Page 18 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind
“How’s it going?” I ask Mel, who’s still shuffling around in her apron.
“Good,” she says easily. “Just got another batch of muffins in.” She glances over the counter at Soren and Carmina, her gaze darting back and forth between them. Then she looks at me. “Want me to bake some hot sauce into the next batch and give it to them?”
I laugh, something that makes Soren’s head lift. He turns in his seat, looking at me. “Tempting,” I say, pulling my eyes away from him.
“What’s tempting—Soren or the hot sauce idea?” Mel says with a smile.
I roll my eyes. “The hot sauce.”
“Because Gemma says you and Mr. Mackenzie came down from your flat together this morning—”
“How did she manage to tell you that already?” I say, outraged. “She’s been up at the book counter.”
“She told me when I first got here,” Mel says with a wide smile.
Of course she did. I hope Gemma didn’t say anything about my missing memories; I’m not sure what to tell people yet.
“Well, I’ll keep the hot sauce offer in mind,” I say. “We might need it.”
Mel shrugs, still smiling, and she has the tact not to push about Soren. “I’ll be ready,” she says.
“I know who to call, then,” I say, and I can’t help returning her smile, even if I know I’ll never put hot sauce in Carmina’s food.
Soren’s, on the other hand…
I’m not writing the idea off completely.
The display case I’m leaning against gives off a nice glow of warmth, and it would be nice if I could linger here for a while, but I can’t. So I straighten up and then say, “Okay, I’m heading back over to the books. Let me know if you need help with anything.”
Mel nods. “Will do,” she says. “I should be fine, though—”
But she breaks off when a strange sound drifts over from the tables, a horrible, eerie gasping noise that sends shivers down my spine.
Where’s it coming from?
I round the counter, my head jerking this way and that as I search for the source of the sound, until my eyes land—on Carmina Hildegarde.
I’m not the only one who hears it; there are only three or four people eating here, but every one of them glances at the old woman. Several look away again, only to turn back when Carmina makes that same noise again.
“Carmina?” I say as I rush over to her. “Carmina? Carmina!” I kneel down beside her chair, looking up at her. “What’s wrong?”
She doubles over, her bony arms wrapped around her middle.
“Carmina,” I say again. “Talk to me.”
And for a few eternal seconds, her bulging eyes just stare at me.
“Find—” she rasps then, a desperate, scary sound. “Pick—”
“Pick?” I repeat. “Pick what? What should I pick?” My words are rushed, half-coherent at best. But when Carmina’s eyes lock on mine, I know her next words are meant for me.
“Lock…” she says, and her voice is thinner now. “Lock…”
“Pick? Lock? Pick a lock?” I say wildly, as though the answer to this question can stop the life from leaving her eyes, can stop the little trickle of blood that’s dribbling out of the corner of her lips. I’m dimly aware of growing chaos in the background, but I keep my eyes on Carmina. “Pick what lock, Carmina?What lock?” Then, speaking over my shoulder, I yell, “Somebody call an ambulance!”
“I just did,” comes Soren’s voice from directly behind me, hoarse and stilted.
I look up, and he bends over into my field of vision.
