Chapter 8
LEO’S NOTES
Place: Angel Antiques in Hamilton, MA
Favorite illustrations: Yellow fish scales woven into wreaths of wheat and hydrangea.
Granite pebbles decorated with the wings of bees and moths.
Corked vials filled with forest moss, bracken, and dew drops.
Misc: Why do these magical illustrations remind me of Pandora?
Leo paused on the sidewalk outside Deja’s shop, still reeling from Pan’s reaction to his innocent suggestion.
He’d only been halfway serious! What kind of faerie-kin didn’t want a gift?
He’d spent every Christmas morning with Pan for the first fifteen years of their lives; he knew how she felt about presents.
It had been dumb to say it aloud, though on the other hand, Pan was glorious in her temper.
Her face flushed, her eyes shone, her outrage became palpable.
He shook his head in rueful admiration and gazed at the stores and restaurants lining the island’s single Main Street.
In the morning breeze, tiny flags fluttered from the eaves of the barbershop, wind chimes tinkled above carved talismans, and magical knots of seagrass nestled in flower boxes.
He smiled to himself, enjoying the signs that faerie-kin were trying to promote the village’s peace and prosperity.
His smile faltered when he caught sight of the cat tracks in the concrete sidewalk.
As a child, he’d pointed to them and asked who’d made that charm.
From his mother’s reaction—and his father’s—he’d realized that she hadn’t understood what he’d meant.
A laugh sounded from Deja’s shop behind him, so apparently Pan had cooled off.
He’d always envied her closeness with her friends.
The entire Shrigley family was loud, outrageous, and entertaining.
Then there was Gabe. Leo liked Gabe—and admired his chill.
He’d been physically precocious so everyone assumed he’d find his magic early, but he must be getting worried.
Leo couldn’t imagine having to face the fact that it would never happen.
Among their cohort, only Gabe and Pandora were still ungifted.
Ungifted. Hm. Not a great word.
Pan had always shone so brightly. The literal girl next door. Dames, he’d been head over heels for her. Puppy love was a strong drug. It never occurred to him that she wouldn’t eventually come into her gift.
He wondered if she was telling Deja and Shrig about the kiss, their first kiss in more than a decade.
He wondered if she also kept thinking about the way her legs fit around his body, the way their mouths slotted together like pieces of a puzzle.
And she’d just made it worse this morning: every time he closed his eyes, he saw her pink tongue licking up cream cheese.
He didn’t understand his reaction to her in the boathouse.
Leo was controlling about everything, especially sex.
He’d never been that spontaneous with anyone.
He also didn’t understand the flush of anger in her cheeks and neck when he mentioned her gift. Surely, she wanted to do anything possible to make it happen this summer. Could she really not want a gift?
Leo popped one of his new pills, waited for an electric golf cart full of tourists to pass, then crossed the street.
He sidestepped the people waiting in line at the shop that rented boats on the docks, then walked up the grassy hill with the benches overlooking the harbor, full of day-trippers taking in the view.
The town library was perched at the top.
The library had been the grand home of one of Beane Isle’s founders.
The top floor was a series of warren-y rooms with bookshelves holding the non-fiction collection.
The middle floor had a reading room, along with newspapers and magazines and comfortable chairs facing windows with views of the village and harbor.
The central space on the bottom floor featured new books, contemporary fiction, and mystery novels, while small parlors were stocked with classics, sci-fi, and romance.
Cookbooks, naturally, were in the old kitchen.
Leo paused at the bookcase inside the front door, which was mostly intended for tourists. There was no check-out for the former bestsellers and paperbacks, just a swapping system. So maybe a tourist had tucked a tattered first edition of Peter Rabbit—worth $79,000—in the bin?
Leo waited a moment for his senses to kick in, but nothing happened. Not the slightest itch. He didn’t feel anything, which confused him until he remembered he’d just taken one of Deja’s pills. So of course he didn’t feel anything.
