve been waiting for finally pops up on my phone, and I can’t help the squeal. “They’re opening tonight!”

“Who?” Rose asks absently, her unpainted nails clicking across her laptop keyboard as she enters titles into our inventory spreadsheets. Luckily for me, Rose has a thing for stuff like that.

The previous bookstore owner sold us everything he had in the shop, including an absolute museum-quality desktop computer that we quickly trashed, but he’d literally never actually tracked all the books he bought and sold. There had been boxes - and boxes - of uncatalogued used books stacked in nearly every room when we got the keys, and aside from remodeling the old building bit by bit, taking stock is proving to be our biggest headache.

“ Goblin Market ! It’s that restaurant that made the tart that guy gave you. I found them on social, and I’ve been stalking them. Looks like they open in twenty minutes. Up for a midnight snack?” I’m already salivating, remembering that tart. It was the stuff of dreams. Absolute heaven.

Rose stops typing, eyeing me across the old kitchen table and the stacks of books piled between us.

“You’re not going to try and set me up with Arlo, are you?” she asks suspiciously.

“Nooo,” I say, drawing out the word and fluttering my fingers in what I hope looks like innocent shock. I mean, I might have thought about it before, but the dumbass never did reach back out to her. It’s become a sore spot, and I kinda don’t blame her. Asshole move. But we agreed years ago to stay out of each other’s bedroom decisions unless there was serious cause for concern.

And we do. Mostly.

“I just want some really good food. And if the staff is all gorgeous, what’s better than dinner with a view? Come on, Rosey.”

There are hundreds of gushing comments on their socials about both the food and the hot servers, and I’m dying to see if any of it can live up to the hype.

“Night out, night out, night out,” I begin to chant, and Rose gives me an eye roll. There’s a smile peeking through, though. I’ve got her.

“Fine. But if that loser is there, you promise not to try and convince me to give him a second chance,” she warns. I grin and hold up my pinkie finger to link it with hers.

“Promise,” I say, bouncing a little in my chair. “But if there’s a different hot guy there who isn’t such a loser, I’m totally sending you in for round two.”

She laughs, and I cheer as she finally shuts down the laptop. The two of us race upstairs to freshen up and change into something nicer than sweats.

It doesn’t take us more than thirty minutes to get ready and lock up the shop, but we’re still lost in a mile-long queue as soon as we turn the corner onto the restaurant’s street. The night is dark around us, with the only light coming from the soft glow of the restaurant’s windows and a pair of struggling street lights.

“Holy hell,” I murmur, trying to do the math on the number of people, times how long it might take them each to eat. This could end up being an early-morning snack, not a midnight snack. I wrap my jacket tighter against the spring chill.

“Sure would be nice to know someone on the inside who could sneak us in the side door.”

“Seriously?” Rose gripes, but she’s smiling at me. I snicker, and we join the line. It actually moves faster than I’d calculated, as quite a few of those waiting emerge with white to-go boxes instead of dining in.

Several of them pop open the lids for everyone waiting in line to see what’s available, and my mouth waters when I see a thick slice of dark chocolate cake, studded with sliced plums that look like amethysts and garnets buried in rich earth.

We’ve waited just under an hour when it’s our turn, and although it’s crazy for a small town, this would be nothing in the city. Or the height of tourist season, for that matter. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The sheer amount of delicious-looking food coming out of this place has my stomach grumbling.

“Oh.” Rose gives a little gasp as we finally set foot in the restaurant. The entryway is papered with black-and-white drawings of odd-looking animals in robes and hats, walking on two legs and carrying platters piled high with different fruits. I’m examining a particularly grotesque mole-cat combo when she tugs my sleeve.

“Ru, I didn’t see the decor last time. It’s Goblin Market .” She gestures around us.

“Yeah, that’s the name,” I say, frowning.

“No - it’s referencing an old poem. About these goblin creatures who sold addictive fruit to pretty young girls. Then when the girls couldn’t have any more, they shriveled up and died, like from withdrawal.”

“Sounds like opioids,” I joke, forcing a laugh because something about the poem, paired with the disturbing drawings, sends a creeping chill up my spine. Something in my bones recognizes it, even if my memory doesn’t. It sounds like dark magic, and maybe not the kind I’ve been telling myself I would chase.

