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Saul exited the jeep and skirted around the hood, mindful of oncoming traffic as he opened her door and helped her out, escorting her to the sidewalk. A press of the key fob locked his vehicle, and with her arm tucked securely through his, he led her to their destination.
By Hook Or By Book was not a huge store, but neither was it a hole in the wall. It was one of his favorite stores, and he tried to visit more often than every couple of months. Conversations with the owner were worth dropping a couple hundred dollars in books.
They walked up the low ramp enabling disabled access from the sidewalk, and through the wide door. Caera’s attention couldn’t be torn away from the impressive display of books in the front window, surrounded by plastic skulls, wolf-shaped tealight holders, and all manner of Halloween decorations.
There was still a month to go before Samhain, but Beryl wasn’t a woman who let any holiday slip past without exploiting it.
His cock hardened as Caera gasped, standing still to take in the numerous rows of books.
Thirty minutes was going to kill him.
*
She breathed in deep, drinking in the scent of so many books together in what looked like one room branching into many. There was the unique fragrance of leather, the mellow odor of printed pages.
Directly ahead of them was a small counter hosting a computer system, almost concealed by piles of paperbacks. Behind it, a woman with hair layered in blue, pink, and purple sat reading, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose.
Caera resisted the urge to run from bookcase to bookcase, her long-lost love of reading rising from the dead to ogle everything on display. There wasn’t a speck of dust that she could see, and the store had a deeply relaxing aura to it, as though it held its arms out, recognizing someone who belonged there.
Saul set his hand on the small of her back. “Go explore, Caera.”
She didn’t require any further instructions. Shaking with excitement, she made a beeline for the nearest shelves, running her fingertips along a row of glossy spines. Her earlier nerves were forgotten as she drifted from shelf to shelf, scanning titles and rediscovering some of her favorite books.
She wandered deeper into the stacks, following where her fingers led her, until she found herself in a small alcove with a pair of armchairs squished together. The shelves lining the walls weren’t piled with brand new books, but showed off well-read paperbacks with their covers spotlighted beneath tiny LED lights.
Reaching out, she stroked a fingertip over a worn copy of The Brothers Lionheart, then picked it up reverently. She’d first read that book when she was twelve, and aside from the drama and the fantastical elements, it was the more adult themes that had stuck with her for a long time. It was one of the reasons she was comfortable with death, and what might come after.
“You have good taste.”
Yelping, Caera felt the book leave her hands, juggling it madly to stop it from hitting the carpet and getting damaged. She caught it, barely, and set it back on its plastic stand before she did something unforgivable. Clutching the shelf in both hands, she sucked in a breath.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
Didn’t mean to startle her? Jesus help her if the woman intentionally tried to scare the shit out of her. Too damn close to throwing up, Caera just nodded once and willed the intruder to go far, far away. Anxiety wormed under her skin, enraging the savage itch she hadn’t felt for a few days.
“Here, come sit down.”
Caera’s arms jerked away from the light touch on her shoulder. She spun, stumbling back, her eyes frantically searching for Saul. He wasn’t there, and she was alone with a stranger. A stranger, she realized, in possession of incredibly artistic—or weird—hair.
“Boy, he wasn’t kidding when he said you were jumpy. That’s okay, I’ve been there.” The woman lifted her hands and eased back a step. “Saul’s in the non-fiction section, which is about thirty feet away. If you shout for him, he’ll hear you, but I don’t like raised voices in my store unless absolutely necessary. Triggers,” she explained with a little shrug.
“Y-Your store?” This was Beryl?
“My store,” she confirmed. “I’m Beryl Rowstenski, but everyone in the neighborhood calls me Mama B. Saul’s told me a bit about you. Enough to pique my interest, but that’s neither here nor there. I’m more concerned that you’ve apparently lost your love of reading.”
Caera finally managed to take a full breath, her body relaxing as the perceived threat ebbed away. Slowly, she sank into the nearest armchair, leaning forward over her knees until her heart rate calmed. “I didn’t lose it. It died.”
Beryl snorted. “Bullshit. Once a reader, always a reader. Our love for books is a love that lasts a lifetime. It just takes one book—the right book—for the spark to rekindle.” She moved to the shelf and retrieved the book Caera had almost dropped. “This is one of several areas for customers to come and indulge themselves. I display copies of books that have been well read to encourage someone to pick them up, settle into a chair, and read. You went straight for this one—are you familiar with it?”
It was odd not to be interrogated about why she was so nervous, and to have someone act normally around her instead of tiptoeing at arm’s length. “I read it a long time ago.”
“It’s one of my favorites. Two brothers on an epic adventure spanning life and death. Sacrifices made, the eternal battle between good and evil, and then the turning of the tables. Makes you wonder what lies in store when we reach the end of this life, doesn’t it?”
Caera lifted her head and studied the woman more intently.
Beryl—Mama B—wasn’t as young as she’d first presumed. Despite the shocking statement of her multi-colored hair, she was probably in her late fifties, early sixties. Her skin was almost flawless, tight beneath a light layer of foundation, but there were a few wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, her mouth. Light hazel eyes were shadowed with wisdom Caera could only wish she would have one day.
The book in her hands, Mama B perched herself on the edge of the second chair and began to flip through the pages. “So, what tragic event dampened the fire of your passion? It’s nothing to be ashamed about,” she assured her when Caera made a strangled sound in her throat. “It happens to everyone. We find ourselves lacking time, inclination. Sometimes an author doesn’t quite hit the mark with one book, or emotionally drains us with a masterpiece. And occasionally, life backhands us and erases any desire to turn the page on someone else’s story.”
