“Coming!”
I try to pull out of Bastian’s grasp, but he holds firm, turning his lips against my temple. “Iwillkill her,” he says, his deep, rumbling voice carrying truth just as heavy.
He releases me a beat later and I’m left stunned on the sidewalk, shaking off his words. I know he meant it. He would murder this woman if she hurt me. Why doesn’t that feel terrifying, or wrong? Why does it make my knees weak?
I follow Erica on shaky legs to her van. There’s a dolly tucked into the back, and we load it up with dilapidated boxes. It takes us four trips in total while Erica tells me all about the Friends of the Library program in the area. They apparently are a big part of the Fall Orchard Festival coming up in a few months, and she extends an invite to the shop. She talks it up, mentioning all the different apple related activities, but especially highlighting the apple cannons.
“A great way to take out your aggression. I had my ex-husband’s picture pasted to an old mannequin and went totownon that thing. I felt so much better after,” she says with a bright grin.
“I’ve got a nasty ex, too,” I say as we unload the last boxes. “Maybe I need some apple therapy.”
“I highly recommend it,” she says. “If nothing else, the cider is great, and you can promote your bookshop to the locals and beyond. Lots of people drive in from miles around.”
“That would be great,” I say, considering the opportunity. I’ll need to prepare some marketing materials. Five months away…that’s more than enough time for me to get word out and help improve attendance.
“Well, I’ll give you more warning next time. You looked a little…” She trails off as she looks at the scorch mark on the concrete in front of the door. “Spooked, at first.”
I laugh. “Yeah, just some local jerk who doesn’t like literacy messing with us.”
Her eyebrows dance up her forehead and back down. “That looks like serious hazing. Let me know if you need support from the Friends.”
I nod. “Of course, thank you so much.”
“All right, you have a great night,” she says, waving goodbye.
I mirror her farewell as I close the door. When I turn back, I see that Bastian has thrown himself over the boxes of books. His inky black magic is swirling around them like a centrifuge. He groans out a sigh, and I can’t help but giggle.
“You good?” I ask.
“Better than good,” he says with a lazy smile. “I’m powerful.”
twenty-eight
Let’s Get Down to Business
With so much stock to work with, life gets a bit crazy. I spend two days organizing everything Erica brought, then identifying the books that need the most help. By the end, I have five boxes of books that are ready to head to the shelves, seven boxes that need to be re-covered—a simple process—and three boxes of books in critical condition. I’m not sure what I’m going to do about them yet.
I prioritize the re-covers since they’re something I can donowand prepare the shelves for the next big photoshoot. After a week and a half of cutting cardboard, gluing fabric to covers, pasting on text, and mashing everything together, I have enough stock for half a wall. That’ll be enough for my social pages and the website to do the initial shoot, but the shop still isn’t nearly ready.
Fortunately, my shit finally arrives, and I’m able to have a real dining room table. I have the movers store my mattress in the bedroomcloset since I don’t want them to watch Bastian recall his magic right then and there.
A few hours later, I have a new—ish—fridge installed alongside an element burner stove. It’s not perfect, but it’s serviceable. Bastian is still worried about me leaving the hoard, so I order groceries to be delivered. I will need to go back to the Hanson’s at some point to pay my debt…
Renee comes over to paint genre signs with me the following week, and Bastian lingers nearby, hovering as if she might be a threat. It’s sort of sweet that he’s so protective. I find myself recalling the way he’d broken Robbie’s wrist, and threatened to kill Erica. Why am I not appalled by it at all, but…
“Aroused? With company,” Bastian whispers behind me when Renee goes to the bathroom.
Blood thunders through my body as I keep working on my “Sci-Fi” placard. I artfully pepper the thin, white paint over the blackened sky, creating a starry effect, doing my best to ignore his proximity and inflame the situation.
“Your lips may be silent, but I can hear your heart,” he murmurs.
His fingers graze the bare skin of my neck as his hand glides down to my chest. His palm rests over my heart and I sense the power thrumming through the tattoo on my ribs.
“How does thisfucking aroundwork?” he asks. “Can I initiate, or must I wait for you to make the first move?”
His tail slithers over my thigh and I clamp my hand down on it.
“We have company,” I hiss.
