Plus, the creature was talking to her.
Its voice was not coming as frequently, which she figured was due to the fact that no one had died at the crossroad in five days, but she still felt it thinking at her.
Fiji was glad she had several customers that morning, and that not a single one of them was suicidal. Fiji would have enjoyed closing the shop for lunch and walking down to Home Cookin, but she wasn’t ready to face Madonna.
Fiji had a strong feeling that Teacher would know why he had been stricken, and she was pretty sure he’d share that with his wife. If he did, Madonna was not the kind of woman to take an attack on her husband lying down. Madonna would find some way to retaliate, if she got the chance. Better, and safer, to eat canned soup and grilled cheese in her own kitchen . . . if only she’d had some soup. Her Piggly Wiggly trip had not been as comprehensive as she would have liked.
Feeling irritated with herself, and therefore the world, Fiji pulled on her jacket and walked over to Gas N Go. She had completely forgotten about the new manager until he looked up from his card game. Not tarot, she saw. Solitaire.
“Oh, hi, new guy,” she said. “I’m Fiji Cavanaugh, I live in the house with the Inquiring Mind sign in the front.” He was good-looking in a very stern and dark way, but she found she wasn’t afraid of him as she often was of overtly lovely people.
“Fiji,” he said, tilting his head courteously. “I’m Sylvester Ravenwing. Can I help you today?”
“I need soup,” she said.
“Second aisle, second shelf on the left,” he said, and went back to his game.
It was kind of pleasant to be left in peace. Teacher, in his interim stint as manager, had always been so glad to see someone that it had sometimes been hard to get out of the store, and Shawn Lovell had always been so eaten up by his worries that shopping had been something of an ordeal.
“So, you think you’ll be here for a while, Sylvester?” Fiji asked. She put the can of Campbell’s Bean and Ham on the counter.
“I do think so,” he answered. “This all you want?”
“Yep. See you.”
He nodded as graciously as Queen Elizabeth II and went back to his card game as soon as he’d handed over her change.
On her way home, Fiji realized that Midnight was able to have its own little rainbow. Madonna and Teacher and Grady were African American, Sylvester was Native American, and though Suzie hadn’t lived at the hotel for long, she had been born in Hong Kong. Midnight, crossroads of the world, she thought, and smiled to herself.
Back in her own warm kitchen, Fiji added some leftover vegetables to the soup as it was heating and got out her frying pan for the grilled cheese sandwich. She was so hungry she considered making two, and sliced extra cheese.
Fiji was surprised to hear a knock at her back door while the first sandwich was sizzling in the pan. She sighed heavily, to show the fates how reluctant she was, before she answered the door. “Olivia,” she said, trying to sound welcoming. “What can I do for you?”
“You can make me a grilled cheese sandwich,” Olivia said. “That smells great, Fiji. And while we eat, I have something to talk to you about.”
“Okay.” Fiji was mildly interested. She and Olivia were not bosom buddies, but Olivia was never boring. She popped another sandwich into the skillet. In a very few minutes, Olivia having declined any soup, they were sitting at the kitchen table together eating and talking.
“Lemuel has a new vampire buddy,” Olivia said, apropos of nothing.
It was easy for Fiji to see this was not a good thing, to Olivia. “I’m guessing you’re not crazy about this development?” she said.
“It’s a woman,” Olivia answered.
“Oh. Gotcha.” But after she thought about it longer, Fiji wasn’t sure she really did. “Surely you don’t think Lemuel is two-timing you?”
“No.” Olivia’s face was grim. “But she’s got something he needs, and he bought her from Joseph Velasquez.”
“What’s she got that Lemuel needs?”
“She can read Etruscan.”
“Well, shit. No way to compete with that.” Fiji was bewildered, but also amused.
Olivia laughed, a harsh sound. “Nope. Since I don’t think anyone left in the world except a few vampires can speak or read fluent Etruscan.”
“So why does Lemuel need an Etruscan speaker? Oh, wait. The travelogue, the one he’s been trying to translate . . . and it was taking him so long, right? That’s in Etruscan.”
Olivia nodded. “So until the book is translated, we’ve got little Miss Subservient living with us.”