“How could I get lost in here? The place is like twenty feet across.”
Elliot chuckles, gripping me by the arm and setting me directly in front of him so I can see clear down the center aisle.
“Holy, shit,” I mutter.
The row stretches clear back for at least five hundred feet, probably more, but I can’t really tell. My eyes cannot see that far.
“It’s a pretty heavy extension charm,” Elliot explains. “So, just follow me, alright.”
I nod, mouth open, still staring.
I expect him to set off down one of the aisles, but instead, he returns to the front desk and waves me over. I go willingly, and come to regret my decision as he ropes an arm around my waist and pins me to his chest.
“Is this really necessary?” I ask.
“About as necessary as all your questions.” I curse him silently, but he only grips me tighter. “Hold your breath until we get to the other end.”
He gives me a fraction of a second to comply before laying his hand on top of a circle etched into the old wooden desk. The movement calls up a bright golden light, and it inks out over his fingers, traveling up his arm like ribbons before crawling across his body.
I suck in a quick breath as it starts to consume me, too, only exhaling when the light recedes to reveal that we’ve been transported from the front desk to somewhere deep in the recesses of the “little” bookshop.
We’re now standing in front of a section with the label “Were-Psychology,” and Elliot raises his hand to his mouth to let out a loud whistle.
The sound echoes eternally through the seemingly infinite shelves, and a moment later, a rolling ladder comes sliding down the aisle. I flinch when it skids to a stop just a few inches in front of Elliot’s face, but he only chuckles.
“I dare you,” he says, speaking to the ladder.
It answers, wheels squeaking and creaking in response, but whatever it says, I cannot understand.
“You going up? Or should I?” Elliot asks, this time, speaking to me.
I shake my head.
“All you.”
“Alright. Just hand ‘em to me as I go,” he says, climbing up the rungs.
I hand him the first two books in my hand, and the ladder slides back and forth, somehow knowing where to go as Elliot reads out the titles. Once he’s shelved them, I pass him a few more, repeating the process until the stack in my arms has dwindled, and we return to the front of the store to collect another stack.
This time, we’re transported to a section titled, “Prenatal Potionry,” something I’d never considered before now. In fact, there are a lot of things in here I hadn’t considered.
Treehorn’s seems to have a book on every subject you could think of.
Enchanted Fabrics.
Temporal Adjustments.
Centaur Mating Rituals.
You name it, I’d bet my next feed it’s in here somewhere.
“So is this where Alexandria went?” I ask. “Treehorn robbed the place?”
Elliot laughs as if he truly finds that joke funny, and the noise bounces back, making my ears ring for a moment.
“Maybe,” he says, shrugging as I hand him a thick, leather-bound title named “Mushroom Sprites and the Toadstool Wars.” He slots it in the section labeled “Woodland Skirmishes.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” he adds, reaching for another text.
