Page 86

He closed the remaining distance, bent down and kissed her.

She kissed him back without hesitation, her hand coming up against his jacket, her mouth warm and certain against the cold of everything else. One of her curls caught between his fingers when he reached for her and he was right—it was impossibly long, longer than he’d imagined when he pulled it taught. And softer too. It sprang back when he released it.

Tempest was soft too. Her lips, her hips, her curves… He unzipped her jacket and pulled her closer, so he could feel her warmth against his own. She leaned into him and tangled her hands in his hair.

Close up she smelled of autumn leaves and vanilla, Ceylon cinnamon, cloves and books.

Suddenly the bar door swung open, not thirty feet away, and a group of four came out loud and laughing. Someone dropped a bottle that didn’t break, someone else called after them about a forgotten item, leaning out through the door.

Tempest stepped back.

Her expression had changed. She was now closed off in a way he couldn’t quite read.

“I have to go,” she said, re-zipping her jacket.

“Tempest…”

But she was already moving, back straight, hands returning to her pockets, crossing the lot at a pace that was not quite running but did not invite him to follow.

She did not look back.

He was surprised when he saw her climb into the big blue bus. The doors closed behind her and the engine hummed to life. Moments later the vehicle branded with the moniker The Stardust Library pulled out of the lot in a wide arc. As it passed under the last lamp before the street, Dan saw something in the rear window. A flash of color. Vivid and iridescent, pressing close to the glass.

Feathers.

He stood very still.

The bird was looking at him, waving its wing like it was saying hello.

Something snagged in his memory. He looked up again, just in time to see Tempest’s face in the oversized rearview mirror sticking out from the side. Their eyes met. Then the bus turned onto the street and was gone.

He stood there in the cold, his fingers still feeling the shape of her curl.

WHIMSICAL WAXINGS

Should bright sparks jump from your wick,

news is on its way.

Bide your time and watch the flame,

it isn’t far away.

Should the smoke drift toward you,

as the candle burns,

what you seek is seeking you

and follows every turn.

Light new candles in new homes,

and all things shall be well.

What stories come forth after

are yours alone to tell.