but not quickly enough. The grandfather clock across the aisle showed fifteen minutes to curtain, and the theater was a good two blocks away.
“Lynette?” Thia turned to the young clerk who was hurriedly packaging already-tallied items. “Would you take these people up to the café and use the register there? Just make sure you keep track of the amounts.” It would make for an end-of-the-day accounting nightmare, she knew, but it was better than ruining so many peoples’ afternoons.
“Sure thing.” The girl hurried out from behind the counter and gestured toward the stairs. “If you’ll please follow me, we’ll get you on your way,” she said, looking happy to escape. With audible relief, the line reformed itself behind her.
“Just one frog,” the man could be heard to say as he climbed. “Just one little frog.”
Thia resumed her manic curling. The scissor blade flashed. Ribbon streamed through her fingers. Beside her, Stefanie tore into a new roll of stickers.
“That will be twelve hundred thirty-nine dollars, sixty-three cents, please, Mrs. Blumquist,” Abby announced above the register’s rapid printing. Stefanie grabbed the last item, swathed it in tissue, and stuffed it in a box. Thia snagged it, wrapped ribbon around it, racing for the finish.
Mrs. Blumquist tapped a lavender nail on the counter. “I do wish you hadn’t sold all those darling papier maché gnomes.”
“There’s always next year,” Thia said cheerfully, and snipped the last length of ribbon.
“Yes, yes, that’s true.” Smiling the smile of a fanatic, Mrs. Blumquist signed the charge slip. “Next year.”
Four sturdy bags were crammed full to bursting, then handed to their new owner. “Oh my,” Mrs. Blumquist said, chuckling. “This is quite a haul, isn’t it?”
“Would you like some help with them?” Abby asked, already holding open the door.
“Oh, no, dear,” the other woman said, trotting toward her. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Blumquist.” Thia waved, scissors still in hand.
“Until next year!” Bags bouncing at her sides, she left the store.
“Enjoy the play,” Abby called after her, then let the door shut with a jingle of bells. She staggered over to the replica of a medieval throne and threw herself down onto it with a low moan. As her eyes closed, her head tipped back. Curls of dark hair stuck out from several clips to give her an unusually frazzled look.
Natalie Blumquist had come and gone. Thia felt like it would take a whole year to recover.
Oh, but what about—“Did everyone get out?” She raced for the stairs.
“Let it go. Let it go,” Abby pleaded. “It’s two fifteen. Time for our break.”
“Time for our lunch,” Thia corrected from the base of the stairs. She looked up at the second floor, but it was impossible to see the register area. She couldn’t hear anything, either, and took that as a good sign.
“Lunch?” Abby groaned. “More like breakfast for me.”
Back at the counter, Thia shook her head and bent to retrieve Abby’s purse. “I don’t know how you can get through half the day on just a latte and a muffin.” She’d forgotten about the package from Lettie, but there it was, waiting—no, begging—to be opened. Her fingers itched with compulsive need, worse than any kid’s on Christmas.
“What’s the matter?” Abby headed over.
Thia didn’t know how to answer. She’d picked up the box, and now her pulse was pounding, her chest constricted with an anxiety that had no place at all in this situation. Lettie had sent her a gift, for crying out loud. A simple, most likely wonderful, perfectly harmless gift. And Abby—all-too-observant Abby—was looking at her like she’d gone off the deep end.
Maybe she had.
“I—I just realized maybe no one has had lunch yet. That’s all. Do you know? Has anyone had—”
“What’s that?”
Thia followed her friend’s gaze to—of course—the box in her hand. “Something from Lettie.” She shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal of it. Because it wasn’t a big deal. It really wasn’t. “What should we do about lunches? If no one has had any, I could stay.”
“Nonsense.” Abby took up her purse, slung it over her shoulder. “Management always goes first. Don’t be such a damn martyr.”
“I heard that!”
At Stefanie’s voice, Abby’s mouth snapped shut, most likely on another curse. Already, tendrils of sage smoke were wafting toward them.
Stefanie, her fingers tight on a lit smudge stick, was close behind. “I thought this would be good after all that stress, Ms. McDaniel,” she said, happily zeroing in on the counter.
Thia hurried out from behind it. “Do you know if anyone took lunch?”
“Yeah. I mean, I’m pretty sure everybody did.” Stefanie laid a blanket of smoke over the cash register. “We took turns grabbing stuff from the café.”
“See?” Abby said hoarsely, blinking watery eyes. Her hand waved frantically in front of her face. “We can go. Let’s go.”
Thia’s fingers tightened on the box, almost as if they had a will of their own. “Sure,” she said, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. What was wrong with her? “I just, um, have to take care of something. If you want to go ahead, I can meet you. Wherever you want.”
Abby’s brow went up. “Mediterranean Rose?”
“That’d be great.” She began walking to her office. “I’ll see you there.”
Abby went with her. “I’ll wait for you. Not patiently, but I’ll wait. If you haven’t noticed, things have a tendency to go wrong when Lettie isn’t around, and I’d rather not be here for the next one.” Her teasing smile faded abruptly. “Then, you’ll show me what’s in the box that’s got you so weirded out, and we’ll go.” She turned, heading left. “I’ll be in the gnomes.”
Nothing much got past Abby, as Thia was coming to know. It made her a fantastic assistant manager and, sometimes, an overly perceptive friend.
Once inside the office, she attacked the box with a cutter. Several deep slices had the paper peeling away from a cardboard shell that had been crafted from a shoebox lid and another astonishing amount of tape.
There was a note folded and stuck to the top. The direction “Read First,” was embellished with several exclamation points and underlines.
“Okay, Lettie.” She smiled, detaching the paper, and prepared to read the usual ramblings about weather and innocuous activities—things like scouring a local artisan’s market or finding a new jewelry supplier.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
Hello, Dearest. I hope this missive finds you well. It had been my intention to go with you to retrieve this parcel from the Postmaster and thus reclaim both it and the responsibility it brings. If you are reading these words without me, it signifies a great calamity has occurred, and I am so very, very sorry. Everything falls to you now.
There are those who would do anything to possess what I hereby place in your care. They must not get it. At all costs, Thia, my dear. At all costs. Legend calls it the Stone of Shadows, though its true name has been lost to time. It is a relic of the Cailleach and holds much of her power. Outside of a ritual, that power cannot escape—nor can it be detected if wrapped, as I have done, in specially charmed cloth. Tell no one what you have. Tell no one I have contacted you.
There is so no time now to explain. I am still hopeful that I can