Goddess of Spring (Goddess Summoning #2)(4)

And what would Anton and Dolores do? The two had been working for her for ten and fifteen years. She knew it was a cliche, but they were more than employees; they were family to her, especial y since she had no children of her own.

Lina sighed again, and then she inhaled deeply. Despite the horrors of the day, her lips curved up. Pinyon smoke drifted through the BMW's partial y rol ed down windows. She was passing Grumpy's Garden, the little shop that signaled the beginning of the Cherry Street District, and, as usual, "Grumpy," who was actual y a very nice lady named Shaun and not grumpy at al , had several of her huge chimeneas perpetual y burning, perfuming the neighborhood with the distinctive smel of southwest pine.

She felt the knot in her stomach loosen as she downshifted and slowed her car, careful of the pedestrians crossing the streets while they moved back and forth from antique shops, to new-age bookstores, to posh interior de-sign studios and unique restaurants. And final y, in the heart of the street, nestled between a trendy little spa and a vintage jewelry store, sat Pani Del Goddess. As usual, there were few parking spaces available on the street, and Lina turned into the al ey to park in one of the reserved spaces behind her building. She had barely stepped out of her car when she felt an al too familiar tug at her mind. The feeling was always the same, though it varied in degree and intensity. Today it was like someone far away had spoken her name, and the wind had carried the echo of the sound to her mind without having to reach her ears first. She closed her eyes. She real y didn't have time for this... not today.

Almost instantly Lina regretted the thought. Mental y she shook herself. No, she wouldn't let financial troubles change who she was - and part of who she was, was this. It was her gift. Glancing around her, Lina peered into the shadows at the edges of the building.

"Where are you, little one?" she coaxed. Then she focused her mind and a vague image came to her. Lina smiled. "Come on, kitty, kitty, kitty," she cal ed. "I know you're there. You don't have to be afraid."

With a pathetic mew, a skinny orange tabby stepped hesitantly from behind the garbage receptacle.

"Wel , look at you. You're nothing more than a delicate flower. Come here, baby girl. Everything wil be fine now."

Mesmerized, the smal orange cat walked straight into Lina's outstretched arms. Ignoring what the cat's matted, dirty fur could do to her very clean, very expensive silk suit, Lina cuddled the mangy animal. Staring up at her rescuer, eyes fil ed with adoration, the cat rewarded Lina with thunderous purring.

Lina could not remember a time when she hadn't felt a special affinity for animals. As a smal child, she had only to sit quietly in her backyard and soon she would be visited by rabbits and squirrels and even nervous little field mice. Dogs and cats loved her. Horses fol owed her like giant puppies. Even cows, who Lina knew had big, mushy brains, lowed lovingly at her if she got too close to where they pastured. Animals had always adored her, but it hadn't been until Lina had become a teenager that she had real y realized the extent of her gift.

She could understand animals. Sort of. She wasn't Dr. Doolittle or anything ridiculous like that; she couldn't carry on conversations with animals. She liked to think of herself as if she were a horse whisperer, only her abilities weren't limited to horses. And she had an extra "thing" that most people didn't have. Sometimes the "thing" told her that there was a cat that needed her help. The

"thing" was something that went off in her mind, like a connection she could plug into. She knew it was weird.

For a brief time in high school she had considered becoming a veterinarian. She'd even volunteered at a veterinary clinic during the summer between her sophomore and junior years - a summer that had taught her that while blood and parasites were definitely not a part of her special animal "thing," they certainly were two things that were a consistent part of veterinarian work. Just remembering it made Lina shudder in revulsion and want to scratch her scalp.

"In a bakery, you never, ever have to deal with blood or parasites," she told the little orange cat as she stepped out of the al ey, turned left and inhaled deeply.

" Magnifico," she murmured in her grandmother's voice. The enticing aroma of freshly baked bread soothed her senses. She sniffed appreciatively, expertly identifying the subtle differences in the fragrance of olives, rosemary and cheese, wedded to the sweet smel s of the butter, cinnamon, nuts, raisins and the liqueurs that went into the creation of the bakery's specialty bread, gubana, which was the sweetbread of Friuli, a smal region east of Venice.

Lina paused in front of the large glass window that fronted her bakery. She nodded appreciatively at the beautiful y arranged crystal platters that were displayed on tiers and fil ed with a fresh assortment of Italian pastries and cookies. Pride fil ed Lina. As always, everything was perfect. She glanced beyond the window display to see that about hah? of the dozen little mosaic-topped cafe tables were occupied. Not bad, she thought, for late Friday afternoon. She shifted the cat in her arms and checked her watch. It was almost 4:00 p.m. and they closed at 5:00 P.M.; usual y the hour or so before closing was a quiet, winding-down time.

Maybe that was one answer. Maybe she should extend her hours. But wouldn't she have to hire more help then? Anton and Dolores already worked full-time shifts, and Lina herself was rarely absent from the bakery. Wouldn't the additional cost of another employee cancel out any revenue generated by staying open longer?