I could go looking for it. But I wouldn’t know where to start, and I wasn’t paying much attention as Elliot dragged me through the shelves last night.
“Alright,” I say, turning toward the door.
But Treehorn’s still smiling excitedly, and he grabs me by the sleeve before I can take a step.
“But,” he says, bushy, greying brows lifting into his thinning hairline. “If it’s a book you’re after. I know just what you need.”
“Oh, that’s okay, I?—”
Before I can decline again, Treehorn’s hand wraps around mine, and we’re winking out of sight.
I shut my eyes as Elsie taught me so I don’t get dizzy, but Treehorn’s magic moves much faster than hers, and I wobble for a second when we manifest on the other side.
I double over, propping my hands on my knees as I suck in a shot of air.
“Eugh…”
A gagging noise escapes me, and Treehorn pats me on the back.
“There, there, Elliot’s girlfriend.”
Gods, I wish he would stop calling me that. It feels like I’m being cursed every time he says it. But I’m not willing to risk him knowing me by name, so I simply smile.
“We are here,” he says. “No need for theatrics.”
I nod, but it takes me a few more breaths before I can stand straight again.
When I open my eyes, we are somewhere deep in the shelves beside a section titled “Love.”
“Oh,” I say. “I’m not really a fan of?—”
“Hush, dear.” Treehorn waves a hand. “I must concentrate.”
He lets out a high-pitched whistle, and a moment later, the ladder comes careening down the aisle. It does not try the old fae’s patience as it did Elliot’s. Instead, it stops a couple of feet before him, squeaking its wheels excitedly.
“Yes, yes,” Treehorn mutters to the creaking wooden rungs. “She has returned. No, you cannot keep her. Silly, old step stool. Move over.”
The ladder slides into position, slowly, as if to protest its duties.
“I’ll only be a moment,” Treehorn says as he starts to climb the ladder.
Mindful of Elliot’s previous instructions, I keep my hands to myself and wait patiently as Treehorn scales the ladder and thumbs through the selection. He runs his fingers over the spines, humming as he searches.
The store is not as dim as it was last night. There’s still a bit of light trickling in from the windows set high on the wall, and I see just how tall the ceiling really is as the light dances across the shelves. Each bookcase must be at least twenty feet tall. And with Treehorn’s small stature, he looks tiny as he climbs all the way to the top.
“Ah!” he declares. “Yes, this ought to do the trick.”
“Catch!” he calls down, and I startle as a hefty, leather-bound book comes hurtling toward me.
“Wait!” I shout, jutting out my arms and preparing for the impact.
Treehorn chuckles, snaps his fingers, and disappears from the top of the ladder. Only to reappear beside me, book in hand, clutching his round belly as he laughs.
“Ha! Gets ‘em every time,” he mutters.
As I let out a deep exhale, I think I see why Elliot tolerates this old goat. He’s as crazy as he is.
Not wanting to upset him, I force a laugh as he drops the tome in my outstretched hands. And thank gods I didn’t have to catch this thing. It’s heavier than it looks, at least a thousand pages.
