Of Delicate Pieces by A. Lynden Rolland

infinite opportunities? No.”
    “What if we were in a more limited world?”
    “No.” The grin on his face felt stupidly wide, but he couldn’t help it and he didn’t care. “You keep life pretty interesting. And death, too.”
    She gritted her teeth. “Not intentionally. I can’t believe you brought up living arrangements after Brigitta, and you haven’t even let me see your room.”
    He liked the few moments of watching her sleep before she woke up and saw him. “I don’t want you to get into any trouble.”
    “My record is clean. How’s yours looking?” She rested an elbow on the bar, glancing behind it. “There might be a broom back there.”
    “Oh, I get it. You’re going to clean my record. Did you forget that you’re the reason it’s such a mess in the first place?”
    Alex’s face became serious. At first, Chase thought he’d offended her, but he followed her gaze to the window where there was now a group of spirits outside gawking through the hazy glass. Some seemed angry, shaking their heads and sneering. Others were curious, swaying from side to side to sneak a better peek at Alex. Many of them held papers in their hands.
    Stauffer’s Pub never attracted more than a handful of barflies, but Chase was so engrossed in Alex and their conversation that he hadn’t noticed the buzz. Each stool around the bar was filled. The tables crowded with spirits pretending to watch the prehistoric televisions mounted on the wall, but their attention crawled to the corner by the window, to them. How long until these barflies bit?
    What could make one person so fascinating that people would stalk them? The heat of his anger returned.
    “How did they know you were here?” he wondered aloud.
    “Skye mentioned something about a map.”
    “A what ?”
    “Do you need another drink?” a man on the other side of Alex asked in an accented voice. He extended his hand, reaching out for her with tattooed fingers.
    “Don’t touch her,” Chase warned.
    “Chase.”
    He pulled Alex closer to him, pressing his hands on either side of her waist.
    The guy held up his palms in defense. “No harm.”
    Even as he said it, he took a step closer, bringing his muddy colors with him. Muddy wasn’t good. This guy couldn’t decide what he wanted to do here.
    Stauffer watched them while slowly scrubbing the bar with a rag. He turned to glare at the musty window where the dust rose like ashes and clouded the view.
    “There’s a back door, yeh know,” he whispered. “Leads out to Gramble Street.”
    Alex looked from Stauffer to the window, and then back to Stauffer in surprise. “We don’t have to leave.”
    A girl climbed off her barstool and hurried over to them, shoving an envelope in Alex’s face. “I was wondering if you might be able to tell me about my grandchildren. Their pictures are here.”
    Alex stumbled over a response, visibly confused, but Chase understood. If people thought she was Sephi, she’d be able to give them answers to impossible questions.
    Chase’s heart pounded. Curious people were one thing, but curious was one step away from crazy. Alex reached out and placed her open palm over his heart once again to still his racing pulse, but her touch was more like a zap of electricity.
    The window beside them exploded and shattered glass fell like rain. Chase worried that his panic had caused a reaction until a brick thudded on the ground at their feet. Chase cursed and pushed Alex into motion.
    “Let’s get out of here.”
    He kept her in his sight, trailing behind her as they walked to the back of the bar where Stauffer waited to show them out to safety. One word drifted around the room, spoken in different voices. Chase’s mind shuffled like a deck of cards, as the word bounced from wall to wall, slamming itself against the confines of his memory. Havilah. That’s what they were all talking about.
    Havilah. It was a Parrish family.
    Why the hell would they know that name here?

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