Page 5 of The Spellreader and the Phoenix

She’d figured out where she belonged.

Max’s brow furrowed. He’d figured out where he belonged, too, he just hadn’t figured out how to eliminate everyone else.

That part had been easier when Evie was here and had happily sat up front and chatted with every person who came through the door.

But Max would never want to drag her back here when her dreams lay elsewhere. It was just… he couldn’t quite imagine hiring someone else. Yes, the shop was doing well enough that he could afford it, thanks to the money he made as a Spellreader. But given the back room and all the work he did for witches, he needed to hire a witch. No way could he hide everything from a normal human. It would be exhausting and doomed to failure.

And he didn’t know any witches who might be suited to the job. (He knew Evie would tell him to advertise for the position and conduct interviews and such, but the idea made him shudder.)

And, of course, there was the inescapable reality that if he hired someone else, someone else would work here with him.

He liked his space just as it was.

“We’re good like this, aren’t we, Nōwē?”

She’d scarfed down all the food in her bowl and looked like she was considering whether she could shake him down for more.

He scooped her into his arms and cuddled her for the three point four seconds that she allowed before she meowed and leaped to the ground.

Yeah, they were good like this.

“I’ll only spend a little while with the books,” Max told her.

She eyed him with patent scorn and disbelief.

The next few days passed in the expected routine. Max ran on his treadmill in the morning. He listened to audiobooks, ignored people, and burned enough energy that he could mostly eat what he wanted, no matter what Evie said about optimal nutrition. He’d never quite understood people’s obsession with bodies looking a certain way or wanting other people to look at them or wanting to look at other people.

Max wanted his clothing to continue to fit so that he didn’t have to buy more. Jeans and graphic tees with puns or geeky connections were his speed, and he didn’t want to have to change that.

He then spent as much time cataloguing spells as he could. He bid on a couple of online auctions that looked promising. He dealt with customers when he absolutely had to, and he wasn’t shy about telling the rude ones where they could stuff it. He drove out a couple of horny teens who decided that late-night Thursday meant the bookshop was a place to try to make out.

People were so gross. Max didn’t understand them at all. Well, except for the ones that he did understand.

Since the beginning of September, a kid spent most evenings curled up in one of the comfy chairs. (They were still there because Max hadn’t been able to bring himself to change them from his parents’ setup, even though it encouraged people to stay and lounge instead of getting out.) They looked like they were about sixteen or so, were built like a football player, hunched their shoulders a lot, had long dark hair, warm light brown skin, and sometimes wore lip gloss, bright nail polish, and flowy clothing. Max had once caught the yellow, white, purple, and black stripes of a non-binary flag pin on their jacket.

The public school system hadn’t been particularly kind to Max. Coming from a witch family, he’d needed to hide a lot about his upbringing. Add in being introverted and geeky on top of that, and it hadn’t been a great time. But he’d been a cis white male. While this kid didn’t have a buzz indicating they were a witch or a shifter, Max worried they weren’t having an easy time, either.

They were quiet, didn’t leave a mess, and clearly needed a safe space. Max had already made sure his queer section had several books on being non-binary, queer, and questioning. Then Max left them alone, because the last thing he’d wanted when he was their age was for someone to ask him if he was alright or try to butt into his business. If they weren’t causing a problem, they could stay as long as they wanted.

Thursdays and Fridays, the shop stayed open until eight, and on Fridays Max hosted a D&D session. He wasn’t the DM—thank the gods—but without quite understanding how it had happened, he’d become part of the group instead of just letting them use the space in the basement. (It was finished, but not, like, nice or anything, but Stella said that just added to the dungeon vibe. Max had realized at that point that it was like arguing with his sister, and he was never going to win.)

They all brought snacks on the understanding that they would never eat them with the books upstairs and they would clean up after themselves, because Nōwē didn’t need an increased rodent population, she was managing just fine, thank you very much.

Half the room was taken up with stacks of boxes that Max was slowly working his way through, because there were simply not enough hours in the day. But there was still plenty of room to play, and Max had acquired the long table on one of those “free stuff” sites. (It had made more sense than constantly having to set up and take down card tables and having dice get cocked on the uneven surface between them. Plus, no one wanted to remember the “didn’t check to make sure the legs were locked into place” debacle.)

Max had been pulled in as the unlikely sixth player. He’d read the player’s handbook cover to cover when he realized there was no getting out of this. He played a surly wizard, which meant he didn’t have to act all that much, and that helped. These were all normal people, no magic buzz along Max’s skin indicating that they were either witches or shifters. But in the context of the game, Max could say whatever magical thing he wanted, and it didn’t matter.

It was oddly freeing.

They all greeted him cheerfully as they trooped in, and within a few chaotic minutes, they were all set up.

“Alright,” Stella said from the head of the table. “Where were we?”

“I was about to seduce the dragon,” Edward reminded everyone, flashing his most charming smile.

He was their human rogue, and he was a fool. His real-life dating tended to have the same energy and disastrous consequences.

“I’m ready to rage,” Sam, their barbarian, told them. She rolled her eyes at Edward. “For when everything goes wrong.”