Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Istraightened my shoulders and walked up the steps, attempting to project professional composure despite knowing my lips were probably swollen from Rion’s kisses.
“Good morning, Mrs. Wilson,” I said, aiming for casual but landing somewhere closer to guilty teenager. “Welcome back. How was Florida?”
“Humid.” Her gaze flicked past me to Rion’s truck, which was just pulling away from the curb. “Friend of yours?”
I swallowed. “Yes. He, um, gave me a ride this morning.”
She nodded slowly. “I see. Quite the gentleman, isn’t he? Opening the door for you.”
Had Rion done that? I hadn’t even noticed, too caught up in the moment. “Yes, he is.”
She held the door open, gesturing for me to enter ahead of her. The cool air of the library washed over me, familiar and comforting. Despite my nervousness, I felt a surge of affection for this space—my sanctuary for so many years.
“I must say,” Mrs. Wilson said as we walked through the main reading room, “the mythological display turned out beautifully. Very creative use of space.”
Relief flooded through me. “Thank you. We had some ladder issues, but we managed to work around them.”
“So I heard from Brenda.” She gave me a sidelong glance. “She mentioned you had some… assistance.”
How much had Brenda told her? “Yes, a friend helped with some repairs.”
Mrs. Wilson stopped at the circulation desk, setting down her purse with a precise movement. “The same friend who dropped you off this morning?”
I nodded, feeling heat creep up my neck. “He’s good with his hands.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to crawl under the desk. Mrs. Wilson’s eyebrow arched so high it nearly disappeared into her hairline.
“I meant with building things,” I amended hastily. “He fixed the ladder. And then helped with the display.”
“Hmm.” She began sorting through the mail that had accumulated on her desk, her expression giving nothing away. “Well, the display is certainly eye-catching. Very… imposing.”
There was something about the way she said it that made me uneasy. Did she know what Rion was? Had she somehow recognized him as a minotaur from that brief glimpse?
“Thank you,” I said, for lack of anything better. “We tried to make it educational while still being visually interesting.”
She nodded, pulling out a particular piece of mail and examining it. “You’ve done an excellent job, Clara. Very… illuminating.”
Again, that strange emphasis. I shifted uncomfortably. “Is everything okay, Mrs. Wilson?”
She looked up, her expression clearing into something more normal. “Of course, dear. Just a bit jet-lagged, I suppose. Florida is two time zones away, you know.”
“Right.” I wasn’t entirely convinced, but I wasn’t about to press the issue. “Would you like me to catch you up on what you’ve missed?”
“In a bit,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’d like to take a look at the display first, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” I gestured towards the mythology section. “It’s all set up and labeled.”
She nodded, then paused. “Clara, before I forget—did we receive that new shipment of reference books? The ones on local history?”
“Yes, they came in last week. I’ve cataloged them, but they haven’t been shelved yet. They’re in the back room.”
“Excellent.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And how is the community response to our monster-focused programming? Any… interesting feedback?”
The specific question about monsters sent a chill down my spine. “The children’s program on ‘Monsters Around the World’ was well-attended. And the display has gotten positive comments.”
She nodded slowly. “Good, good. It’s important to… educate the public about these matters.”
There was definitely something off about her behavior. Mrs. Wilson had always been particular, even a bit eccentric, but this felt different. More pointed somehow.
“Is there something specific you’re concerned about?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.
She adjusted her glasses, the fluorescent lights reflecting off them and momentarily obscuring her eyes. “Not concerned, exactly. Just… interested in the community’s awareness of certain realities.”
Before I could ask what she meant, the front door chimed as our first patron of the day entered. Mrs. Wilson straightened, professional mask firmly back in place.
“We’ll continue this conversation later,” she said. “For now, I believe Mrs. Hendricks needs assistance with the large print section.”
I nodded, grateful for the interruption but unsettled by our exchange. As I moved to help the elderly patron, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Mrs. Wilson knew more than she was letting on—about Rion, about monsters in general, perhaps even about us.
But that’s impossible, right? She’s been in Florida. She couldn’t know.
Yet as I guided Mrs. Hendricks towards the large print books, I caught Mrs. Wilson studying the mythology display with unusual intensity, her finger tracing the outline of the minotaur figure we’d placed at the center.
Throughout the morning, I caught her watching me when she thought I wasn’t looking—not with hostility, but with a calculating assessment that was somehow worse.
“Clara, could you help me with the inventory in section G?” she asked around noon, her voice pleasant but firm.
“Of course.” I followed her into the stacks, the familiar smell of books normally comforting, but now doing little to ease my nerves.
Mrs. Wilson waited until we were deep in the reference section, well away from any patrons, before turning to face me. She removed her glasses and polished them methodically with a microfiber cloth—a habit she had when preparing to discuss something difficult.
“I hope you know how much I value your contributions to this library,” she began.