He pushed through the double doors then lingered near the New Books, waiting for Albert to finish hand-picking novels for one of the summer residents.
That was Albert’s gift, to intuit which emotions people wanted to experience.
Romance, wonder, tragedy, art, smut… Albert always knew.
Despite having no knowledge of gifts, Leo’s mom had once said that Albert could’ve been an outstanding therapist. But Leo had always found Albert a little too creepy for that.
Albert greeted him with a stiff bow and intoned, “How are you this fine morning?”
“I’m good,” Leo said. “Happy to be home.”
“Your normal mother called to say you’d come to catalog the new donations.”
“You mean my mother,” he said, because what the fuck?
“Yes,” Albert said.
Leo took a breath. “Fine. I’ll sort through for anything valuable. See if we can earn the library some money.”
“This way,” Albert nodded, then stalked away like Dracula’s butler.
Leo followed along, noticing that Albert’s brown shirt and pants hung on him like a scarecrow.
He considered asking after Albert’s health, but he didn’t care.
Plus, he’d probably just gravely recommend a book about etiquette.
Not that Albert knew anything about being polite; he’d always treated Leo’s mom with the distaste he reserved for normals. Even faerie-kin could be jerks.
Albert led him upstairs via the back staircase. The steps creaked and Leo’s fingers tingled despite the pill he’d taken. So maybe his gift was pointing him to the library. Either he was getting very close to the book he needed, or he needed that book very much.
“I’ve stored the donated items here.” Albert gestured to a storage closet at the top of the stairs. “You’re welcome to use the table in the main room.”
Leo frowned at the piles of cardboard boxes, each one crammed with books, and cursed his parents for volunteering him. He’d waste days cataloging all this—for free—instead of looking for the book he needed to find.
“Take as long as you wish,” Albert told him. “I’ll leave you to it.”
After he left, Leo glanced through the window at the ocean sparkling in the sunshine.
He loved his gift. He loved the hunt—if not the itchiness—and he adored rare books, the stories they contained and the stories they embodied.
He’d wanted to go rowing today, though. He found himself wanting to glide over the water without any worries in the world.
The tingling in his fingers never lied, so the book he needed was probably in the library somewhere. Except trailing his hands across the boxes didn’t narrow things down.
He’d have to check every book, not just in these boxes but in the entire building. Fair enough. He’d once spent eight days looking for an early Mark Twain and instead had unearthed a collection of signed Thomas Edison patents.
He smiled at the memory, then carried the first box to the table in the main room. He cracked his knuckles, opened the top and found a collection of sheet music. Huh. Not his specialty, but you never knew about inserts and marginal notes, which could increase the value.
By mid-afternoon he’d gone through a quarter of the boxes and hadn’t gotten any closer to the book which made his fingers tingle.
Fully half the collection was music—someone in Gabe’s family must’ve played piano.
There were loads of concertos and sonatas.
Leo didn’t handle much music. He’d sold a few original William Billings—America’s first professional composer—and he’d unearthed the occasional jazz piece of historical import.
He usually left those to Americana dealers, though.
He wondered if any of the sheet music was useable by people on the island. Contrary to the preferences of most antiquarian collectors, a book in mint condition broke Leo’s heart a little, like a toy still in its package. So he considered asking Carla at the music store if she could use any of this.
Then he thought of Pandora.
Ignoring, for a moment, the kiss—as if that were possible—he’d been surprised by his pleasure at seeing her. He’d even enjoyed her yelling at him. He’d forgotten that feeling of pointless happiness he’d always felt around her.
When Leo left the library an hour later, he told Albert, “We need a music specialist. What about Pandora Voss?”
Albert considered. “She still has not discovered her gift?”
“Not yet.”
“A pity. I had hoped she’d find her worth.”
“Normals aren’t worthless,” Leo snapped. “They’re just normal.”
“Invite her,” Albert intoned. “If you think her presence is necessary.”
“Y’know,” Leo said, “I kind of do.”