Every person has an appointment to jump into a book, but we’re unable to get them inside.
A man raises his fist. “What’s going on?”
“I paid to be inside a story right now,” a bookish woman says meekly but with bite.
“What kind of magical bookshop is this? You can’t even get us into a book,” a short, squat woman snaps.
“We came from out of town,” a father with his two daughters says, exasperated.
Mama stands in front of them, patting the air. “Please be patient. I’ll get this straightened out in a moment. Just give us time.”
A woman jabs an open copy ofThe Odysseythat sits on a lectern. “My sister went into that book two hours ago and still hasn’t come out! Is she okay? I need to know if she’s all right.”
My heart races like a horse speeding around a track. Never in my life have I seen anything like this. Books are scattered everywhere—on the floor, on the tops of shelves. Mama asked Chelsea and me to clean up, so that’s what I’m doing.
I’m picking up books and shoving them back where they belong. But as soon as I push one onto a shelf, it shoots itself right back out and lands with a thud on the floor.
“We need answers,” a man shouts.
A book flies from a case and uses its cover as wings to careen around the room like a bird. It dive-bombs a woman, and she shrieks before throwing up her hands and running for the exit.
“Please, everyone,” my mother says. “Give us just a minute to try to get things solved.”
“I’m not waiting one more minute,” the squat woman says. “I’m taking my business somewhere else.”
“Where else will she go?” Chelsea whispers, approaching me with a handful of books. “There aren’t any other magical bookshops that I know of.”
“Let me get your sister out of this book,” Mama tells the woman who’s nibbling her fingernails, worried sick about her sibling.
My mom places her hands on the book and concentrates. Her face is pinched, and she looks anxious. I’ve never seen her anxious.
Hell, I’m anxious.
The sound of books falling off the shelves and hitting the floor with thud after thud fills the shop. The only way to explain what’s going on is that the magic isn’t just dying, it’s broken like a spring has shifted out of place. Simply put, the bookshop has gone haywire.
There are so many more books on the floor than there are put away that I’m just about to give up this job. Then the door opens.
Who the heck would be coming in here now? Doesn’t everyone know that the magic is broken?
And don’t think that I don’t feel the pressure to get this all fixed. When Addison married, the magic was better for a while, but now it’s clearly cracked its head open and is letting its brains spill out all over the floor.
And enter Storm Grayson.
My stomach falls. What is he doing here?
As if Storm has his own gravitational pull, every head in the room turns to gawk at him. I get it. He’s rich. He’s famous. He’s handsome.
Chelsea presses her shoulder to mine and whispers, “I thought you ended things with him.”
“I did.”
“Then what’s he doing here?”
“How should I know?”
“Why isn’t she coming out?” the woman snaps at Mama.
“I’m trying. I could use more magic.” Her gaze lands on Chelsea. “Chels, can you help me over here?”
