Chapter Three
“Oh, Jaromar!” Mister Darren, the human librarian, calls out as I skulk to the back, hunting down my favorite reading spot. “I’m reorganizing that room. You can’t go in there today. Why don”t you sit at the window seat with Noey?”
My head whips around, lips tight to keep my chin from trembling. Sit with her?
“Come on, I’ll introduce you. She won’t bite.” He winks. “Too much.”
I gulp. He wants me to sit with Noelle. I know her. She’s in sixth grade like me, but we go to different schools. Also, like me, she’s here every day. I wondered at first if she was hiding out too but turns out her family likes books. The librarian is her uncle.
Lucky. She’s been pretty much surrounded by books her whole life.
And even though we’re both eleven years old, she’s totally different from me.
Sure, she has red hair, and I have red skin, but that’s about all we share. First, she’s a girl. Second, she’s a human. Then, there’s the talking. She talks a lot and to everyone. Young, old, fae, shifter, or demon, nobody makes her nervous. Noelle is always flitting around like a firefly. Every person or stray out-of-place book is another leaf to hop to.
As her uncle and I approach, the sun shines around her, making her red hair look like flames. Myths say that demon goddesses had hair of fire. Maybe that’s why I always find myself staring at her.
She sits so still in the window with her eyes down. I wonder if she’s sleeping. Then her lips move. The lollipop goes from one side of her mouth to the next. That’s the other thing about Noelle: she’s got a sweet tooth, whereas I prefer salty snacks.
See? Nothing in common. Total opposites. Why would she want to hang out with me? I’d rather hide out. Do my own thing.
A few weeks ago, when the semester started, I struck the jackpot. My after-school program got canceled, so I’ve been able to sneak into the library every day right after the bell rings. I have to remember to pry myself away with enough time to make it home for dinner though. My parents don’t know, and they’re not gonna know if I’m careful. They wouldn’t approve of me being here. I haven’t lied to them exactly. They just never asked.
And keeping this one tiny secret is the best thing to ever happen to me.
Every day after school, I have three hours to read whatever I want. I already know what my parents would say about my choices. Fiction, Jaromar? Focus on your practicals. Get your horns out of those adventure books. They have one dream in life: make a name for our family in the business world. They’ve struggled their whole lives to make it true. One small business after another fails, and now the pressure is on us, the kids, to succeed where they haven’t. All their extra money goes to putting us in the private demon school in town, focused solely on business training. None of that arts and crafts nonsense, my dad says.
“Noey, Jaromar needs a place to sit.” The librarian taps her on the shoulder. “Will you keep him company?”
She looks up from her book, blinking a few times at her uncle before turning her hazelnut eyes on me. Then she smiles. My face can’t help but respond. I smile back but when I feel the tug on my scar, I look away.
“Sit, sit.” She grabs my hand and pulls me forward so fast I almost trip. “It’s so comfortable here. My favorite spot that nobody knows about because it’s back in the maps section and maps are boring, I guess. Oh, that’s a shiny cover you’ve got. It must be new. What’re you reading? I’ve probably read it. I can tell you about all my favorite books.”
“Noey.” Mister Darren tips his head forward. I’d guess he’s annoyed, but his eyes are smiling. “Don’t talk his ear off now.”
Her lips tuck in on themselves and she makes a zipping motion, settling back onto her side of the window seat.
He looks at me and nods. “Let’s keep it quiet, kids.”
I nod several times. Fine by me. I have a hard time talking to anyone thanks to this terrible stutter. My Negotiation Framework and Daily Debate periods are torture at school. The doctors say it’s a brain injury but should get better over time.
A few months ago, my brothers and I wandered too far up the mountain, and I fell off a cliff. No joke. One wrong step and now I have a long, ugly gash down the side of my face, scars everywhere, a broken horn, and only half an ear. I was pretty messed up for a while. Still am, I guess. But the week I spent in the hospital also kind of changed my life. The nurses brought me books. They weren’t like the ones from school, though. These stories had kids going on all kinds of crazy quests, battling monsters and saving the world. Kids who made friends with all sorts of people.
