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SHANNON AND KENNEDY
HOPE
It was just before noon when I went downstairs to make us a late breakfast, early lunch.
By one o’clock, I have a plan.
Jericho, New York is pretty close to Westfield. Less than sixty miles away, I can make it there in about an hour and a half barring any traffic. The store is open until six o’clock, which gives me until two or three to get my shit together and head out.
I thought about calling the store, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. This is coming from the type of anxious mess who’d rather deal with a toothache for a week than call the dentist, or who pays extra to order my dinner online so that I don’t have to talk to the restaurant on the phone.
Besides, what would I say? Humans aren’t supposed to know about Sombra. If I find a mate and ask her, she might lie and pretending like she doesn’t know what I’m talking about to keep the secret. No. I’m better off taking the ride and, if I find Kennedy, confronting her in person.
I’m nervous the entire drive, from the Garden State Parkway all the way up the LIE. There’s more traffic than my phone first told me, and it ends up taking overtwohours to get there. Luckily, it’s still before six when I finally park and, anxiously strolling down Main Street, search for Turn the Page.
I smell the coffee on the wind and stumble upon a shop called The Beanery first. And maybe I’m stalling because I drove all this way and I’m terrified it’ll end up having been pointless, but I think about ducking in to try out their pumpkin spice latte—and that’s when I see the sign for Turn the Page right next door.
My heart is pounding. Half of me is insisting I should hope back in my car and forget this. Then I think about that last mournful gaze Sammael gave me, as though he was sure he was saying goodbye, and I get the nerve to grab the door handle.
It’s a used book store with cramped shelves, paperbacks and hardcovers stacked all over the place, and that wonderful ‘old book’ smell filling every corner. It immediately shouts ‘cozy’ to me, and if I wasn’t here for a reason—and they weren’t closing in less than an hour—I’d enjoy checking out each of the shelves.
Later, Hope. Maybe.
We’ll see.
As far as I can tell, I’m the only person in the store except for the clerk behind the counter. She has her head bowed over a book when I walk in, glancing up when the bell over the door alerts her to my presence.
I’d put her about my age, maybe a couple of years older. She has a pretty face, open and friendly, with her long blonde hair pulled up in a high ponytail. Her eyes are a deep blue shade that pair well with her oversized burnt orange sweater.
She offers me a friendly wave. “Hi, there. Welcome to Turn the Page. What can I do for you?”
I swallow reflexively, my nerves getting the better of me, before I finally admit, “I’m looking for Kennedy. Kennedy Barnes. I heard she owns the place.”
“Oh, Kennedy did. But she lets me run the place these days. My name is Shannon. Maybe there’s something I could do for you instead.”
As quickly as my stomach dropped to the floor to hear that Kennedy doesn’t own the bookstore anymore, my chest fills with sudden hope when she tells me her name.
Maybe it’s a coincidence. Just because the new owner of the shop happens to have the same name as one of the four listed inside of the grimoire… it could be a coincidence.
Please don’t let it be a coincidence...
“You might be able to help. You see, I’d like to ask you about a book.”
“Sure thing. Shoot. What’s the title?”
“Um. It’s called theGrimoire du Sombra.”
Shannon face freezes for a few seconds and I know then and there that this ain’t no coincidence.
Thank God.
She recovers after a moment. “Sounds familiar. Do you have it with you?”
No. Because I’m a fucking idiot. I only realized when I was getting off of the Parkway that, in my mad dash to leave my house, I left it in my bedroom. I plopped it on my nightstand as I got everything I thought I might need in case this actually becomes a rescue mission, then completely blanked on grabbing it.
“I don’t.”
“Oh.”
