Second Door to the Right

by Nikki Hyson

  As she tipped the third table into place, he realized she’d have laughed off any offered help. Still, he wondered as she circled the tables with folding chairs, where had the dark fellow gone? James glanced round the lower level while she fixed a row of surge protectors down the center of the tables.

  Curious, he leaned forward to watch her continued preparations a little better. At a guess, she seemed to be preparing a round table for geeks. Geek. He’d found the word in a dictionary not long ago, and rather liked it.

  She pushed the return cart back behind the counter, retrieving a smaller four-foot table with a plastic tablecloth. Stacks of cardboard cups and paper plates filled the space, made company by pink boxes of bakery biscuits and a faux crystal bowl filled to the brim with Everton mints. Just how many geeks is she expecting? She’d barely finished when Sophie came out of the back with two carafes of coffee.

  James watched their eyes meet, familiarity asking and answering questions without a word uttered. Lily disappeared into the back, returning a moment later with an electric teakettle and a second bowl of assorted teas and cocoas. Hands on hips, both women sized up the arrangement with smiles. James chuckled softly. Bless them.

  “Make the announcement,” Sophie said.

  Lily wrinkled her nose, but moved to the phone anyway. She lifted the receiver, cradling it between cheek and shoulder before turning to face the On Hold bookshelves. Watching Lily hit a button, James couldn’t stop the smile. Excepting Tink, she was one of the quirkiest little souls he’d ever met.

  As if sensing this thought, she lifted her gaze to the loft and locked onto him. Genuine pleasure filled her eyes. “Good evening, Patrons,” she said, tone both calm and pleasant, each word aimed at him. “The time is now seven o’clock. At this time we ask you to bring any items requiring check out to the main desk. In fifteen minutes, we’ll be starting our NaNoWriMo write-in. Of course, you’re welcome to stay and participate. I promise three hours of furious word wars and copious amounts of laughter. Thank you.” Her grin widened. “And have a great evening.”

  In a matter of moments, the area surrounding the desk became a flurry of questions, answers and random comments. Sophie stepped to the first checkout computer, registering loans while Lily fielded questions about NaNoWriMo. A routine obviously practiced many times before, the pair executed it with relaxed precision as the minutes tick-tocked to closing.

  Perfect time to slip away. He could be down the stairs and out the door before the crowd thinned and he lost his cover; gone between one blink and the next. Three times in two days was going a bit too far. I need to go.

  She’d become the gun laid casually on the table in Act One: to be used before the last curtain. Everything was a breadcrumb leading somewhere, and if that were true then Lily had become a whole bloody loaf. James needed to run before the choice was no longer his to make. Surely the Guild knew of her and these encounters. They’d be wondering why he’d said nothing. Go now. Tell them.

  One foot on the last step and the other on the main floor, he hesitated. Turning his head for one last look, James found her eyes already upon him. She cocked her head slightly, arching a brow; both an invitation for him to stay. He wanted to shake his head, but stopped.

  If they knew of her they’d stop at nothing to unriddle her. Who was she? What was she? Why am I drawn to her like a lodestone? Whatever the answer, she’d be in danger. A ripple of emotion ran through him, casting up memories. Drawing blood and not joy. What are you doing to me, Lass?

  7

  His throat cleared, thoughts vaporizing with the sound. Weakness followed on the heels of such mortal flaws, and he’d have none of that. Embracing the small victories of his cursed life, James threw off the worries of guardianship. She already had one of those lurking about somewhere. He needn’t feel guilty over something that hadn’t happened yet. Not my responsibility. Turning to his escape, he took a step.

  “James, why are you running?”

  James froze, weight balanced on one foot and his cane, ears ringing with an accusation spoken in jest. Lily’s voice poked through his defenses, slipping between ribs to touch a heart that beat for no one but himself.

  “Are you afraid of writers? We’re not quite the manic lot we’re painted to be.”

  He pivoted back to find she’d moved to within a half dozen paces. Behind him the entrance doors opened, a blast of frigid air following a half dozen folk all carrying backpacks or lap top bags. Each greeted her enthusiastically as they passed.