I peek at Noelle once more before pulling my legs up to lay the book in the crook of my knees.
No matter how many times I try to read the story, I keep going over the same line again and again. It’s awkward that she’s sitting right next to me, so I glance over my cover. If she’s reading too, and I’m just being weird then—
Noelle’s staring at me with big eyes. She leans closer and looks to the side, where her uncle just left, then back at me with a whisper. “What’re you reading?”
I swallow and lift the book so she can see the spine.
“Eep!” She peeps. I almost laugh because she sounds just like my scarlet finch, Sirocco. “I read that one last week. I won’t give it away. I won’t. Unless you like spoilers, then I could—”
I shake my head.
“Right. Okay. Don’t mind me. I’ll be quiet.”
She bites her lip and settles back. She’s holding a smaller book. The cover is all blue with artwork of a horse running out of the waves.
“Th-that one’s s-s-sad.” I say, little more than a whisper, then cover my mouth. First words out of my mouth, and I’m spoiling the ending.
“It is,” she sighs. “It hurts my heart. But in the end, he gets to live in the ocean where he really belongs. It’s a good kind of hurt, don’t you think?”
I guess that’s true, but I don’t make any more words out, just shrug and push my glasses further up my nose. When I get back to reading, my mind finally focuses, and the pages fly by.
Three hours later, my watch chimes. Time to go. I get up and grab my school bag.
“Where are you now?” she asks.
I look at the spot I stuck a scrap of paper in to mark my place. “P-page 113.”
She laughs. “No, silly. In the story, where are you?”
“Oh. His grandma’s kitchen. She’s showing him how to make p-p-p-pasta.”
“Ahhh, you’ll have fun in the next chapter.” Her eyebrows waggle and it makes me laugh.
I nod and start to walk away.
“Bye, Jaromar.”
I look back and hug my book tighter, knowing I’ll have to shelve it before I leave, that I won’t see it, or her, until tomorrow. “It’s Rom. You can c-call me Rom.”
“Bye, Rom.” Her fingers wiggle, then her nose turns back into her book.
“Bye, Noelle.”
Time to set the stage.
I clap my hands. Sparks fly from my fingertips. Okay, cool it, Rom. We’re not trying to burn down the cabin. Nervous energy tends to make my fire powers go a little haywire, and I’ve got nerves to spare right now.
Noelle is on the way, and I might puke.
I know just what I need to distract myself from real life.
Books.
I grab an armload of them from my carry-on and head to the kitchen, dropping the stack on the coffee table along the way.
Old Ethel’s cabin is way nicer than I’d imagined. Mount Winter Bliss isn’t known for high quality real estate. The jagged slopes are filled with mostly ramshackle hunting cabins, but she’s made something really cozy here. Her property sits on the edge of a cliff, and the back deck has an incredible view of Teapot Lake and the much nicer BZB mountain on the other side of the valley.
The inside is a little dusty, but there are fresh linens in the hall closet and everything is tidy. It’s a one-bedroom place with an open concept living and dining area connected to a sunroom along one entire side wall. With all the plants spilling out of the bright room, it feels half cabin, half greenhouse. Judging by how verdant and lush the space is, the elder demoness must come up here often to tend to them.
The greenery is just what I need. I pluck a couple of roses, mindful of the thorns, as well as a few sprigs of some other nice-smelling herbs and place them on the coffee table.
Those will work great.
I unpack my suitcase and place the clothes in the top drawer of a dresser. The next one down has lots of lingerie, brand new with tags on. Oh no. Imagining Old Ethel in that is not something I had on my bingo card for today.
“Sharks in the deep sea. Trash collection. Typos in a great book.” I whisper unpleasant things as I shut that drawer, willing the image to vanish. The next one down has candles. Score! I finish unpacking and drop the candles alongside the books.
Now, it’s teatime. I find a kettle and place it on the gas range. Clicking my fingers, the burner flames to life. I do the same to two of the candles, placing them next to each other on a rough wooden side table.
Perfect.
Waiting for the water to boil, my mind wanders. I check my text messages. Still nothing. Double check the signal strength. One bar. Eugh. I tug on the braid over my shoulder and tell myself to stop being so nervous. Noelle is on her way.
