The Society of Edward’s Sparkles was currently sprawled around the reading nook in various states of post-book bliss. Yes, that was really what we called ourselves. No, we weren’t ashamed. We’d been meeting every last Sunday since freshman year of high school, and if you thought we were going to change our name now just because we were adults with degrees and responsibilities, you were wrong.
This month’s pick had been some demon romance that was basically porn with a plot stapled on. We’d finished it twenty minutes ago, and the debrief was going exactly as expected.
“I’m just saying, emotional constipation is hot when he’s also seven feet tall and could bench press a car.” Krystin examined her black nail polish without looking up. She’d come dressed in full goth mode tonight - black everything, from her hair to her lipstick to the combat boots she’d propped on my coffee table. If you didn’t know her, you’d think she was the rebel type. You’d be wrong. The woman had graduated with honors from nursing school and cried at animal shelter commercials.
Bella made a noise that might have been agreement or might have been a stroke. Her face had gone so red her freckles were vanishing into the flush. “Can we please stop talking about... about chapter seventeen? My face is on fire.”
“Chapter seventeen was tame compared to twenty-three,” I pointed out, reaching for my coffee. Third cup of the night. Sue me.
Bella squeaked and buried her face in her oversized cardigan. The girl was drowning in fabric, her blonde curls escaping in every direction. She looked about twelve, not twenty-three. “I can’t believe I read that in public. What if someone saw?”
“Pretty sure the demon wouldn’t care about your reputation, Bells.” I took a long drink. Still hot. Perfect.
Daphne, who’d been quiet up until now, finally chimed in with the kind of observation that made me remember why I loved her. “There’s actually a beautiful gothic quality to forbidden romanceduring a storm. Very Brontë. The darkness outside mirrors the darkness of desire within.”
I choked on my coffee. “Did you just compare demon porn to classic literature?”
“All romance is literature if you’re pretentious enough about it.” Daphne’s smile was serene. She’d worn all black too, but in that effortlessly chic way that made her look brooding and mysterious instead of trying too hard. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun, and she had a leather journal on her lap that she’d been taking notes in throughout the discussion. The girl took book club seriously.
Thunder rumbled outside, and rain started hammering against the windows. The universe apparently agreed that tonight needed atmosphere.
I loved these three idiots. When that mandatory freshman survey had paired us together based on our shared love of reading, I’d immediately started a heated debate about Team Edward versus Team Jacob. These three had backed Edward without hesitation, and that was it. Friendship for life. We’d survived high school, college applications, going our separate ways for school, and coming back to Ryeville one by one.
Six months ago, my grandma’s heart had given out. My grandpa followed three weeks later because apparently they were that disgustingly in love that even death couldn’t separate them for long. I’d driven back from the city with one duffel bag and a heart that felt like ground meat. These three had been waiting at the bookstore with wine and terrible decisions.
They’d held me while I ugly-cried. They’d helped me sort through decades of my grandparents’ belongings. They’d shown up every single Sunday without fail to keep our book club tradition alive, even when I could barely function enough to read.
The bookstore itself was a mess. My grandparents hadn’t told me how bad things had gotten before they died. The place had been closed for months. I was hemorrhaging money trying to keep it afloat, but this store was the last thread I had connecting me to them, and I’d be damned if I let it go under.
But tonight wasn’t about financial anxiety or grief I was aggressively ignoring. Tonight was about demon dick and picking our next read.
I clapped my hands together, making Bella jump. “Alright, sparkle squad. New plan. We each scatter and find a book to nominate. Make it good. Make it spicy. Make it something that’ll have Bella combusting by chapter three.”
“I hate you,” Bella muttered, but she was smiling.
“You love me.” I stood, stretching. My joints popped. Twenty-three going on eighty. “I still haven’t catalogued half the stuff Grandpa left in the back, so consider this an adventure. Bring your phones for flashlights because the wiring in this place is older than God.”
Krystin hauled herself up, boots thudding on the floor. “If I find a spider, I’m burning this place down.”
“Cool. Insurance money would help.”
We split up, each heading to different sections of the store. I grabbed my phone and headed toward the back, to the section Grandpa had always called “the archive.” It was really just a creepy corner stuffed with books so old they probably had opinions about the Civil War.
Thunder crashed again, loud enough to rattle the windows. The lights flickered.
This was fine. Totally fine. Nothing creepy about wandering into a dark corner of a bookstore during a storm on Halloween night. I was basically the protagonist of a horror movie, except I’d survive because I was too stubborn to die.
The archive was exactly as welcoming as I remembered. Dust everywhere. Shelves packed so tight the books looked ready to stage a revolt. The smell of old paper and leather and time itself. My phone’s flashlight cut through the gloom, but barely. The LED bulb situation back here was desperate.
I muttered to myself about needing to hire an electrician I couldn’t afford when thunder cracked so loud I was pretty sure God had just dropped his bowling ball.
I jumped. My hip slammed into a lower shelf. Books immediately betrayed me, tumbling down in a cascade of literary treason.
“Oh, fuck me sideways!” I threw my hands up, trying to protect my head. A particularly chunky tome smacked into my palm. I caught it, barely, but the corner sliced right across my index finger.
Pain bit through my hand. Blood welled up immediately, hot and red.
“Perfect. Just perfect. Death by antique literature. Grandpa would be so proud.” I hissed through my teeth, watching blood drip onto the book’s cover.
