The Cost of Living (ARC)

by Emilie Lucadamo

  Beck raises an eyebrow. “I interest you?”

  “Very much,” replies Adam, unfazed. “You’re an interesting person, Beck Murray.”

  Beck wants to be cool in the face of such praise, but he can feel his face heating up like a firetruck. The curse of blushing easily would be bad enough if he didn’t have tissue-paper pale skin, and hair you should only see in cautionary ads about the effects of ginger hair dye. He must really look ridiculous, because Adam takes a sip of juice and almost chokes on it when he can’t hold back his laughter.

  They go back and forth for about twenty minutes, just talking—and Beck is thrilled to find that Adam is a fantastically easy person to talk to. He goes on about his shop, how long he’s had it and what inspired him to start it in the first place. Adam is twenty-five, two years out of college, with a dual degree in English and history. He could have been a teacher but channeled his love for reading into a store instead. The antiques downstairs are mostly local, but the books have come from all over the world. Adam presents a worn old tome that he explains came all the way from India. His shop is his pride and joy.

  In exchange, Beck talks about his own life. Compared to Adam’s, it seems dull. He’s a college student; he lives with his friends; he’s got a mom, a dad, and one younger brother; and he’s still in the process of figuring out what he wants to do with his life. His favorite sport is lacrosse. Cows scare him. He can’t stand swiss cheese.

  When he starts talking, he can’t seem to stop. He’s not even a big fan of talking about himself, but Adam makes it so easy. He hangs off of Beck’s every word as if he wants to hear it, and Beck is inspired to go on. He knows he should be talking about more important things…but getting to know Adam, and having Adam know him in turn, seems like one of the most important things of all.

  (They avoid the big topics. Demons and magic and dead people don’t seem appropriate conversation over a homemade breakfast.)

  By the time he starts talking about how long he’s known James and Dana, a creeping realization has begun to settle upon him. It’s a few minutes before it hits him all at once. James.

  “Aww, hell,” he says; and then, springing to his feet, “Aww, hell! I forgot Jimmy!”

  Adam seems to realize the conversation has ended as easily as it began. He’s on his feet in the next second, starting to clear up plates from their extended breakfast. “He’s right where you left him and doing fine. Last I checked, he was snoring like a truck engine. I don’t know when he’ll wake up, but as soon as he does, you’re free to go.”

  “Thanks,” Beck murmurs, cursing himself for forgetting. His gaze is fixed on Adam’s room. “I’m gonna check on him.”

  “Sure,” Adam replies. “I’ve got work to do downstairs. You know where to find me.”

  The room is silent as he approaches it, and Beck can feel his heart thrum with anxiety. James is never silent. He is seized with the irrational, awful fear that his friend has vanished—got up and walked away, was possessed again, or worse—but when he pokes his head into Adam’s room, he finds James still asleep. Adam had mentioned he would be out for a while to give his body time to recover, so Beck isn’t too worried. He checks on him for just a moment. James’s face is placid and untroubled. Bruising is still heavy around his eyes, but his breathing is even and he’s regained some color back in his cheeks. Appeased, Beck shuts the bedroom door behind him and sets off to track down their host.

  He finds Adam right where he expects to—downstairs in the bookshop, working behind the counter. He’s got the same reading glasses perched on his nose and casts a dark silhouette in a blue shirt and black slacks. Adam’s “business casual” suits him painfully well.

  “Everything all right?” Adam calls without looking over his shoulder. His attention is focused on the cash register, where he is thumbing through stacks of bills with an appraising eye. Even when Beck comes up behind him and hoists himself up on the cleared-off countertop, Adam doesn’t bat an eye.

  “He’s still out cold. Guess you’re stuck with me today.”

  Adam casts him a wry glance from the corner of his gaze. “I could think of worse things.”

