But here I am, standing in front of a quaint little bookstore calledThe Imaginarium, pretending I belong among these shelves of fiction. The bell above the door chimes as we enter, announcing our presence to the empty front counter.
I flex my fingers, pushing down the sensation. After the Fade, my sensitivity has been dialed up to eleven. Every magical signature feels personal now, like a fingerprint I can’t help but recognize.
“This place is adorable,” Harper whispers, immediately gravitating toward a display of new releases. Her eyes light up at the sight of books, momentarily forgetting why we’re here.
Lyanna moves more carefully, her steps deliberate as she follows the perimeter of the room. I catch her subtle frown—she feels it too.
Kari stations herself near the door, arms crossed, looking every bit as suspicious as she did when we left the compound. “Too perfect,” she mutters, just loud enough for wolf ears.
Outside, I know Dane and the others are circling the block, checking sight lines and establishing a perimeter. We agreed to split up—less intimidating that way. Humans get nervous when too many large men with predator eyes walk into a small space.
“Hello! Welcome to The Imaginarium.” An older man emerges from behind the counter, adjusting reading glasses that hang from a cord around his neck. Gray hair, kind eyes, and a weathered face that speaks of years spent among books. His name tag reads “Gareth.”
He smells of old paper, herbal tea, and something else—something that makes my magic tingle underneath my skin. Half-fae. I can sense it now, the subtle current of magic beneath his human appearance.
“Just browsing,” I say, offering a polite smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.
“Take your time.” Gareth gestures to the space with practiced warmth. “We just put out fresh tea if anyone would like some. Earl Grey with lavender.”
Harper’s eyes light up as she approaches the counter. “I remember this place,” she says warmly. “We used to drive over from Wildwater Falls for the folklore nights when I was younger.”
I tune them out, focusing instead on the energy patterns in the room. There’s something ... not wrong, exactly. Just different. Like a picture hanging slightly crooked.
I scan the shelves methodically, letting my fingertips brush along the spines. Nothing triggers until I reach a display table labeled “Staff Favorites.”
Harper’s eyes widen as she spots a familiar spine on the table. “Oh my God! You carry Skylar Cassidy books? I love her work.”
“One of our best-sellers,” Gareth says, moving to arrange the display. “That new series about the wolf shifters in Colorado? Can’t keep them in stock.” He picks up a book with a knowing smile. “But this series about dragons is particularly popular.”
My eyes lock onto the book at the center of the display:Dragon’s Forbidden Wolfby Skylar Cassidy. The cover features a shirtless man with scales climbing his shoulders and a gorgeous gray wolf behind him.
Something pulls me toward it.
The moment my fingers touch the cover, a jolt runs up my arm. The magic signature flares for just a second, like a match struck in a dark room.
The shop tilts. The air thickens. For a heartbeat, I see double—the bookstore as it is, and something underneath. Something older.
“You alright there?” Gareth’s voice is gentle but alert.
I blink, and reality snaps back into focus. He’s watching me with careful eyes, his expression shifting from casual shopkeeper to something more knowing.
“Fine,” I say, too quickly. “Just ... lightheaded.”
Gareth’s gaze lingers on me a moment too long before he smiles pleasantly. “First time in The Imaginarium?”
I feel Lyanna move closer to me. Kari shifts her weight, ready to move if needed.
I place the book back on the table, my hand steadier than I feel.
Harper steps forward, picking up the same book. “Excellent choice,” Gareth says, moving behind the counter to ring upher purchase. “Skylar Cassidy has quite the talent for blending worlds that shouldn’t exist together.” His attention keeps drifting back to me. “The book found you, didn’t it?” he asks quietly.
“What?” I ask.
“Some books call to specific readers,” he says, handing Harper her change. “Particularly when the reader has ... certain sensitivities.”
Harper takes the bag, but Gareth’s eyes never leave mine.
“Just a story,” I say flatly.
