Windfall stopped way passed too-much when decorating for seasons and holidays. Strings of fall leaves and pumpkins filled every window. There were even a few black cats, skeletons, and other left-over Halloween ornaments. Bara smiled at the festive air and made her way down the cobbles and to the Tragic Sip. The Goths were already at the café. They occupied two patio tables. For these girls, Halloween never ended. Under the bright fall sunlight, their pale faces glowed a healthy—if chalky—pink. They were quivering with excitement, not the usual state of being for this gloomy group. Bara listened in as she passed.

“He’s so gorgeous,” Drusilla, not the name her mother gave her, Barnaby drawled.

Vixen Rose, born Vivian Rothby, challenged back, “I saw him first.”

“Vinally a guy wert even tinking about in tis tupid town,” lisped a purple-haired girl through a false set of vampire teeth. They were obviously not elocution class approved. Bara fought back a giggle.

“And his accent.” Drusilla chimed in her clear and fangless alto. “One thing for sure. We’re all going to need a lot more coffee.”

“I want a little more than coffee from him,” Vixen countered.

What kind of guy could get the Goths all a flutter? Images of tattoos and rings hanging from each and every orifice came to mind. Bara would see Mr. Dreadfully Wonderful for herself. She headed for the café door but then stopped in her tracks.

Ragman, the strangest resident of Windfall, sat at the table closest to the door. He stared with a smirk, a way-too-familiar smirk. They’d never spoken. Yet he always managed to irk her. He gave her the strangest feeling. The way he dressed didn’t help. His wardrobe consisted of torn pieces of cloth tied together to form a mesh. A little more skin than was decent peaked through. He wore sandals, even in cold weather. A dingy bandana covered his bald head. And it wasn’t just his head that was hairless. Except for his eyebrows, which were exceedingly bushy, he was as smooth as a porpoise. He had to wax.

Swallowing her ill-ease, Bara passed Ragman—who never broke his glare—and entered the café.

The air rang with the tinkle of door chimes. Inside was as full as the patio. She looked around, trying to pinpoint the object of the Goth’s affection. Waiting tables was Mona, a thirty-something pretty brunette. Surly Bob staffed the counter. He wasn’t new. Bara scanned the dark wood and purple velvet interior one more time. It was mostly housewives taking a break from shopping and scrawny starving writer types, and absolutely no one capable of lighting a teenage girl’s heart on fire.

Surly Bob noted her standing in the middle of the café. He threw her an impatient glare and asked if she needed any help. The way he emphasized help made her think he meant mental help. Bara had been coming to the café since she’d been old enough to drink coffee. He still treated her like a stranger. She ignored his obvious disdain and ordered two Black Mountain Blends and a couple of croissants. While waiting for her order, she watched the backroom door for a sign of the new guy. It remained closed and any brooding teenage heart-throb hidden within and out-of-sight.

None too swiftly and like he was doing her the greatest of favors, Surly Bob poured the coffees and bagged the pastry. Bara paid and stepped over to the condiment table. She took her time adding cream and cinnamon, maintaining an eye on the backroom door. Chimes rang again. Drusilla came in and sauntered over to the counter. Incidentally, she also watched the backroom door. She hemmed and hawed for what felt like a painfully long time, even to Bara, so to Surly Bob it was truly excruciating.

Finally she said, “I’ll have a chai.”

“A chai what?”

Surly Bob rolled his eyes. Drusilla acted confused.

Letting out enough air to inflate a balloon, Surly Bob sighed, “A chai tea? A chai latte? A chai muffin? What do you want? We gotta a lot of chai.”

Drusilla pursed her mouth and put one hand on a hip. She’d had this planned.

“Then why don’t you chai being nicer, dude?”

Apparently no longer thirsty, she turned on her heels and flounced out of the café. Surly Bob’s face … priceless. Bara fought not to laugh. She couldn’t help smiling. He shot her another glare. Time to go. She took one last look at the backroom door. No dark teenage god appeared. She shrugged and went back out into the bright sunshine. The patio was empty. Both the Goths and Ragman were gone. Bara took a left and walked north, heading toward the tall clock tower looming ahead.

In the late afternoon sun, Windfall Library threw an imposing shadow across the cobbles. Constructed more than a century ago, with its marble columns and stone lions, its Main Hall inspired awe. Two stucco wings built decades later weren’t as awe-inspiring. Stucco hadn’t aged nearly as well as stone. The wings hung off the middle like two unsightly love handles. These were the stacks. Inside they were dusty and at times smelled a little rank, but it was where Amy and Bara always studied. There they’d be left alone.

The clock tower chimed as Bara climbed the stone steps. After taking a moment to hide the coffees, she pushed open the glass doors and passed through the entryway and under the portrait of Nelson Sedgewick. A Wall Street tycoon, Sedgewick had left his money to the library. His hair was on the brighter side of red, but he’d been attractive enough. There was a kind look in his warm brown eyes. He continued to watch over his beloved library even after death. Ms. Korey eyed Bara up as she walked by the checkout. Bara smiled back guiltily. It wasn’t just the coffee contraband. Ms. Korey made her nervous. Despite her petite frame, the librarian was as intimidating as a Rottweiler.

Bara entered the west wing. She found a rickety old staircase and descended creaky metal rungs. Another reason she liked the stacks: they ran deep. Underneath the three above-ground floors were still another two levels—a cellar of knowledge and fantasy. She reached the lowest floor. Somewhere down here she and Amy would find each other. They hadn’t said exactly where they’d meet. They didn’t need to. Bara headed for the far west corner—their usual spot.

…

Brynndalin had watched Bara leave St. Catherine’s and walk down Windfall Boulevard. Her gaze didn’t flicker when Bara cut across the park with the chestnut trees. Patiently, she waited outside the café. She didn’t dare go inside for fear she’d be discovered by even more powerful eyes. She followed Bara across the square and watched her enter the library. Unseen by all, she pushed through the glass doors and pursued down into the stacks. She had a plan, a plan for Bara. The air shook with the power of her dark intent. The eternal wait was all but over.

***