  Maybe Beck’s in danger of dying all over again, because something about hearing Adam say those words makes his chest feel like it’s going to explode. It only lasts for a second before he can breathe again, but he finds a grin on his face as he swings his legs over to the other side of the counter and hops off. The shop is empty, but in the light of day it is well-lit; walls lined with hundreds of books paint the shop in a myriad of colors. Beck can’t help but marvel at how nice Adam’s shop is. There is a quaintness to it that marks it as a home-run shop, such as the books stacked in the windows and piles sitting on the floor, but it is well-organized, neat, and homey. It reminds Beck a bit of the libraries his mother used to drag him to as a child, only he feels like he could sit in Adam’s shop all day (especially if Adam were there to keep him company). He can’t hide his curiosity as he turns to inspect the nearest shelf of books.

  “Got some pretty cool titles here,” Beck remarks. He recognizes none of them. He’s not sure he could read any of them if he tried. In response, Adam only offers an amused hum; he’s extolled the virtues of his books enough that he probably thinks Beck is sick of hearing him talk about them. Beck could never be sick of Adam.

  He spends the next hour meandering around the shop, entertaining himself with whatever catches his attention. All the books on display are normal volumes—biographies, romance novels, serials, and chapter books. There are no books about necromancy or witchcraft to be found. It is, by all appearances, a regular bookstore. Even so, Adam has something to say about everything Beck picks up.

  He’s settled down to read once or twice, but nothing has lasted. He keeps getting bored with whatever book he picks up, and then turns back to find another. It’s happened for the third time. Beck settles the book back where he found it before wandering towards another shelf. Just as he’s getting lost in a sea of titles, the chime of a bell suddenly rings throughout the shop.

  His first thought is that someone has just walked in. When his gaze swivels to the entrance, two things jump out at him at once: no one has entered the shop, and there is no bell above the door.

  Adam has snapped to attention as well. For all of two seconds he gapes at the door with the sort of intensity usually reserved for a dog who’s just heard the word “vet.” Then he springs into action, so fast that Beck finds himself cringing back even before Adam sprints around the counter and rushes towards him.

  “Move, now” is all Adam says, catching Beck by the shoulders and pulling him away from the entrance. Stunned, Beck puts up no resistance as Adam steers him behind the counter and into the hallway.

  They bypass the bathroom and closet without a second glance, making a beeline for the final door. Beck has never been inside this room; he’s never seen the door open, or even notices Adam acknowledge it in the times they’ve passed it. Now, without a second of hesitation, Adam throws open the door to a dark room and shoves Beck inside.

  “Stay here,” he orders. “Don’t make a sound, and don’t touch anything. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t breathe too loud.”

  “So I should just go back to being dead? Or would a corpse in your shop be too obvious?”

  “Statues are nice,” Adam replies, and at least he isn’t in too much of a rush to appreciate Beck’s wit. “Be one of those. Just stay here, and stay quiet.”

  The door shuts behind him, leaving Beck in darkness.

  Well, this wasn’t the way he wanted to spend his afternoon.

  Gritting his teeth, he stares into the pitch black around him and fights to make out anything that could give him a clue as to where he is. The air is stale in here, and the darkness is so heavy that he can’t make out a single shadow.

  The only plus side to suddenly finding himself blind is that his other senses kick into overdrive, and his own silence enables him to make out sounds coming from the front of the
shop. He hears Adam return to the counter, door slamming behind him. Just a few seconds later, the front door creaks with the sound of strangers entering the shop.

  “Mr. Clarence, Mr. Bragg,” comes Adam’s voice, imperturbable as ever. “Nice to see you boys.”

  “Likewise, Lehexe.” The newcomer’s voice is rough, a little sharp, like the serrated edge of a knife. “I wish it were on more pleasant business.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “You could say that.” The stranger allows his words to lapse for a moment, and Beck imagines him stepping up to the counter. Is he trying to intimidate Adam, or does he realize he’s being cryptic? “I’m sure it hasn’t gone over your head—the recent spike in demonic activity. The bar explosion, the earthquake, the uptick in possessions. You’ve noticed.”

  “I have.” Adam sounds admirably cool. “Not sure what I’ve got to do with it, though.”

  “Seems like you know everything, Lehexe,” pipes up another voice—a deep, country-roughened baritone. “We were hoping you could help us.”

  “Anything I can do for the Tresser Corporation, I’ll do.”

