They spent most of the next day at the library.
If there truly were old gods and demons, there had to be some record of them. Perhaps a clue in one of Lovecraft’s stories on how to defeat them.
“You really do not know how to be a delinquent,” James told her. But he was grinning and took whatever small task she assigned him.
Mostly, they read. Fairy tales, folktales, Faust, Edgar Allan Poe, Lovecraft, and the authors who had taken up where Lovecraft left off. They read about myths and legends, of deals made and deals lost, about creatures so old they did not have a name. Dee wasn’t sure if any of this was useful, but they noted anything that might relate to their current situation. They looked for any mention of a Lovecraftian monster, of burrowers, of holes in reality. While Dee browsed the literature, James invaded the art section. There was a surprising number of paintings that depicted world-ending monsters.
If there were other heartless throughout history, they did not openly declare themselves. But Dee still wanted to look, to search, to perhaps find some hint that more like themselves had survived their own hollow state.
I chose this, Dee thought, and picked up another book.
It felt inevitable when it finally happened. They were sitting on a park bench, finishing off hot dogs they’d bought from a stand.
Dee was talking about one of the variations ofSnow Whiteshe’d found—mostly because it was one of the fairy tales with literal heart connections. She had a theory that perhaps this was one of the folktales with a grain of truth; perhaps the evil queen had been a demon. It would explain her ruthlessness and her beauty.
“People believed in the supernatural back then,” said Dee. “Like werewolves and witches and all that. The queen could’ve been a demon, but over the centuries the retelling of the story was muddled because modern people don’t believe in the supernatural.”
“People believe in the supernatural now,” countered James. “I mean, hello. Demons.”
Dee frowned. “Some people don’t. There are entire websites dedicated to disproving them. Cal didn’t believe. He told me he thought they were aliens.”
James broke into startled laughter. “Yeah. I remember.” His expression sobered and he crumpled up his napkin. “So, tell me. What do you believe in?”
“I don’t know. It could be supernatural, it could be aliens, or I could simply have lost my mind.”
“So you don’t even believe in this old gods theory of yours?”
She looked down. “All right. Fine. What do you believe in, then?”
His voice softened. “I believe we’re not crazy, for one thing.”
“Well, good.”
She was gazing out at the park when his fingertips touched her chin. He slowly tilted her face toward him. “I believe I’m glad I met you.”
Her skin felt warm where he touched her. She had a wild thought that this was when she didn’t miss her heart; because she knew if she did have one, it would have been beating so loud that it would have drowned out the world.
He gave her every opportunity to retreat, but she did not flinch away.
He kissed her. His lips were gentle, as if asking a question, but his fingers were tight on her arm, as if afraid she might suddenly vanish.
It was a sweet, warming thing—like taking a sip of hot chocolate on a misty, cold morning. The world simply tuned out for a moment, and the silence was the most beautiful thing Dee had ever heard.
They drifted apart.
“We probably shouldn’t,” she said.
His face cleared. “If that’s what you want.” He said the words without any trace of hurt or disappointment. Again, simple words. But this time they were not intended to wound.
She kissed him.
His lips were warm, soft, and they contrasted sharply with the stubble along his jaw. His hands were soft, too, and he was cradling the back of her neck, his thumb skimming along her hairline, sending shivers through her.
No one had ever kissed her like this. There had been a few parties, middle school encounters with spin the bottle and one memorable occasion with seven minutes in heaven when she and Trevor Farley had not made eye contact until the last thirty seconds, when he said, “Should we just try it?” It had been too wet and had simply felt like two mouths mashing together.
This kiss was soft, tentative. James’s lips barely moved against hers—just tiny whispers of sensation that swooped through her stomach.
This time he was the one to pull away, to gaze at her face as if trying to decipher her thoughts. “Was that okay?”
