4
Bridget was deep in a rabbit hole of research when Marge came in at six p.m. to take over the night shift.
The bookstore was located near the river in Smithfield, and it tended to stay open late to accommodate students, nighttime shoppers, and foodies going out to try different restaurants. The shop was prime real estate that had been in Marge’s family for generations.
Marge herself was in her sixties, a widower, and had lost her son to cancer over a decade ago. Now that she had Bridget to run things, she only came in a few hours at night because she slept odd hours.
“You’re looking a bit off. Have you eaten yet?” Marge asked, her sharp brown eyes looking at her critically over the top of her glasses.
She wasn’t some wilting old lady. Marge was an eccentric, who spoke directly, read customers’ tea leaves when she was in the mood, and had an endless collection of turbans she liked to wear over her curly gray hair. Tonight’s turban was purple-blue velvet, which reminded Bridget a little too strongly of Bas the Stranger’s eyes.
“No food yet. I lost track of time today, but I’ve restocked the bestsellers, done last month’s bookkeeping, and dusted all the high shelves,” Bridget said, closing down all the browsing tabs on the computer, including the latest edition of her favorite web serial. Marge still liked to dust the shelves; she just didn’t have the reach to do the high ones, and Bridget wouldn’t let her get up on step ladders.
Marge tapped her red nails on the wooden counter. “When was the last time you left the store and had a night out?”
“I left the store yesterday to buy some groceries. Or was it the day before?” Bridget tended not to keep track of things that her brain didn’t deem important.
Marge hummed. “Go eat at the pub tonight. You need to be around people for a few hours. You’re getting that obsessive, crazy look in your eye. Is it a man? Please tell me it’s a man.”
Marge was always pushing Bridget to date more. She was the only person Bridget had told her history to. Marge knew when Bridget was too deep in her research or obsessions. Bridget didn’t mind the fussing because it anchored her.
“There is a man,” Bridget agreed reluctantly.But I met him in my head, so I don’t know if that counts.
Marge’s expression lit up. “Oh, well now, isn’t this a surprise? Is he good-looking?”
Bridget squirmed a little. “Yes. I mean, I think so. But it’s nothing. We aren’t even friends.”
“We all have to start somewhere,” Marge replied and moved around the counter. “Off you go. Go have dinner somewhere. I’m kicking you out, and I don’t want to see you for at least two hours.”
Bridget hadn’t eaten anything all day except for a cinnamon roll from the coffee shop next door. “Fine, I’ll go and eat, but I’m not agreeing to two full hours.”
“Call that man of yours and have a date,” Marge said, taking up Bridget’s vacated spot behind the counter.
“I didn’t get his number,” Bridget said, heading for the door.
Marge threw her hands up in despair. “Why the devil not?”
Bridget shrugged and slipped out the door before Marge could complain about her lack of foresight.
Outside, the night air blew off the river and held the first crisp scents of fall. Bridget stuffed her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket and thought about everything she had read about that day.
She was reluctant to admit it, but Bas might have been right after all about her building a mind library in the astral plane. But how?
She would be the first to admit she didn’t actively try and go to the astral plane. She had kind of stumbled into it as a kid. The library hadn’t felt like other places. It felt like her own.
Maybe Marge was right too, and getting around some people might help reset her brain. Bridget often had problems getting out of her head. She didn’t have friends outside of a few regular customers. When she went out, it was because she wanted to be alone with people. She found normal people hard work.
Bridget had a weird childhood, and as an adult, she had strange interests. She wouldn’t have been able to chat about celebrity scandals or the latest movie she enjoyed. She didn’t have relatable content to share with people her age. It made friendship-building difficult, and it was getting worse as she got older.
Lámfada’s Hornwas already filling with the night crowd of drinkers. Bridget was a regular because they had the best fish and chips in Dublin, and it was a short walking distance from the river and the bookshop.
Bridget put her order in at the bar before finding herself a spare seat in a far corner near windows that looked out over thestreet. She pulled a book out of her bag and settled in with her pint of Guinness.
The sea of noise washed all around her, and she let it become white noise. She was good at being invisible when she wanted to be. A guy with short brown hair and dark eyes gave her a smile, and she quickly looked away, not wanting to encourage conversation. Her brain was still mushy from being buried in a computer all day.
Annie, the bartender, let out a shout of happiness, and Bridget turned to see her leaning over the bar to hug a blond man. “Apollo Greatdrakes, my golden boy, it’s been too long,” she said, kissing his cheeks. Annie had never been that happy to see anyone, and Bridget couldn’t help but smile as the older woman flirted shamelessly with the man.
Bridget’s smile slipped clean off her face when a tall, dark, and familiar stranger came over and bumped the blond man’s shoulder.
