She straightened her sweater and squared her shoulders. She had a mystery writer to find.
“Let’s get to it, March,” she told herself. “Self-awareness is no excuse for not getting the job done.”
First, she took stock of her surroundings. Even on the other side of the glass, she’d recognized this place as a library bathroom. Posters on the beige, green, and brown tile walls advertised book drives, clothing drives, and reminders about upcoming classes, clubs, and events. No posters recruiting new Book Witches or selling gently used tractor tires, of course. In this world, there were no Book Witches. Maxine had said there wasn’t even magic, at least not like the storycraft she was used to. She examined the logo at the bottom of one of the posters. The Santa Barbara Public Library. California, if it was the same Santa Barbara as in her world. So what was happening here that Maxine’s imagination had created a portal into it?
A woman entered the bathroom and stopped in her tracks. Shelooked older than Rainy, maybe thirtysomething, and was dressed all in black. It was clear from the streak of eyeliner and the redness in her eyes that she’d been crying, but her face brightened at the sight of Rainy.
“Oh my gosh,” the woman in black said, then laughed. “You look amazing. Just like her.”
“Who?” Rainy asked.
“Rainy March?” she said, her voice teasing as if Rainy should’ve known. “Incredible cosplay.”
“Oh, this is how I always—” Rainy began, then realized what the woman was saying. “My…costume. Thank you.” Then, not knowing what else to do, she curtsied.
Luckily, the woman in black didn’t notice the curtsy. She was busy rummaging through her handbag at the sink. She pulled a concealer stick out and began to repair her makeup.
“Are you all right?” Rainy asked. She’d cried in library bathrooms before, but only when she’d snuck into mystery sections to visit the Duke of Chicago books after hers had been confiscated. Was this woman also carrying a torch for a fictional character? Seemed the most logical explanation.
“Oh, guess I got a little weepy looking at the books and the memorabilia out there. With Maxine Blake gone, it feels like a part of my childhood died too. I was reading those books long after my friends switched to romances.”
“All stories are love stories if you love stories.”
The woman looked at her. “Good point.”
“Do you have an umbrella tattooed on your arm?” Rainy asked.
The woman held out her right arm, palm up. An umbrella was indeed tattooed inside her wrist. “Reminds me that when the going gets tough, it’s probably time to escape into a book.”
Rainy laughed.
“We better get out there,” the woman said. “It’s already standing room only. But if you prefer to sit, they have a big screen up in the gallery next door.”
“I…I’ll stand?”
“Areyouall right?” the woman asked.
“I’m fine, great. A little nervous. To go out there.” Rainy hoped this was a reasonable response.
“Introvert? Same. Crowds are not my favorite either. You take your time. I’ll save you a spot.”
“Great, great. Which way do I go?”
“By the fireplace. The big windows. Can’t miss it.”
“I’ll be right out,” Rainy said. “I, um…I need to fix my umbrella.”
The woman glanced at it and saw the bent ribs. “How did that happen?”
“I tripped over the mirror.”
The woman narrowed her eyes in confusion.
“Overbythe mirror,” Rainy corrected.
“Here, I can fix it.” The woman held out her hand and Rainy passed her the umbrella. “I used to live in Boston, and once a year at least, those winds would try to blow me to Oz.”
Quickly but carefully, the woman bent the metal ribs back into place, then opened and closed the umbrella, testing it out. “That should work. If not, steal somebody else’s. There’re a million out there.” The woman winked at her, then headed out of the bathroom.