  Lily returned the sentiments, gaze never fully straying from James’ face. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked, crowd flowing around them.

  His throat constricted, swallowing hard to force the words out. “You’re a writer.” If she was, then he hadn’t a hope for either of them. They’d find her and burn him to ash as an example. His death would prove their capability, and forge shackles of a fear she’d never shake.

  Nodding, Lily smiled. “Nothing published, but yes. I love to write. Always have. What about you?”

  “No. No. Only read. I do love to read.”

  “Well, I think all of us start out as readers. We read until we aren’t happy with an ending, or the book we want isn’t on the shelf yet.”

  Another gust of snow-mixed air entered with a handful of women near Lily’s age. One of the totes matched Lily’s sweatshirt. Starting to piece the puzzle together, the coffee cup and fluttering pages logo, he asked, “Is that what you do? Rewrite endings?”

  “Yes.”

  The single word thrummed through him with power. Surely I heard wrong. “I’m sorry.” Words fled, leaving him stupid. “What did you just say?”

  “Yes.” Amusement danced through the gray-green depths of her eyes. “Haven’t you ever wanted to change an ending?”

  Behind her, Lily’s dark-haired guardian appeared. Shunning the growing crowd, he moved towards the reference section, eyes never leaving James. So, he hadn’t left after all.

  James, recalling the question and the possibilities flowing with it, pulled together the truth in his reply. “Of course. I just didn’t think it was allowed.”

  “Why not? Writers aren’t all knowing, all seeing demi-gods. Sometimes they get things horribly wrong.” Closing the distance, she hooked her hand in the crook of James’ elbow. “Sometimes the wrong guy gets the girl. Or the noble self-sacrifice is little more than a gimmick,” she confided, drawing him away from the door. “And sometimes,” she added, one conspirator to another, “the villain isn’t such a bad guy after all.”

  What was it about her smile that lowered James’ defenses, sparking humor he’d surrendered moons ago? “You don’t say.”

  “Why not join us for a couple hours and find out? You might even have fun.”

  He looked across a room now teeming with people of all ages, colors, and classes. Some were busy plugging laptops into surge protectors, but many were simply milling about with a cup of coffee and a biscuit. From the snatches of excited conservations he caught they all seemed to be obsessively comparing numbers.

  “…had yesterday off. Managed fifty-five hundred before my brain melted into jelly.”

  “Did you hear Sharon crossed fifty k already?”

  “…my daughter’s basketball, then made three dozen cupcakes for John’s class. Barely managed a thousand. In the hole again.”

  “…She almost has to. Three family dinners Thanksgiving weekend. Glad I don’t have any Americans in my family.”

  “Robert thinks he’ll hit it tonight.”

  One small circle laughed, breaking up to join others at the tables before order was called.

  James understood with blinding clarity, words following on a gasp. “They’re all writers.”

  “Shocking, isn’t it?” She laughed. “Who knew we traveled in packs?” Lily waited until he pulled his gaze away from the two dozen souls chatting as if they didn’t carry the power of creation in their fingertips. “Care to join us?”

  What sort of parado
x might he create? A paper soul daring to wield a pen. Does the Guild know of this? “I wouldn’t know where to start.” The Professor?

  “How about the ending?” She moved from his side, filling a cup with coffee and handing it to James. Starting to reach for another, she hesitated. “Oh. I didn’t think. Do you take milk and sugar?”

  “No, this is fine. What do you mean, the ending?”

  Filling her own cup, she motioned them towards a couple chairs, a little ways from the general throng. The possibility of not following her never occurred to James.

  She took a sip from her cup, head cocking as she studied him. “Well, it’s already the nineteenth, so starting a novel from scratch might be setting you up to fail. Why not just rewrite an ending you don’t like? Then you already have the characters and general plot. Just to dip your toes in the water, so to speak.”

  Too much for James to grasp in an instant, he settled on a question instead. Hand waving to encompass the room, he cocked a brow. “What is all of this?”

