The Darkest Midnight. R. A. Finley

unlocking of which (along with the main door downstairs) was something Thia had recently taken upon herself. It helped her to understand that she did, in fact, own what she feared would always feel like Lettie’s pride and joy.

      Hugging the rail to make way for the people beelining up the stairs to the café, she reconsidered her word choice. Fear wasn’t right, since the alternative would be to lose even more of her great-aunt than she already had. She didn’t want that, yet she couldn’t feel like a stand-in forever, either. She’d inherited Eclectica along with most of Lettie’s investments and possessions, which included the Granite Springs house and one in London that she had no idea what to do with. Her memories of it, and of the city in general, were not what she had hoped they’d be when she’d set out.

      She knew what she wanted to do with Eclectica, at least. She wanted to make it a continued success. It was already popular both in Granite Springs and, increasingly, online. But it was also, in many ways, like a living thing and therefore not meant to remain unchanged. It couldn’t be a shrine to Lettie, with Lettie’s original decisions cast in stone. If it did, Thia had come to realize, then that stone would become Eclectica’s grave marker. The store needed to stay vibrant, to shift with the combined will of its customers and owner both, or it would atrophy and eventually die.

      That was where the fear came in. Or, considering the rest of what Thia had to deal with, maybe it only ranked as “relatively moderate apprehension.” Dealing with the power she carried, knowing it was only a matter of time before Cassie sought revenge for the deaths of her twin brother and sorcerer father were far scarier prospects than decisions such as which wholesaler to use for Tara Water or whether to stop stocking crystal orbs now that she knew what they could be used for.

      “Good morning, Lynette,” she said in passing at the bottom of the stairs and then waved at the customers the clerk was on her way to help. The Winslows. Mother and daughter, they co-owned the Bed and Breakfast across the alley. Both smiled, waved back.

      “More ornaments?” Thia was surprised—but pleasantly so. The week before, they had bought the entire stock of glass pickles.

      “We like to put one in each room for guests to take with them,” said Jeanine, the daughter. “Thanks for getting more in so quickly. We really appreciate it.”

      Thia felt another twinge of guilt. She’d had nothing to do with the quick reorder. “I’ll let Abby know.”

      Newly promoted to manager (by none other than Thia) and already used to handling such things for the frequently absent Lettie, Abby had been well within her job expectations. But shouldn’t Thia have had some part in it? Or would that be micromanaging?

      Dammit. Was she going to second-guess herself with everything? She pulled off her scarf, removed her coat on the way to Lettie’s—to her office, and nearly knocked a menorah from the special Hanukkah display. For as much floor space as the building allowed, the winter holidays took up a great deal more than usual. It was beautiful though, in all its cross-cultural, chaotic glory. Heavily decorated trees (artificial, but who could tell under it all), lights wrapped around or draped over every cabinet and shelf, colorful items that ranged from nutcrackers to wreaths to chocolate-filled advent calendars crowded every surface. And the scents. Thia inhaled deeply.

      Previously, the store had held a pleasant aroma of fresh-ground coffee from upstairs and herbs from the well-stocked shelves along the back wall. But winter had brought the wonderful, overriding scents of pine boughs, and pomanders of oranges and cloves.

      After setting her things in the office, she went to the counter—or more accurately, counters. Six of them, arranged to form a hexagon in the approximate center of the main floor. After a few close calls with last-minute rushes of customers who needed to get to their afternoon plays at the Shakespeare Festival, it was one of the changes Thia had felt necessary, and a logical expansion of the existing set-up—something Lettie would have undoubtedly approved of had she been able. Along with the increased efficiency brought by multiple cash registers, the glass fronts and interior shelves allowed for more easily-accessed yet easily-secured display space.

      Within the configuration, Abby was restocking an arrangement of delicately crafted fairies: Colorful, whimsical creations that Thia had come to understand had little-to-nothing to do with the reality they supposedly represented. Most fairies were not fragile, harmless-looking things. Quite the contrary. Most fairies—or rather, Sidhe—were the stuff of nightmares.

      In fact, Thia wasn’t sure that even these (should these porcelain and silk versions prove true to life) would turn out to be as harmless as they appeared.

      Appearances, she’d learned all too well, were deceiving.

      Thia handed Abby a fairy from the array. “I’m sorry you had to open without me.”

      Her friend shot her a concerned look before she looped the fairy’s ribbon over a waiting twig on the display—a large branch stripped of its leaves and set in a sand-filled vase. The fragile creature swayed, the gauzy strips of its costume fluttering gently. “Everything all right?”

      “I made a mess of the garage again.”

      “The door?” Abby got onto the step ladder, held out her hand for another fairy. Thia chose a brunette with lavender wings and tiny wire-frame glasses.

      “Survived.” She steadied the branch while Abby worked with the uppermost twigs. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, I really don’t. I’m never going to get this.”

      Abby stepped down, collapsed the ladder. Her unruly hair had slipped mostly free of its clip. With one hand, she swept the dark curls out of her face. “Nonsense. These things take time. And you’ve been given a shitload of power to deal with all at once. You can’t just expect to be thrown in the deep end of the pool one morning and swim laps by the end of the day.”

      “It’s been weeks. Six weeks, to be exact, and I can’t even lift a stupid garage door.”

      “But you haven’t made anything fly off the shelves here in at least a week.” Abby’s small smile held something Thia hoped wasn’t pity. It probably would be after her next words.

      “Not here, no.”

      Thia had been wrong. Alarm, not pity, dominated Abby’s expression. “Where?”

      “This morning. The garage.” Thia performed her best “no big deal” shrug. “That’s when I lost control of the door. Last night it was the kitchen. I’m not trying stuff at home anymore.” She wadded up the tissue that the fairies had been wrapped in and chucked it into the wastebasket under the counter. “Not by myself, anyway.”

      “I’ve got time after work tonight. How about we go to dinner, do some exercises after?”

      It was an offer Thia knew she should take. But knowing and wanting were two different things. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

      “If you’re worried about damage, we could do it at my place. There’s not much to break in the drying shed.”

      Maybe not much property, but what about people? They could be broken just as easily. Sweat dampened her palms. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

      “Come on, it’ll be fun.” Abby took up the stepladder in both hands and, on her way by, playfully jostled her elbow into Thia. “I’ll see if Kendra can come, make it a night out. There’s no way anything can go wrong with both of us there with you. Come on.” Her face lost its smile. “You need to do this. It won’t be safe for you until you can—”

      “—control the power, I know. Believe me, I know. It won’t be safe for any of us.” Because a powerful, vindictive woman wouldn’t hesitate to use Thia’s love for her friends against her.

      That night in the Ring, Thia had killed Cassie’s brother and contributed to the death of Cassie’s father. It didn’t matter that the former had been unintentional or that neither would have happened if the man hadn’t