The Suburban Strange by Nathan Kotecki Page B

Mariette have anything to do with it? Should she confront Mariette? Or should she try to protect her if someone else became suspicious of her? Did Celia have any real ability to protect her, even if she wanted to?
    That night at the front desk at the bookstore Celia halfheartedly thumbed through books on witchcraft, hoping to clarify anything at all. Lippa’s two friends arrived, and as they passed the front desk the three of them noticed Celia’s choice of reading material.
    “Are you interested in the occult?” Lippa asked while her friends looked on.
    Celia thought of a plausible answer. “Not really. I have a friend who is, and I was just curious. Are you?”
    “In a roundabout way, we are. We are conspiracy theorists,” Lippa said, sharing a smile with her friends. “We like to study all those stories about things that aren’t easily explained: the occult, hermetism, alchemy. Fascinating, aren’t they?”
    Celia thought Lippa could join the Rosary, if she was going to rattle off mysterious lists like that. “I really don’t know much about those things.”
    “You should join the Troika.” Lippa gestured at herself and her two friends, who peered around her at Celia, their faces crinkling into curious smiles. “We like to read about them.”
    “The Troika?”
    “Every group has to have a name, doesn’t it? C’mon, ladies, I have the tea on in back. Let us know if you’re interested, Celia.” Lippa took her friends back to her office.
    Celia opened an encyclopedia of Wicca, but she was distracted by what Lippa had said. The Troika studied things like witchcraft, but did that mean they believed it was real? Might Lippa be able to help her figure out Mariette? She heard the bookstore door open again, and Celia closed the book. A tall man dressed in black was entering, and her heart turned over in her chest. It was the Leopard. He noticed her immediately and came up to the counter.
    “Hi,” he said. In the dim store he looked exactly as he did at Diaboliques. It felt as if he carried some of the darkness of the club into the bookstore with him.
    “Hi,” she said, setting aside the book, feeling nervous, hoping she wouldn’t sound nervous, trying to keep her thoughts from running off in all directions.
    “I wondered if I’d ever get to speak to you.” His voice was a little deeper than she’d expected, and he pronounced his words carefully, as though he didn’t speak very often.
    “Really?” Now that he was only a few feet from her, the counter separating them, he was bigger than she remembered. She looked up into his eyes and thought she saw sparks among the gray of his irises.
    “Maybe not. I’m Tomasi.” He offered his hand a little awkwardly.
    “I’m Celia.” His hand was smooth and warm around hers, and she felt herself blushing.
    “So, you work here? This is a great store.”
    “It is. I’ve only been here for a month or so.”
    “You like to read?”
    “I do, but I haven’t really read anything.”
    “I know how you feel. The more I read, the more I realize I’ve barely scratched the surface.” He looked around, and she was in agony about how stilted the conversation was.
    “All my friends say that, too. They’re all older, and they make references I don’t get. They mentioned a book called Boo Radley, but I can’t find it.”
    “He’s a character in To Kill a Mockingbird, ” Tomasi said, and she was grateful he didn’t care that she didn’t know. “That’s a great book.”
    “Now you’re finding out just how much I haven’t read,” Celia said, reddening again.
    “We’re young. We’ve barely begun to read,” he said, his voice warming. “We have our whole lives to read all this.” Celia thought he seemed both at home and uneasy there in the store. She felt it too. This place suddenly felt unfamiliar with him in it.
    “I guess. What do you like?”
    “My problem is I like everything,” Tomasi said. “I read something older, like Thomas Hardy, and I