  Her eyes warmed to the beloved question in the time it took her to draw a breath. “This is a meeting of the National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo. It started July 1999 between a handful of friends on a dare. The goal is to write a fifty thousand word novel in a month. No excuses. No inner editor screaming “it’s worthless”. Just do it with the support of fellow writers all trying to do the same thing.”

  James licked lips grown dry, swallowing the hard knot that couldn’t be fear. Or hope. Those emotions had been striped away. “How many of you are there?” Surely Hyde and the Professor know about this.

  “Here or around the world?”

  Around the world? “Ah, both?”

  “We hit fifteen thousand in the city this year, but altogether there is just over half a million.” Her smile grew as shock must’ve colored his face. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

  “You could say that. And all are published?”

  “Quite a few. The list grows every year.” She glanced towards one of the round, white wall clocks tracking the hours. Only a few ticks left before a quarter after seven. Lily rose, cocking her head at the exact angle of a curious puppy. “I have to get this party going. You’re welcome to join us, or not. No pressure. Alright?”

  He nodded, thoughts somersaulting as she moved away. The impossible idea of changing someone’s fate rolled tantalizingly over his brain. Would it even work? Or would it remain flat, lifeless on the page? Did all writers possess the power of the Guild, or only a chosen few? Not knowing that so many living writers existed opened James’ life to a crossroads requiring choices. Watching her walk away from him, James wondered, could she change his fate? Could she free him? What power flowed from Lily’s fingertips?

  Question begetting question with no answers in sight, he watched from just outside the circle. The others came to order eagerly, finding chairs and laptops while Lily retrieved a fat leather journal and pen from behind the counter.

  “What do you say? Fifteen minute word war just to loosen things up?” She glanced round the assembly and, finding nods of acceptance, added, “Alright then.” She slid into the last vacant chair, setting a pocket watch on the table beside her. “Ready?”

  Hands lifted above keyboards, some slipping on ear buds or headphones. Clicking her pen, Lily opened her book to a ribbon marker. James leaned forward just a bit, eager to see her jump down the rabbit hole and begin this adventure.

  She smiled. “Let’s go.”

  Like an incoming stampede, the frenzied typing of two dozen writers rolled over them. James longed for his own headphones, to drown out the herd, before the first minute was up.

  And yet, he stayed. He watched Lily’s hand flow across the paper, scarcely lifting tip from page as, between blinks, one line finished and the next begun. In that moment James wondered where the ideas came from and what her novel might be about. Her gaze drew inward, lips hardening into a thin line.

  Lily’s dark-haired guardian rounded a distant bookshelf before the first word war finished. Lily didn’t seem to notice him, hunched over her journal with two precious minutes left to go. James did. Marking the younger man’s journey around the outer lane of shelves, and then his slow progression inward towards the writers. Eyes never straying far from Lily, his steps didn’t bring him to her side during the breaks that followed. During those he seemed to vanish altogether; lost when he rounded a corner somewhere near the reference section.

  James’ first impression of this possible boyfriend soured with her lack of interest. Was he from the Guild? Had he been sent to watch her? Possible, but he couldn’t reconcile the idea with the hurt filling the young man’s eyes when his gaze fell on her. No, this spoke of an unreconciled past.

  As if they were only one, three hours flew by; word wars interspersed between rounds of chatting and the consumption of too much caffeine-laced sugar. Handing out a prize for a war won, Lily glanced at James. Applause rising in honor of the ninth victor, she noted the bemusement hiding in his whiskers. Do we seem so very odd to outsiders? The question niggled even as she led them in a second round of cheers for a night well spent.

  The last of the writers dispersed sometime after ten, leaving James and Lily alone. Sticking it out to the very end, he still seemed in no hurry to leave. Circling the library once, as if browsing, James almost seemed to be searching for something, or someone.

  “So, what do you think?” she asked, nestling the last surge protector in its tote as James returned from his perimeter check. The tight frown between his brows expanded her own focus outward, to the dark corners he’d just been hunting. Nothing. Her gaze shifted back to him. What are you looking for?