Oh god, am I being fired?
“The mythology display has been particularly well-received,” she continued. “Several patrons have commented on its… educational value.”
I relaxed slightly. “Thank you. I’m glad people are enjoying it.”
“Yes.” She replaced her glasses, adjusting them precisely on the bridge of her nose. “However, I am concerned about certain… associations that might affect our library’s standing in the community.”
My stomach dropped. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
She sighed, her expression softening into something almost maternal. “Clara, I’ve known you since you were sixteen, volunteering here after school. You’ve always been a conscientious employee and a lovely person.”
The ‘but’ hung in the air between us.
“Your… friend,” she said carefully. “The one who helped with the display. The one who dropped you off yesterday.”
“Rion,” I supplied, my mouth suddenly dry.
“Yes, Rion.” She nodded, as if confirming something to herself. “While I appreciate his assistance, I believe it would be best if he remained… behind the scenes, so to speak.”
I stared at her, processing her words. “Behind the scenes?”
“We want all our patrons to feel comfortable in the library environment,” she explained, her tone gentle but firm. “Some might find his presence… distracting.”
Heat rushed to my face—not from embarrassment, but from indignation. “Because he’s a minotaur?”
Mrs. Wilson’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes widened slightly, confirming my suspicion. She knew what Rion was.
“How did you—”
“I’ve been the head librarian in Willowbrook for nearly thirty years, Clara,” she said, cutting me off. “There’s very little about this town I don’t know.”
I swallowed hard, trying to make sense of this revelation. “So you know that there are… others? Like Rion?”
“Willowbrook has always been a sanctuary of sorts,” she said carefully. “A place where those who are… different… can live peacefully. But that peace is maintained through discretion.”
“You’re asking me to hide him,” I said flatly. “To be ashamed of him.”
“Not at all.” She touched my arm gently. “I’m simply suggesting that public displays might draw unwanted attention. Not everyone is as accepting as you, my dear.”
I pulled away from her touch. “He has as much right to be here as anyone else.”
“Of course he does,” she agreed smoothly. “I’m not suggesting otherwise. I’m merely concerned about the comfort of all our patrons. And,” she added, her voice lowering, “about your safety.”
“My safety?” I repeated, confusion mingling with my anger. “Rion would never hurt me.”
“I wasn’t referring to him.” She glanced around, though the stacks were empty. “There are those who view relationships between humans and… non-humans… with extreme prejudice. I would hate to see either of you face harassment or worse.”
The genuine concern in her voice gave me pause. She wasn’t being cruel or discriminatory—at least, she didn’t think she was. She genuinely believed she was protecting us.
“Mrs. Wilson, I appreciate your concern, but—”
A deep voice from behind me cut me off. “She’s right, Clara.”
I whirled around to find Rion standing at the end of the aisle, his large frame nearly filling the space between the shelves. His face was carefully composed, but I could see the tension in the set of his shoulders.
“Rion! What are you doing here?” I moved towards him instinctively.
“I brought you lunch.” He held up a paper bag. “You forgot it on the counter this morning.”
This morning. The casual reference to our domestic arrangement made my heart twist. I’d made lunch at his place before we left, distracted by his kisses as I tried to pack it up.
Mrs. Wilson cleared her throat softly. “Mr.… Rion. It’s nice to formally meet you. I’m Elaine Wilson, head librarian.”
“I know who you are,” he said, his voice neutral. “Clara speaks highly of you.”
She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “I apologize if you overheard our conversation. It wasn’t my intention to discuss this without you present.”
“I understand your concerns,” Rion said, surprising me with his calm. “And I agree. It’s better if I stay in the background.”
“Rion, no—” I started, but he shook his head.
“I’ve lived in Willowbrook for fifteen years, Clara. I know how this works.” His eyes, when they met mine, held a resignation that broke my heart. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” I insisted, anger bubbling up again. “This is discrimination, plain and simple.”
“It’s reality,” he corrected gently. “And it’s not Mrs. Wilson’s fault.”
Mrs. Wilson’s expression was unreadable. “For what it’s worth, I don’t personally share these prejudices. But as a public institution, we must consider all perspectives.”
“Even the bigoted ones?” I challenged.
“Especially those,” she said quietly. “They’re the ones who can cause the most harm.”
I wanted to argue further, but Rion’s hand on my shoulder stopped me. His touch was gentle, his fingers curling protectively around my upper arm.
“Your lunch,” he said, offering me the paper bag again. “I should go.”
“No, wait—” I caught his hand as he turned to leave. “We need to talk about this.”
He hesitated, glancing at Mrs. Wilson, who had the grace to look uncomfortable.
“I’ll leave you two to discuss this privately,” she said, straightening her cardigan. “Clara, take your lunch break now. We can continue the inventory afterward.”
She walked away with measured steps, her back straight as a ruler.