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“Maybe. There’s a battery of tests we’ll have to do to see what you pull out. Like, Ville only pulls people’s forms out of the book. He lost his original form years ago, so we’re looking for a deus that can use an old photo to write him back in so he can steal it. That’s kinda why we have to check the books, because depending on who uses it, they may strip something, alter something… And in my case, I can alter history itself, because changes in my book change all books and change reality beyond that.” He waved his hand dismissively like I wouldn’t find that fucking impressive.

And knowing what he did all those years ago…

“How did you figure it out?” I finally got the courage to ask as he straightened up his clothes.

“Oh, well… I kept a ledger for the plantation, and I forgot a decimal somewhere, and the next day, we had a lot more than we anticipated. Not that it stopped the mister’s son from—” His face twisted. “It’s complicated and fucked up.”

“I have time to listen.” I reached for his sleeve, holding on to the edge of it for a moment until he rested a hand atop mine.

“You know how old I am.” He stared me down.

I nodded.

“What would someone who looked like me be in the 1850s?” As his eyes settled on mine and history rolled in the back of my head, my gut clenched.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, but I was lucky because my daddy owned the plantation and light-skinned boys were brought into the house to live the good life.” He scoffed. “I got to call him Mister, and Mister let me get an education. So, I had that going for me. He got drafted eventually, and they brought him back in a box filled with flies so thick, the entire pine box hummed.”

“And your brother took over?” I covered my mouth.

“Brother by blood. But he let me call him Clyde as long as I said sir in front of polite company. We were only a few months apart in age. We grew up together, so we had a rapport.” He shook his head and huffed. “But when the plantation started suffering under his damn gambling and drinking… Guess who fetched a good price?”

My grip on his sleeve tightened, and I leaned in to give him a hug. “I can’t imagine. That sounds fucking awful.”

“Coulda been a lot worse. An archivist bought me. He was with a company of soldiers that came through and could sense me, asked about and circled back to buy me at the end of winter when money is always the lowest.” He rubbed at his neck. “I was the first Sumna Scriba recorded that they didn’t axe immediately.”

I gave a hiss of disapproval, not pity. But it felt like those long-gone strikes against him were slights against me, against something that I treasured.

“Yeah. Now they find them in universities these days or through school reading programs. Identify them early and watch them like hawks until they’re ready.” Zeke scoffed and stared at his hands, rubbing over a scar over the back of his knuckles. “I had it good compared to a lot of them. Even got the family name. I always had a straw mat and a bed, goose down mixed-in in the winter. I got to eat in the house, and on Christmas and Thanksgiving, they let me eat with the family at the table. The missus didn’t care for me, but she tolerated me. Infidelity with the help was a given back then, so I was more of an investment than a reminder of his wandering wiener. Clyde let me eat with them on Sundays because he said I basically ran the plantation. That, and his wife let me feed the little ones so she could eat a meal in peace. You don’t put the golden goose out in open pasture.”

Everything out of his mouth made me sadder.

“It’s hard to imagine you being that old. Your speech is more modern.” I worded it carefully because what was he supposed to sound like? “I mean, I can tell something’s up with your occasional jargon and diction, but I’d never guess you were that old.”

“I spend most of my life in modern books. I adapt. It’s how archivists survive.” He circled his arms around me and sighed a deep breath. “But I don’t talk about all that much. Isa doesn’t even know my full backstory. I just assume I kind of owe it to you because I’ve had my dick buried to the bulb in you.”

“Knot,” I supplied helpfully.

“Seriously? Oh, yeah… Oh…” He frowned. “Wasn’t bad though. Kinda nice, actually. Forced cuddles.” He grinned as if he were over the subject, and I patted his back.

“Well… What’s the chance this is going to make things awkward for us at work?” I cleared my throat.

“One-hundred percent. But…there’s some spicy books that need dives and since we’re kinda…compatible… Maybe it wouldn’t be so horrible if we dove together?” He gave me a nudge. “I’ll take you out for dinner before that, I promise.”

“Ooooh, a gentleman.” I laughed. “Wait. I’m single. Are you single? Did we just do something awful?”

“Nope. I’m single, so all good. But I will take you to that dinner. I think I kinda like you so far. Want to see how things go? No hang-ups about dating someone of my delightful lineage?” He smirked.

“No hang-ups here. You’re kind, educated, and employed. If you played tabletop games or D&D, I’d probably find some way to take you home to meet the family right away. But…cover story or something. I don’t think my mother’s poor heart could handle hearing about all—” I gestured about amorphously.

“About screaming hot feral sex?” He raised a brow.

“I mean, she wouldn’t appreciate that detail. She’d rather think me an untouched little flower, but the archivist stuff… I think she’d faint.” I pulled away.

“Well, let’s go make things awkward!” He clapped me on the back, grabbed my hand, and gestured in the air as if closing the cover of a book, slamming us back to reality with a jarring clatter over the chair I had been sitting in. My already-sore butt bruised as I fell ass over teakettle onto the polished wood floor behind the counter, Zeke tripping atop me.

Why couldn’t the carpet be back here, too? Ugh.