  “Of course you will. You’re not on their payroll for no reason,” says the first voice, a hint of snideness to their tone. Beck can’t help the way he flinches—something about the way he says those words pricks like a needle. Why would Adam be on anyone’s payroll—and what is the Tresser Corporation?

  “Have you heard of anyone coming back from the dead recently?”

  The question is so sudden it takes Beck aback. He wishes he could see Adam’s reaction—though he doubts the other man’s face would change at all. “Can’t say I have,” Adam replies, and if he’s shaken his voice doesn’t show it.

  “Tresser Corporation is dealing with this problem. We’ve got reason to believe it’s related to the demon surge that’s going on. What information can you give us on necromancy?”

  “I have some books—” Adam’s words cut off with the sound of him fumbling for something. “Here, here…and a few articles, here. That’s about all I’ve got.”

  “This is it?” The stranger sounds unimpressed.

  “I’m a librarian, Clarence, not a miracle worker. Make sure you bring those back when you’re finished with ’em.” Adam pauses for a beat before asking, nothing but casual, “You fellas tracked down anybody who ain’t quite dead anymore?”

  “We have.” Clarence’s answer is clipped. “Like I said, the Tresser Corporation’s dealing with them. That’s all we’re at liberty to say.”

  “Understood. You boys have a nice day.”

  Beck almost thinks that’s the end of it and is ready to let out a sigh of relief, when Bragg suddenly speaks again. “Lehexe—you hear anything, you call us, all right? Would be a real shame for you to get mixed up in any of this. Those dead folks ain’t worth half the trouble they’re making.”

  Beck feels his heart stall in his chest. “They’re dangerous?” Adam inquires, tone still neutral.

  “We think so. If you see anything, give us a call. You’ve got our number.”

  “I’ll do that. Tell Mister Tresser I said ‘hi.’”

  Beck hears the front door open again “Have a nice day, Mr. Lehexe,” calls Clarence, and the silence that follows echoes through the store.

  Beck stands alone in the dark room, feeling lost and unbearably isolated. Those men had been looking for him. They’re searching for the not-dead and came to Adam for information on people exactly like him. He can feel panic leaking like ice water into his lungs. Do they know Adam is hiding something? Could they know he’s here? If they find him, what will they do to him? What does Adam have to do with some mysterious corporation, and what—

  The light flicks on without warning. The speeding train of questions racing through Beck’s mind grinds to a screeching halt, and he spins around, wide-eyed, to find Adam standing in the doorway.

  “Easy there,” Adam says, unperturbed as ever. “Look like you seen a ghost.”

  Beck forces the lump of fear back down his throat, unwilling to let it spill out of his mouth. He doesn’t want to accuse Adam of anything, and he reminds himself that he has no reason to be afraid of him. Adam just protected him. “What was that about?” he asks instead. Adam shifts on his feet.

  “Sorry about that. I didn’t want them to know you were here. This seems like the sorta thing Tresser Corps would wanna stick their nose in, and we don’t need that kind of trouble.”

  “What’s Tresser Corps?”

  Adam doesn’t bat an eye. “They make plastic. Come on now, outta there.”

  It’s only Adam’s obvious eagerness to get him out of the room that piques Beck’s curiosity. He glances around and finds himself startled—he’s been shoved into a regular witch’s paradise.

  There’s a skull on the nearest table. It looks like an animal skull, but it’s still a skull. Beck’s never seen a real skull up close before, but he’s just starting to gape at that when the plants hanging from the ceiling catch his eye. There’s a whole rack of greenery dangling towards the ground, different sorts of dried herbs and flowers. Another shelf stacked with herbs stands behind them; mason jars filled with glimmering waters and multicolored crystals litter every other open space in sight. The walls are lined with bookcases, all packed, and multicolored candles are scattered throughout the room.

  His mouth drops open, and he gapes around the room without shame. There’s so much stuff in here he’s never even seen before. He feels like a kid in a toy store. He wants to look at everything and doesn’t know where to start.

  No sooner has he taken one step towards the animal skull, however, than a hand seizes the back of his shirt and starts dragging him. He tries to fight, but Adam has an unexpectedly strong grip. Beck is hauled out into the hallway, door slamming shut behind him.

