“Wow. One star. Poor customer service.”
I leave Dorian’s cat, Behemoth, and she follows me with her eyes, tail swishing.
I can hear Cinnamon’s voice carrying through the stacks, followed by a great burst of laughter. I follow the sound to the back of the bookstore. Cinnamon sits in a throne-like chair. She’s dressed her voluptuous body in a forest fairy outfit, shimmery wings and all. About ten or fifteen kids sit cross legged on the rug, entranced as she reads out loud.
I spot two kids I know in the crowd. Kira looks enthralled by the story. Squeaky is taking his shoe off and investigating his sock. Aleena’s eyes meet mine and I wave to her before coming to sit down on the rug beside her.
“Hey,” I whisper. Squeaky rolls backwards into my lap and I play with his hair.
But Aleena frowns at me. “The kids told me a funny story about Auntie Ruby drawing on cars.With her keys.”
I wince. “Sorry. I saw Brody and I got a little…carried away.”
Aleena’s mouth turns downward. “Ruby,” she says, “Your emotions are what’s beautiful about you. Truly. But you have anger. Trapped in here.” She places her hand against my heart. “You need to let it out. Not for anyone. For you. You don’t need to carry that.”
His concern is touching. She’s not angry with me…she’sworriedabout me. I put my hand over hers, lace our fingers, and give her hand a squeeze. “I’ll work on it,” I promise.
She gives a small nod, the tense muscles in her face relaxing. The kids burst into laughter at the story, and I use the opportunity to slip away from the crowd.
Dove is standing on the outskirts of the event, leaning against the shelves. She spots me and breaks into a grin, ushering me over.
“I’m glad your sister came!” Her voice is a hushed whisper. “Isn’t this great?”
I nestle in beside her. “It’s adorable.”
But I’m distracted over Aleena’s advice. I’ve always been a passionate person, ready toliterallyride or die for my friends and family, but…have I gone too far? Have I let my rage take the wheel?
Dove frowns. “I feel kind of bad, though. Look.”
She tilts her chin to direct my attention to one of the children in the group. The kid is sobbing, his eyes at a mural on the wall—a mural Dove painted. It’s a creepy, shadow-like monster with bookmarks for fingers.
Dove is a rock star at painting weird, creepy things. It’s one of the reasons she and Dorian go so well together—they both have the same Edward Gorian vibes. But she looks genuinely unhappy that her painting is causing the kid so much distress.
“Dorian,” she hisses. She kicks her foot out, nudging the man sitting on the floor in front of her. Dorian lifts his head, his dark hair flopping back. Dove motions to the child. “Your customer is crying.”
“And?”
“And…can’t you do something?”
Dorian presses his lips into a line, but I know as well as anyone that he’ll do whatever Dove tells him. Dove and I watchas Dorian gets up, then sits down on the floor next to the sobbing child. He nods to the painting on the wall. “Scary monster, huh?”
The child sniffles. Nods.
“I get it.” Dorian sighs. “I thought he was scary too, until I realized all he wanted was children’s tears.”
“W-what…?”
“Oh, yeah. He can’t get enough of the criers. He follows them home, waits until it’s dark, and then climbs into bed to lick their tears right off their cheeks?—”
Dove picks a book and chucks it at Dorian. He “ow”s and rubs the back of his head. But the child stops crying. Immediately.
Mission accomplished, I guess?
“You picked that man,” I remind Dove.
“I know. He’s the worst.” She frowns at him, but then crosses her arms over her chest and cocks her hip. “And yet, all I want to do is like…breed him.”
I shake my head. “There’s something wrong with both of you.”
