Still grinning, Elsie pushes back from the vanity and stalks out of the room, presumably on her way to meet Owen.
My phone rings as the door slams shut behind her.
Kitty
I don’t see it.
“Ughhh!”
There’s one more place I haven’t looked.
* * *
“Hello?” I call out from the doorway.
“One moment!”
Treehorn’s voice booms so loudly I half expect thunder and lightning to manifest as he materializes in front of me.
“Oh,” he says, fussing with his glasses and perhaps a little disappointed to see me. “Elliot’s girlfriend. Hello.”
“Hi,” I repeat, waiting for him to say something more, but he only goes on staring.
I decide not to correct him this time. His gaze isn’t so malicious, and there’s nothing more invasive than a hundred people gawking at you every night and day for four years straight. By comparison, Treehorn’s watchful eyes are a polite greeting.
I can feel his magic weeding through me as I stand there, and when he reaches out a hand, I take it, feeling the spark of his magic between my fingers.
“Interesting…” Treehorn mutters.
He holds onto me for a few seconds longer before releasing me.
“Young Cross is not here,” he says, turning to leave.
“Oh, wait. I’m not looking for Elliot. I’m looking for a book!” I blurt, worried he might disappear into the labyrinth of shelves where I’ll never find him.
“A book, you say?” Treehorn turns, peering at me over the top of his glasses. “What kind of book?”
“My book,” I explain.
He frowns, straightening his blazer over his round stomach.
“Well, none of these books are yours, my dear. They are mine.”
“No, I mean, I think I left my book here. Last night. My copy of Manhurst.”
“My Copy of Manhurst? I have not heard of such a book.”
Ugh. I forget how literal the fae-born can be.
“No,” I correct. “It’s called Manhurst. Just Manhurst. And I think I left it here.”
“Ahhhh, Manhurst. Yes, excellent choice.” He closes his eyes and scratches his chin. “No, not here.”
“Well, would you mind if I checked?”
“I just did.” He taps his temple. “No copy of Manhurst here, sorry, my dear.”
Treehorn grins, confident in his “search,” and I sigh.
