Page 45 of The Spellreader and the Phoenix

Alex had taped up the sign earlier in the week that they’d be closed on Sunday (a much nicer and more artistic sign than Max would have managed), and Max had put it up on the website as well. Ideally, they would have given more notice, but there was no way that Max was missing this opportunity.

It wasn’t like he closed often. The last time he’d had to close the shop had been a couple years ago when he’d gotten horribly sick. Witches were generally hardier than normal people, and shifters were hardier than witches, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t still be laid low. Max blamed it entirely on people, who had clearly been oozing germs all over his bookshop. He sanitized high-touch areas, but no system was perfect.

“You’ve got all the numbers?” Max asked.

Alex held up their phone. “In my phone, where they’ve been for weeks. We have a text thread, Max. I really can do this, you know. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

They looked a bit exasperated and a bit fond.

And suddenly, Max realized why he was so stressed about this. Because he was a fool.

He forced a smile. “Of course everything’s going to be fine. Sorry. Haven’t left the store in anyone’s hands but my sister’s, and that was more than a decade ago. I know you’ve got this.”

Alex squared their shoulders. “I totally do. And you and Rory are going to go look at your fancy books, and it’s going to be awesome, right?”

“Right,” Max agreed.

“And I’ll see you on Monday, just like normal,” Alex added.

“After you text me all weekend so that I know you’re still alive and Nōwē hasn’t taken over and started asking for payments in cans of tuna.”

Nōwē’s ears pricked forward.

“You shouldn’t give her ideas,” Rory told him.

Alex laughed. “Yes, I will text you all weekend.”

They waved Alex off and managed the last hour until the shop closed. Now that it was getting darker earlier, Alex had started texting when they got home to reassure Max. He’d offered to walk them, but they’d scoffed and said they could manage.

Max would revisit the conversation once it was dark out by five.

Rory had reminded all the customers that they were closed this Sunday but would have regular hours the rest of the week. To anyone who’d asked, Rory had told them that there was a potential book sale that they were looking into.

Max would have just told them to mind their own business. He was impressed that Rory had managed to tell the truth with enough vagueness that it wouldn’t seem odd if no books ever came out of it. It wasn’t like Max owed them his inventory, but Rory had made it sound connected to the business and thus made the customers still feel valued, without making it sound interesting enough that they had a lot more questions.

At eight, they locked up the shop, fed Nōwē, and locked her into the apartment (she was not delighted by this) before heading out the back with their bags. Earlier in the day, Rory had packed them a portable dinner that he assured Max he could eat even while driving.

Mr. Jones’s secretary had apparently approved their arriving after 10 o’clock at night. Mr. Jones wouldn’t be awake to receive them, but they could settle into their room and be ready to meet him in the morning.

Max hadn’t thought too much about needing to drive in the dark, though. He didn’t drive much anymore, and it showed. But he still picked up orders sometimes, and there were a few people that he made deliveries to, because they’d been customers forever and they couldn’t get down to the shop for whatever reason.

It was all fine. Totally fine.

Max plugged his phone in and got the GPS set up, letting its automated voice tell him how to get out of the city, even though he could have managed that part on his own. He wasn’t expecting too much traffic at this time of night, and the drive was mostly up I-95, but it was always good to have a redirect on hand in case of any unexpected occurrences.

Once they were out of the city, Rory asked, “Would you like a sandwich? I made your favorite.”

Max felt himself relax a little. “Yes, please.”

Rory had apparently cut the crust off his PB&J and cut it into triangles.

Max popped a quarter into his mouth and kept his eyes on the road. Rory kept handing him pieces of sandwich, and this was followed up with grapes and cubes of cheese—also easy to pop into his mouth while driving.

Rory always had the container ready, and Max could reach in and grab something without even looking down. With his other hand, Rory was snacking himself.

Once his stomach was no longer grumbling, Max said, “Thanks.”

Rory snapped the lid back on the container. “There’s more if you get hungry again. Oh, and I packed cookies, too, for dessert. Ice cream seemed like a bad idea.”