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Chapter One
SUMMER
The massive stack of books hides the face of a god. A god like Hades. Beautiful, hard, and shrouded in the shadows of his hardcover stronghold. A being who knows only how to walk the world alone, scorning the help of others.
Especially librarians.
Will today finally be the day he gives in?
I can always tell I’m getting near the end of my shift when I start comparing patrons to mythical characters. Nothing like a little storytelling to keep me going after the caffeine wears off.
Before leaving the circulation desk, I press a button that rings a bell throughout the entire building. This is the third and final ring. In five minutes, the security guard will give people their last notice that the library is closing. Today it’s Johnny, a newer guy. He’s friendly, but I hope not so friendly that he lets stragglers guilt him into allowing them to linger a few minutes longer.
I love working in a public library, but that doesn’t mean I want to stay an hour later than my scheduled shift. Which is why I leave Karen to handle the final checkouts as I approach the makeshift book fort.
When I reach the fortress walls, I have a strong urge to topple the lot of them with a growl and declare that Hades’ castle has been conquered by a fire-breathing dragon.
But I’m mixing myths, and dragon attacks are not recommended for proper book upkeep.
I clear my throat, twining my fingers together behind my back to keep from reaching for an armful of the reading material.
A window appears as the man hidden behind the parchment ramparts slides a few off the top. A set of Icelandic blue eyes trace over my eager form. I’m not sure if Icelandic is technically a shade of blue, but the country name brings to mind sharp icebergs floating in blood-freezing oceans.
And that’s his blue. Sharp and cold.
The color mixes beautifully with his Nordic blonde hair and the silver piercings that decorate the rims of his ears and accent the edge of his eyebrow and lower lip. Briefly, I wonder if any of his tattoos have the same color blue of his eyes. There’s a good many on display, twining down his arms and creeping up his neck. There are bits of color inside the black outlines, but I’ve never gotten the chance to leisurely study the images to answer my question.
Everything about this patron conveys a simple message:I’m not friendly. Don’t talk to me.
But I talk to everyone, even sexy, intimidating men who surround themselves with fortresses of books.
“Yes?”
Yes, he asks. As if he doesn’t know why I’m here. Why I always approach him at the end of my Sunday shift. The way he says the one word does things to my chest. Good things. Bad things. Burning things.
“You’ve amassed quite a collection today.” One of my hands sneaks free, reaching to fiddle with the cover of a worn volume at the top of a stack.
“Yes.”
Yes, he says.
One of the first things I learned working in customer service is how to smile. No matter what.
I smile at him now.
“Well, I would be happy to put away whatever you don’t plan on checking out. Seeing as how we’re closing. In five minutes.”
Say yes. Say it now.
Let me help.
“No. Thanks.”
Damn you.
Still I smile, even though I want to glare until he accepts my aid.
Let the librarian help you. I try to telepathically implant the notion in his brain, but I think all the metal in his face messes with my signal. My smile begins to ache.