  “I’ve never seen anyone write so fast.” Again, that tolerant smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “I think your hand must be sore.”

  She laughed, some of her guard lowering. Slipping both journal and pen into her coat pocket, she nodded, “Yes, word wars are hard on me.” She lifted the sweatshirt’s hood from under her collar and threw the logo-branded tote over a shoulder. Keys ready, she gave them an absent-minded jingle. “Got everything?”

  Stepping to her side, James claimed the rubbish sack before she could reach for it. “Ready.”

  Library locked behind them and rubbish pitched in the bin, Lily hesitated. “Well, I go this way,” she pointed, the toe of her boot chipping at a bit of ice.

  James surveyed the parking lot. “Where are you parked?”

  “No car. I go up two streets and grab the bus. You?”

  “Not far. I walked. Which way to the bus?”

  “Left at the corner and up Regency Street. You?”

  “The same.” He hesitated, still searching shadows as if for danger. “Mind if I walk with you?” His blue eyes found hers a moment before Lily decided to turn away.

  It was a quirk she was used to. Her father was always concerned for her safety; a parent’s love combined with the paranoia of an unsettled mind. But this— You don’t even know me. Lily cleared her throat, but held his eye. “Worried about a young woman out walking in the dark of night?” she asked, striving for lightness, an air of teasing, and failing.

  “Yes,” he admitted, pulling no punches. “Something like that.” James flipped up the collar on his coat. “Shall we then?”

  He’s already freezing, she realized as his grip tightened on the cane. You should get a cab, James. Compassion pooled in the pit of her stomach, mixing with the unease his heightened alertness was rising within her. If only I had a little of Stephan’s gift. Her love, she remembered, could look a person in the eye and know if they were telling the truth.

  James stood, silently waiting for her answer. He didn’t blink. He didn’t look away. And Lily wished, desperately, that she could trust him.

  You can.

  Her breath caught at the whisper across her heart. The same as last night, in the pizzeria. She’d been willing to dismiss it as exhaustion, imagination, or the longing for a touch she hadn’t felt in three years. No
w she couldn’t. Who are you? Anything but a trace of her father’s madness. Please.

  Lily, you can trust him.

  James studied her face, a question he didn’t ask in the lift of his brow. Lily slipped her hand into the crook of his arm as she had earlier. “As long as you don’t mind if I stop for a coffee.”

  He chuckled. “Aren’t you swimming?”

  Moving forward together, they carefully navigated the slippery, slush-wet slope. “Not a coffee lover?”

  “I’ll drink it, but prefer tea.”

  Lily glanced up in some surprise. “Are you native? I never would have guessed. You’ve a bit of an accent I just can’t place.”

  “Born here, but I’ve been gone for a while. Only been back for three years.” His attention turned, scanning an alley they passed. “Funny the things we lose on the way.”

  “Isn’t it? Where were you?”

  Something amusing seemed to cross his thoughts, a flicker of secrets that made his answer a bit long in coming. “The Caribbean,” he said at last, adding curiously, “How is it you’re walking home alone?”

  Lily’s laughter rose softly above the falling flakes. “Is that your way of asking if I have a boyfriend?” Please don’t ruin this.

  “Boyfriend, brother, father, or uncle.” James’ indifference extinguished the possibility of future tensions. “On a late night, any would do.”

  “A gallant thought, but I stick to well-traveled paths,” she said, still not answering. “No need to worry.”

  They stopped so she could get her coffee, an extra shot, peppermint latte she cupped between mittened hands before the bus stop. Curls of steam drifted up between them while she took a sip, gaze grazing the rim as she noticed someone coming up behind him. Lily swallowed, tongue clicking in preface of her words. “Busted again, I’m afraid.”

  James didn’t even turn to confirm her statement. “I must be late for work. Again,” he added, a trace of chagrin in his jest.

  “Strange hours you keep.” Looking past James to the man who’d interrupted them last night as well, Lily offered a slight lift of her chin. “Hello.” Did the pizza help at all?