“Sounds like a metaphor for the importance of young women’s sexual purity,” Rose says, glaring at the wallpaper. “But yeah. That must be what this place is named after.”

“That’s... actually kinda cool,” I admit. “I mean, not the sexual purity stuff. Ew.” Nobody needs that racket.

“The poem is actually more feminist than that, though, because the girl who tastes the fruit and becomes addicted is saved by her sister in the end. The sister faces down all the horrible goblins to get the antidote. And they grow old together,” Rose adds, looking satisfied with the poem’s ending.

I smile at my best friend and squeeze her arm as we’re ushered into the actual dining room. “I’d save you from goblins any day, Rose. Especially those little runts on the wallpaper - I could drop-kick any of them clear across the street.” I pop my lips, making a smacking sound.

She winks at me and plops into one of the low velvet chairs we’re directed to. The interior is gorgeous. It’s like a fancy hotel lobby, with clusters of chandeliers, plush couches in jewel-tone velvet, and small gleaming gold tables between. Everything is glam as hell, and I love it. There’s a sticker with a code on the table, and we scan it with our phones to see the menu.

“Oh, yum,” I moan, reading the descriptions. I want one of every dessert.

“The appetizers look really good, too,” Rose adds, her eyes intent on her phone. Footsteps sound next to us, and I look up to see a very appetizing dark-haired man before us, holding a pitcher of sparkling water and two crystal tumblers. Eek. If this is what a goblin really looks like, count me in.

“Welcome to the Market , ladies. Have you had a chance to look at the menu?” He hands each of us a tumbler and pours the water perfectly to the top without even glancing away from the paralyzing eye contact we’re making. Wow.

I have to bite my tongue to keep from asking a stupid question - like, if he’s on the menu.

“Two appetizers, chef’s choice?” Rose suggests to the server before I can tell him we need more time. I suck at decisions and would probably just order everything.

“And a piece of the chocolate plum cake,” I rush out, feeling my cheeks flush when he flashes me a devastating grin.

“Excellent choice,” he murmurs, ducking his head and pivoting to the next table. Rose kicks my shin lightly as I openly twist to admire his ass.

“Can’t take you anywhere,” she grumbles, but her mouth is quirked up in a smirk as I try to reel in my inappropriate staring. “I didn’t realize the whole menu would be vegetarian,” Rose adds, nodding down at her phone screen.

“It’s cool, right? I love that they’ve made this whole concept really work for them. And aren’t we lucky to live practically next door? Influencers were right for once - dinner with a hell of a view,” I murmur, settling back on my lounge and scanning the handful of other servers moving between the tables. They’re all as beautiful as promised on social media, like we’re in the middle of a model casting call.

“Have you seen that Arlo guy?” I whisper, and Rose shakes her head, putting away her phone.

“No, thank your Goddess. Maybe he stays in the kitchen.”

Our server comes back just then, setting three gleaming white plates of food between us, along with two shot glasses of iridescent golden liquid.

“Special gift for patrons tonight - our house-made pomegranate liqueur. Do both of you drink alcohol?” he asks, although he’s already placed the glasses on the table.

“Of course, we do,” I scoff, already eying the cake. “Thanks so much.”

“I’ll check back in later, then,” he says smoothly, and saunters away like he knows I’m watching.

“Aren’t pomegranates red?” Rose asks, examining the golden shot. She swirls the glass just a bit, and both of us gasp as the liquid slowly turns a bright, ruby red. I grab mine and peer up at it from the bottom.

“Look, there’s the red.” I point at a darkness settled at the bottom, hidden like a filled pastry. So cool. “How does that even work?” I wonder, immediately sidetracked, but Rose nudges me, holding her glass out for a clink.

“Here’s to us and our new life and our new store, Ru. To Under the Covers. May we have twice the success of Goblin Market .”

“To Under the Covers , where good girls get their reads met,” I echo, trying out another slogan I thought of on the drive home, and grinning at my best friend and now, co-business owner. She giggles, and we tip the alcohol back. No matter what I promised Rose about appropriate behavior, I can’t help the very satisfied, sexy sigh that slides from my lips. The tart-sweet liquid warms my mouth and wraps my insides in a flavor so sinful, I feel the blood rush straight to my cheeks. Food-gasm, here we come.