She shouldn’t be texting while driving anyway. And the road up was pretty steep, more dangerous than I remember as a kid. What if she got hurt? She’s a local, I remind myself. If you’re gonna freak out, at least freak out productively.
Right. Pushups. I drop and count out forty reps before the kettle whistles. Rooting around the cupboards, I find a few delicate teacups on the top shelf. Herbal tea, I think. I don’t need any more jitters. While concocting the perfect, steamy beverage, I take a short video for the ‘gram.
Before drinking it, there’s still work to do.
I set the teacup on a saucer, diagonal to the candles, then tug a couple of cloth napkins off to one corner and place some herbs there. Aesthetics are key. I set one of my special edition “Monster Myth Makers” in the center of the spread. It’s a limited anthology making waves in the bookish community, and I was able to snag the variant with gold edges. Well, two. This is my reading copy. I keep a collector’s copy in my glass-paned bookcase at home.
The final touch, as always, is my bookmark. I slide it from my front pocket into the book so only about an inch of the tattered woven edge pokes out. I may own rare books worth thousands of dollars on the resale market, but my most prized possession is this bookmark I was gifted years ago.
I open my phone and pull up the camera, starting a video.
And . . . Action.
My fingers snap. Flames dance to life in the viewfinder. I film for six seconds. Anything more doesn’t get the same traction on social media. Reviewing the clip, the orange-yellow glow matches the color of the candle and napkins, giving the overall video an artful presentation. With a few quick swipes of a filter and an audio for the video version, I schedule the posts to go up across two social media sites. Hopefully, I can get some internet.
I switch up the decor on the table and take snaps and videos of three more books, enough content for the coming two weeks. I like to mix up the flat lays with simpler photos of me holding the book against a blurry background. The picture window and sunroom have awesome natural light and prove for great backdrops. I keep my real identity anonymous online, but I show off my hands every few posts. For whatever reason, those get a lot more engagement.
BeastlyandBookishfollowers continue to grow. It’s fun for me to share my love of reading and book collecting, but the biggest benefit is finding new online friends I can geek out with.
I haven’t had any friends like that since, well, since Noelle. I glance at the picture window and my heart twists, reminding me of years ago. The first day we met.
To keep myself busy, I drink my tea and rearrange the books on the side table. I packed nine stories off my to-be-read list. I’ll be here for two weeks after all. Nine books was just me being realistic about my time. If anything, I underpacked. But I also brought my e-reader. Obviously. I may be a man of leisure when it comes to paid work, but when it comes to reading? I’m no slouch.
I leave the books where they are and straighten my tie. Sweat beads on my forehead between my horns. Get it together, dude. Sure, this girl was my first crush, but she was also my best friend. It’s wild to imagine reconnecting with her now. The day my parents pulled me out of school early was heartbreaking. Without warning, we moved away and never came back.
I didn”t get the chance to say goodbye.
I step up to the mirror near the front door and straighten my tie before deciding to take it off altogether. This isn’t a freaking business negotiation, doofus. The sweater is already long gone, and I want to look casual, so I roll up my sleeves and undo the top couple buttons. Okay, that’s better. It’s completely normal to find out that your childhood best friend still lives in your old hometown and that she’s grown into a stunning beauty who doesn’t wear a wedding ring.
This is fine.
Knock, knock.
“Hello.” Her voice is singsong and hits me straight in the chest.
Don’t blow it, Rom.I glance back in the mirror and pull my hair to the right, arranging it to cover my scars. The horn! Shit. I grab the gold-colored caps I like to wear to cover my broken right horn and tug them back on. Okay, that works.
Knock. “Hello?” Noelle says, a little louder.
I open the door and step to the side, waving her in.
She’s in skintight leggings and a long sleeve purple top with her coat over her arm, showing off even more of her curvaceous figure than before. I force myself to close my mouth before I start drooling.
“Oh.” Noelle says. Her mouth forms a perfect little circle and stays stuck like that. I know she”s not the same girl from when I was a kid, but her eyes are, right down to the way she blinks super-fast when she’s surprised. “It’s . . . it’s you.”