Puck: 1-9 by S. G. Ricketts (top young adult novels .TXT) 📕

I frowned, staring up at him. 5 foot 3 was a significant disadvantage. Still, he had my attention. Joe had never seriously yelled at me before. I bit my lip. “No? Nor do I have any idea what you’re talking about.”

He wrapped me in a hug. My confusion increased tenfold. What the hell was going on? First yelling, then hugging? “Poor sweet innocent Rebekkah. Just stay this way, okay, Beks? Stay completely oblivious to near-death experiences, and maybe I can get you out of this alive.”

I poked his stomach, irritated. “Whpfh mpfh ynpfh bmpfhmpfh mphf?” I demanded.

Joe loosened his hold, a dry laugh escaping. “Try that on me again, babe. Didn’t catch it the first time.”

I glowered at his v-neck shift. “Why are you babying me? Who had a near-death experience last night? I don’t remember nearly dying.”

He grew serious again. “Do you mind closing up Roasters for a bit?” He glanced at his watch. “It’s 7:37. No one comes in at 7:37, right?” He didn’t sound convinced, but looked determined enough to stop me. “And you did want my help.”

I looked from him to the door. It was pretty still outside, and there was another coffee shop half a block away. No one would die for my not being open. Still… My heart cried out for all the lost dollars and nickels and pennies. One look at Joe cracked my own greed. “Fine,” I said, taking off my apron and tossing it on his stool. “But just 30 minutes. Days like this are our busiest. You know that.”

He nodded with relief, but his face still looked pinched. “Good. Let’s go sit down.” He didn’t bother to wait for me, just grabbed his coffee (made just after he arrived) and walked to one of the couches. He flipped the “Open” sign off as he passed and locked the door.

“Good grief, Joe. What is this, a secret meeting or something?” I teased, grabbing my own cup. “I know you’re big on ghosts and stuff, but I seriously don’t see how last night and a little fairytale add up to me nearly dying.”

He waited for me to sit down. “How long have you known me, Beks?”

I rolled my eyes and set the mug down with a thump. “Seriously. What’s with the dumb questions all of a sudden? First him, now you. I’ve known you since middle school. Nearly 14 years.”

He leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him. “How long have I been obsessed with this ‘weird stuff?’”

I leaned back in my chair, not liking this train of conversation. “Years. Why?”

He dropped his head in sudden exasperation. “No wonder you weren’t in any threat last night. You’re completely useless when it comes to questioning.”

“Actually, no,” I corrected. “James – I mean, Puck – said I wasn’t in any danger because he didn’t have any business with me. At least, not yet.” I swallowed as I remembered those words and the look that had gone with it. Had I really been in danger? I tried to remember. James-Puck hadn’t seemed at all dangerous, at least not to me. He seemed bitter and resentful, sure. Extremely tasty and a little angsty, yeah. But not dangerous. Not… Not really.

Joe, apparently, thought differently. “Oh sweet baby Jesus, Beks! He said he’d be back?”

“He liked the coffee,” I said indignantly.

He rolled his eyes. “Sure, and I like boobs.”

I felt the heat rise to my face. “Will you get to the point? Three people have already come past wanting my amazing coffee.”

He rolled his eyes again. Seriously, this guy and his eye rolling. “One person has come passed, and I was trying to. You just keep dropping these lovely little bombs all over the place.” He groaned and took a deep swallow of coffee. “You better thank your lucky stars you have me, hun.” I waited. He sighed. “They’re real, the ghosts and crap. But not like you think of them. They’re not ‘lost spirits of the dead’ or anything like that. They’re…the Fae.” He shrugged helplessly.

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Really, Joe. The Fae? Like those books with the white and dark sides, with fairies and goblins and pixies and stuff?” I shook my head and went to stand. “This is ridiculous. I have work to do. It’s not easy running this place, and this isn’t helping.”

He grabbed my wrist and pulled. Off-balance, I sank back into the chair. “Just… hear me out, ok?” He looked so earnest, hair spiked up and green eyes wide. I gave a reluctant nod. Joe sighed in relief. “All this business about ghosts and vampires and werewolves, it’s all made up. By the Fae. See, it’s much easier to explain what they do through myths than actually believe the reality. The Celtics and the more primitive people have it right, though. They’re out there, the Fae, and they aren’t the pretty things you insist on dressing up as for Halloween.”

“I don’t have a lot of options with my height. I got tired of hearing why I wasn’t a fairy,” I huffed. “And really?” I’d known Joe a long time. He wasn’t the conspiracy theory type. 1D and Michael Buble, definitely. Supernatural conspiracy theorist, not so much. I licked suddenly dry lips. “How do you know?”