“Holy fuck, that’s good,” Rose says, reclining back into the dark purple cushions like a queen settling into her throne. Her long ginger waves spread across her shoulders, and her hazel eyes sparkle behind her glasses in a way that makes me happy.

Everything we try is amazing. Each bite is a bit of pure foodie heaven, and even though we had dinner earlier and we’re getting full, we order another dessert to go.

“I propose regular business meetings here,” I say as I sign the bill. Rose laughs and agrees as she accepts the white to-go box from our server, and we get up to let someone else have our table. I could have relaxed and stayed until closing, but I know there’s still a line outside, and I don’t want to be greedy.

“We’ll definitely be back,” Rose says to the server, and he smiles knowingly.

“Of course, you will,” he says, tilting his head in challenge, and I can’t help but notice how he’s appreciating her curves. Maybe I really can get Rose a date with a different hot Goblin Market guy, if she’s into it.

As I sling my purse over my shoulder and turn toward the door, I catch a glimpse of a man in the back by the kitchen doors, standing in shadows and clearly watching us go. His hair is dark, and his features are hard to see in the dim light, but the chandelier above him makes his eyes glow like the sun low on the horizon.

I stumble a bit under his intense gaze, and his teeth flash as a hint of a smile crosses his face. Again, wow.

“Everything okay?” Rose asks, steadying me with a hand on my elbow. She follows my gaze and snickers as the broad-backed man turns and disappears into the kitchen. “Looks like you just found another reason to come back,” she teases.

“Oh, I am so coming back,” I say, grinning at her. For a moment, I’d been worried the guy in the shadows would turn out to be Arlo, but she didn’t seem to recognize him. And that means he’s fair game.

Arm in arm, we make our way to the silent street where our bookstore waits. We left some of the lights on inside, and the glow of the new windows in the dark night is so pretty, both protecting and showing off the rows and rows of stories waiting to be told to just the right person.

I know I tend to fixate on things I love, but t’s already so much more than a store to me.

“This place is changing our lives, Rose. I can feel it,” I say softly as I pause on the sidewalk and gaze up at it. Three stories tall, with a wide porch, painted a peeling black with gold gingerbread trim glimmering in the soft lights. Some of the siding is a faded dark green, and I try to imagine the whole building redone in all its Gothic splendor, with piles of pink and red roses blooming out front.

It’s going to be absolutely perfect.

Rose pauses on the top step and turns back to me with a questioning look, but I just grin and follow her into the store, then upstairs to our apartment. She gives me a hug and heads to bed, but I’m wide awake, my happiness sparking around me like heat lightning. My imagination is stuttering across all the hopes I have for our lives here, and I can’t surrender to sleep yet.

I want to be the one controlling my dreaming for a little bit longer.

As usual, I feel drawn to the back windows, which showcase the woods I love so much. Grabbing a blanket, I step out of the kitchen’s back door and onto the narrow balcony. There are a pair of worn wicker rocking chairs waiting, and I settle into one, breathing deeply of the crisp night air.

An owl hoots in the trees somewhere, and I think about how seen I always feel in the woods. It’s an odd sensation, really, since I’m actually alone. But all my life, I’ve felt as though deep, dark woods like these are watching over me, keeping an eye on me. Protecting me, even, like I belong to them. And I do belong to them, in so many ways.

Nature is so much easier for me to understand than people, and I’ve never felt lost in the woods the way I feel lost in a crowd.

Even more than the bookstore that we lucked into, being around this forest again feels like it’s settling me, lending me its calm and ancient, anchored power. Accepting my oddities in the quiet way Rose does, no matter what weird thing I get obsessed with.

My eyes slide closed, and my ever-busy mind spreads out so many ideas and images of a gorgeous future here. I feel so complete and content as the small night sounds of the forest keep me company, and the night deepens around me. Somewhere in the distance, the wind sings through the trees, reminding me of a woman’s voice echoing over the hills, and I relish the shiver of excitement that tingles up my spine.

“I’m listening,” I whisper to the trees, imagining that they can hear my words. “Show me your magic.”