“I would look upon the world as it were. To see what is unseen. To know what lies beyond the veil.”
My heart thunders as I glare back at the old man. At the face that, at one point in his life, might have been handsome. But those kind brown eyes now hold something strange and secret. Something dangerous.
I open my mouth to say something but am distracted by the steam rising from below me. A sizzle crackles in my ear and I jump back, feeling a flood of heat roll off the book. Only it isn’t coming from the book.
My hands have left a detailed imprint where they branded the wood. Steam hisses as it touches the cool air, and the entire table seems to vibrate. The book begins to glow brilliantly like a hot coal, eager to leap from the fire and wreak havoc on the world.
“Oh my god,” I breathe in horror. “Oh my god, what’s happening to me!” My throat tightens to the point of pain as hellfire scalds my uplifted palms.
But something catches my eye beyond my burning hands. A small, slow metamorphosis.
Mr. T’s features begin to melt, to shift. Wrinkles begin to smooth, sagging cheeks right themselves against gravity, thinlips grow full, pink and plump. Patches of white hair warm into burnished waves that flow like an ocean tide bathed in sunset. Bony arms form smooth, lean muscle and the person before me stands tall, his figure no longer that of a non-threatening elderly bookstore owner.
A vital young man now stands before me, looking beautiful and fresh as springtime. The only thing recognizable about him are those brown eyes. Only they burn brighter now, the irises like melted chocolate. That sparkle has returned accompanied by an air of mischief.
In a matter of seconds, Mr. Tatler is gone, replaced by a beautiful stranger.
I let out a blood-curdling scream.
3
My appendix burst when I was nine years old.
One second, I’m in my friend’s backyard playing popcorn on her trampoline, and the next, I’m doubled over, screaming in pain. I’m rushed to the ER. My dad squeezes my hand while nurses bustle around the room, readying me for surgery. Then I’m being wheeled into an OR, shrinking back from the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. Someone tells me to count backward from ten. I think I make it to seven before the world drops out from beneath me and there is nothing but sweet, empty silence. Darkness welcomes me into its velvet arms and pulls me into a dreamless sleep.
Coming out of that sleep, my body and mind are reluctant. I do not want to return to the light. Anxiety laces my blood as the anesthesia wears off, leaving a sticky panic in its wake. My heart is beating too fast. My thoughts race to make up for lost time, unleashing themselves one after another like a swarm of locusts as my stomach lurches. My eyes fly open, and I am gasping.
This feels a lot like that.
I blink, trying to somehow clear away the image of the figure standing before me. But no matter how many times my eyes open and close, the Mr. Tatler I know is gone.
Something about this is very, very wrong. But I don’t plan on sticking around to find out what.
I lunge for the door again, ready to barrel right through it, but Mr. T—this stranger—springs to life in one graceful step. He’s fast and agile as he grips my arm and roots me to the spot. I gasp at the sudden movement in such stark contrast to the old man who scuffles his feet when he pads across the bookshop floor. His hand feels so large wrapped around my bicep, his grip firm but not painful.
“Who are you?” I peer up at him, trying to wrestle my arm free. “Let me go right now!”
“It’s too late for that.”
Even his voice is different. Softer, richer, like honey. Staring up at him, I notice the slight point at the tip of his ears.
What the actual.
“Please,” I beg, resisting against his grasp. “I don’t know what this is, but I can’t be here—I can’t! Please!” I don’t even know what I’m saying, what I’m begging for, but I’m bordering on hysterical.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” A flash of pain appears in his eyes, his tone surprised and soothing. “But I can’t let you leave, even if I wanted to.”
He glances toward the heavy tome, still thrumming with odd life and glowing eerily from its place on the table.
I have to get out of here.But how?
He’s gotta be over six feet tall. Even if I managed to swipe the keys from his pocket, he would have me pinned in an instant. I don’t have any weapons on me, and even if I did, I probably wouldn’t know how the hell to use them.
Except.
I did just scorch my handprints onto the wooden table. Maybe not of my own volition, but…
Before I think better of it, I clamp my fingers around his thick forearm and will myself to bring forth whatever fire seemed to flow from me a moment ago. I squeeze my eyes shut, my entire body clenching in effort.