  “Oh man,” he breathes, turning to face a glowering Adam. “What was all that stuff? With all that, you’ve gotta be the best witch around! I thought you said you didn’t do magic?”

  Beck can see Adam bristle, shoulders drawing up like a defensive porcupine. His jaw tightens, eyes flashing with something hot, and Beck only realizes he’s made a mistake when Adam spits out the words as if they’re burning his tongue. “I don’t practice magic. I ain’t a witch, and that stuff is none of your business. Stay outta there.”

  Beck doesn’t know how he offended Adam so much, but he’s scary when he’s mad. “I—I didn’t mean—”

  “I know exactly what you meant. It’s none of your business.”

  Adam’s glare is fierce, and his words are icy. It’s a combination that leaves Beck feeling scolded on all fronts, and he wilts like a kicked puppy. “O-okay,” he says, taking a step back from an incensed Adam. “I’ll just, uhh—go check on James now. Sorry.”

  He scampers away with his tail between his legs and feels Adam’s eyes on him the entire way back up the stairs.

  Chapter Five

  THINGS ARE AWKWARD with Adam after that.

  Beck drives James home later that evening and is relieved to leave the tense atmosphere behind him. Since his temper flared up (perhaps iced over would be a more accurate term), Adam has barely spoken to him. Granted, Beck has tried his hardest to stay out of his way too, but the lack of fanfare when he leaves stings. Adam barely even says good-bye; he just watches Beck go, still and silent, from behind the dark rims of his glasses. For the entire ride home, a dull dismay lingers in the pit of Beck’s stomach. He feels as if he’s messed things up without even realizing.

  Had he known Adam would have such a passionate reaction, he never would have asked about the room to begin with—he would have kept his dumb mouth shut. It’s too late for that, however. The wedge he’s driven between them is as wide as the Grand Canyon, and twice as perilous. Beck doesn’t know how to breach it, or if he even should.

  He wants to, of course. He’s never been the sort of person who can end things on a sour note with someone and take it in stride. He cannot forget Adam, now that he
is better than a stranger, and refuses to be shoved to the back of his mind. He would like to make things right, if at all possible.

  Knowing how is another battle entirely.

  When Beck and James return home, Dana is waiting with a pack of beer and a lot of questions. Beck takes advantage of one and ignores the other completely. It is a welcome relief from the burden of his own thoughts. For a long time, he doesn’t have to worry about much of anything, except keeping his friends from outdrinking him.

  He doesn’t realize he left his sweatshirt at Adam’s until the next morning; it takes him until noon before he works up the courage to visit him.

  Adam is working in his shop, as always, but looks up when Beck steps in. Immediately, his genial customer service face shifts to something more personal, closed off and distant. It couldn’t be more obvious that he’s not thrilled to see him. Beck’s stomach contents curdle, and it has nothing to do with the hangover pounding at the back of his skull.

  “I know what you’re here for,” Adam says, before Beck can even get a word out. “I saw it last night.”

  “Yeah… I think I left it on your couch? Sorry, I leave a trail wherever I go…” He sounds like an idiot. He knows it, and Adam must be as fed up with his mouth as Beck himself is, because he doesn’t even crack a smile as he bends below the counter. When he emerges, he’s got a light gray hoodie balanced in one hand.

  “Meacon, huh?” he asks as he hands it back. Beck knows he mentioned this to Adam before, but bites his tongue to keep from saying another stupid thing.

  “Yup,” he says simply. “That’s right.”

  “It’s a good school.”

  “Great.”

  He takes the sweatshirt from Adam’s hands, stumbling back a step as he does so. He’s so captured by the way daylight reflects in the dark pools of Adam’s eyes that he doesn’t notice the vase until he bumps into it.

  The crash is awful, but the silence afterwards is worse. Beck gapes down at the shattered porcelain at his feet for a second in mute horror before a rough curse tears from his throat. “Sorry!” he exclaims, dropping to his hands and knees. He scrambles to collect the biggest shards of porcelain in his jacket, allowing smaller pieces to dig into his palms in the process. Another swear escapes him; the floor is littered with dozens of shards.