He looked away. “You never met my dad. He left before we moved here, but a few years back I found a bunch of his stuff in the attic. A bunch of pictures and videos and recordings. There were police records and hospital records and coroner’s reports.” He shuddered, wrapping his hands tighter around his cup, even though I knew it was cold. “Beks, they’re real. All of it. The missing kids aren’t always taken by pedophiles. The wives' drownings aren’t always murders, at least not by who we think they’re from. The creaking in the night, the howling of the wind, it’s not all natural.” I shivered. “After I saw that stuff of my dad’s, I started seeing some of them out of the corner of my eye. Normal people, but they had something behind them, like a… a…” He groped for a word to describe it.

“Like a heat mirage.”

He snapped his fingers. “Exactly.” He sighed. “I knew you’d seen it. Honestly, I’m surprised it took you so long.”

“Why?” He snorted. “I swear to God, Joe, roll your eyes again and I’ll fire you for insubordination.”

He gave a small grin, carefully keeping his eyes level. “And leave yourself without any friends?”

“I have Mittens,” I grumbled.

His face fell again. “Exactly,” he repeated. Confused, I waited to hear more. What about my cat could seriously have set him off? Did he think I was that hopeless? I sat back. I suppose my life really was pretty bleak. I had a gay guy and a cat as my companions of choice. He broke into my mental pity party. “Mittens is not completely what you think he is.”

I snorted. “And what is he then?” I took a massive swallow of lukewarm liquid, steeling myself for whatever weirdness was about to come out of Joe’s mouth. “Is he a shape-shifting fairy now?”

Joe ignored my sarcasm. “He’s a Dinnshenchas.” He pronounced it Din-sheen-k'has, with the air of someone in awe. “He’s a protector fairy, and yeah, he’s a shapeshifter. You got him right after that whole thing with Ben, right?” I nodded dumbly. “And you told me once that you swear he listens to you.”

I crossed my arms, unnerved. “Don’t all cats? Honestly, if that’s all you’ve got—”

“And he keeps bringing you birds, right? Sleeps at the foot of your bed. Attacks imaginary things on the wall. Doesn’t like storms?” My hands grew colder with every word. “The birds aren’t just birds, Beks. And he’s protecting you at night. He can see things you can’t, which is why he jumps at the wall.”

“And the storms?” I looked anywhere but at Joe. The sunlight was steadily spreading across the floor, I realized. I’d need to wrap this up. “Are the storms because he can’t hear, so he panics?”

Joe smiled slowly. “No, he just doesn’t like storms. That one’s just his little quirk.”

I stared at the sun-covered floor. “So my cat’s a shape-shifter and I met a fairy last night. Fabulous. Anything else I should know before I go into freak-out mode?” Joe paused. “Joseph Albert Ramone. Tell me.”

He stared at his palms, then up at me. “Promise me you won’t let Puck get in here anymore.”

I shook my head. Just thinking about him made me want to see him again. “You know I can’t turn away a customer.”

“Rebekkah.” He ran his hand through his hair again, looking more and more like a porcupine. “I don’t know why I even try. Look, Puck is the worst of my father’s cases. All the star-crossed lovers, all the jealous rage-killings, all the abuse stories, every single one had some piece left that connected them.”

I finally stood, taking my cold cup of coffee with me. It’d been long enough. “Like what, Joe? I mean, seriously, did he leave behind a calling card?”

Joe stood as well but didn’t move to follow me. “There’s always a bottle of cologne. Some foreign-made brand that no one can find. It smells like jasmine and pansies. You know, the flower Puck uses in A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

I flicked the “Open” sign back on and unlocked the door, careful not to let Joe see my hands shake. So that was the mystery smell from last night. My palms were slick against the mug as I moved behind the counter. “I guess that is a pretty obvious calling card. Seems dumb to leave it.”

Joe shrugged, watching me. I kept my head down, not wanting to meet his eyes. “My dad thought it was penance. Kind of like he hoped to get caught.” He paused to dump out his cup. “I don’t care how gorgeous he is, Beks. He’s trouble. And you know what’s worse? Martha smelled like jasmine when she came outside last night.”

The bottom of my stomach fell out. “Tonight, I have a different couple I must separate.” Good lord, I really had met the real Puck. And he’d promised to come back.

I left Roasters around 4, with Joe’s eyes following me out the back and all the way to my car. Grumbling, I tightened the scarf around my neck and dug for my keys. “Dunno what he’s so worried about,” I muttered to myself. Still, my stomach was coiled in knots. Part of me was just as terrified as Joe seemed to be. After all, hadn’t my friend from last night destroyed Martha’s engagement? I dug deeper into my purse, cursing the big purse fashion. The things were bedazzled black holes, that was it. My fingers brushed over cool metal and I crowed triumphantly, sliding the key into the lock. Snow crumpled off the roof and into my sleeve. Grumbling some more, I slid into the freezing shell of my car.

The engine rumbled to life, radio blaring the latest country hits and the vents blasting freezing air. “Shit!” I flicked it off, content to sit shivering