You never thought you’d beoffendedthat someone didn’t want to steal your soul, but there’s a new day for everything, you suppose.
“No,little human,” he growls, and you swear you feel a strange, heavy presence swirling around him. Is this what magic feels like? “What I want is somethingmuchgreater.”
You gulp, asking the question you’re not sure you want to know the answer to. “Then, if it’s not my soul you’re after…whatdoyou want?”
His eyes glint, bright yellow and chillingly sinister against the dark alley.
“What I want is simple.” He steps closer, eyes still flashing as he says, “I want you to set me free.”
You blink, staring up at him as he leans over you.
“Oh,” is all you can manage.
Because after demanding your soul, asking to be set free seems a whole lot less scary than you were expecting.
“Sure,” you say with a sigh of relief. “No problem.”
After all, you don’t want to keep anyone—magical or otherwise—a prisoner against their will.
Mysterious Hot Book Guy stares down at you with a strangely incredulous expression. Like he was expecting you to resist.
“What? Just like that?” He folds his arms, narrowing his eyes. “This feels like a trick. You’re not going to argue about how you can’t set me free because I’m a dangerous beast who will wreak havoc on the mortal world and plunge life as we know it into chaos?”
“Well, will you?”
He smirks. “You’ve changed.”
A strange twinge of jealousy twists in your stomach as you realize:He thinks you’re someone else.
But it doesn’t matter.
You’re about to set him free.
You won’t see him ever again, anyway. And there’s no point feeling jealous over a person you know nothing about.
“Hey, setting you free sounds a whole lot better than giving up my soul.” Before he can change his mind and demand your soul, you hold out your hand. “Let’s shake on it.”
He stares down at your hand with an odd mix of incredulousness and amusement.
“Alright,” he growls in your ear as he leans in and clasps your right hand in his. “Deal.”
His grip is strong and warm, and you can’t help but notice that he smells nice. It’s the same warm almost-vanilla scent of vintage paper—like an old book. Maybe that’s because he came out of one.
Speaking of.
You bend down and lift the little book from the pavement where it lies face-open. The pages are all black again, no more glowing script. How odd.
The cool breeze picks up, fluttering down the dark alley and making you shiver once again. There’s almost no light here, aside from the glowing cuff at your left wrist and the golden strand connecting you to Mysterious Hot Book Guy.
You frown down at the thin thread, stretching it tight like a rubber band as you ask, “How exactly am I supposed to set you free?”
Hot Guy narrows his eyes at your hands, like he’s contemplating stopping you.
But all he says is, “Well, it’s your magic. So you tell me.”
Your magic?
He definitely thinks you’re someone else, but that doesn’t matter. It’s late. You’re exhausted. All you want to do is get back home where you can take a nice, hot shower before sleeping-off all this weirdness. Then you’ll wake up and it’ll be no more than a bad dream.
