“Hey guys, stop,” Fate said, raising her voice. Distressed by this unforeseen turn of events, she looked for Eustace, her steadfast father. Always neatly dressed in slacks, with shirt and tie under a sweater and blazer, he stood by the side door. He was her tall pillar of strength, protective, kind and eternally patient. Part of a dying breed, Eustace was a true gentleman in every sense of the word. Giving her a reassuring wink, he gestured to let her know that security was already on the way. Then he returned his attention to Lana, her publicist, who hadn’t stopped jabbering at him for one second.
Fate narrowed her eyes on Lana. She didn’t care for the way the woman had been looking at Eustace throughout the month-long book tour. Like she even had a chance with the confirmed widower. Eustace was just being nice. He listened to everyone in that caring, attentive way with his head tilted and thick, silver-dusted hair falling down over a quizzical expression. Then again, that was pure catnip to cougars like Lana.
Laughing at something Eustace said, Lana turned and trotted over, her speed hindered by high heels and small steps enforced by a narrow skirt. Her smooth coif bounced neatly around her polished face and red lipstick. She bent to speak in Fate’s ear, her perfume enveloping her client in a cloud of floral fruitiness. “This is fantastic! We couldn’t ask for better publicity. I’ll send out the press release.” Without waiting for Fate’s response, she snapped a photo and started speed texting.
“How can this be good?” Fate muttered. Did this happen to other writers? Or were her readers going nuts because the book was all about a gangland war between supernatural species? Had she ruined everything by unintentionally glamorizing violence? It wouldn’t be the first time something delish had spoiled earlier than the best-before date.
The skirmish continued with a tangle of purple robes and black silk rolling about the floor with the occasional grunting face rising up for air. They were so jumbled together, it seemed as though they might stay that way until security arrived to break them up. But much to everyone’s surprise, they got back on their feet.
Two of the goblins had Steve by the arms, while the third prodded him in the ribs with his own cane. The goblin doing the poking shoved his fangs back in his mouth and glared at the disheveled warlock, whose dark eye makeup had streaked down each side of his flushed face. “Admit you’ve losht thish battle, and we’ll take mershy on you, warlock.”
Steve lifted his chin. “Never.” He kicked the goblin between the legs, which took the confrontation to a whole new level.
As the security guards pushed their way past the crowds circling the scuffle, a sudden rumbling distracted Fate. The floor heaved beneath her feet. The walls leaned at threatening angles. Frightened, she grabbed the table, realizing quickly that no one else was reacting to it. Everyone carried on, distracted only by the immediate mayhem. The hairs on her arms stood up.
This was one of those internal quakings. She’d had them before, the shiver of an inner knowing, a whisper of change in the air. But never anything earth-shaking. This one was a shout, a warning that her world had just tilted on its axis.
Then just as swiftly, the walls returned to their normal positions and the ground stilled.
Fate let go of the table. She felt different. Or maybe everything else had changed. Her surroundings looked flat, colorless and plain, like she was looking through a clouded lens. The air was thick, the ceiling too low, the swarm of people stifling. She stood still, unable to relate to any of them, dulled to the ruckus taking place in front of her. She shook her head. What was she doing here? These weren’t her peeps. She belonged with them about as much as Batman belonged in the Justice League.
As she stared past the milling heads, a pinprick of light penetrated her filmy gaze, opening her inner eye to a sheltered valley where rainbows curve over green, blossoming fields. As the deep gold of tulips and dewy leaves flashed bright in her mind, a spectral hook sank deep in her heart. The ghostly line began reeling her in, pulling her gently back to that meadowy wonderland she’d abandoned years ago.
She needed to go there. She knew where it was. Sort of.
Grabbing her purse, Fate stepped backward, edging along the wall until she reached the side door where her father stood.
Eustace bent his head, concern showing behind his scholarly glasses. “Don’t let this bother you, Doodle.”
Frowning, she glanced around. “Eustace, no baby names in public.”
“Sorry.” He smiled, not looking sorry at all. If he had it his way, he’d keep her twelve years old forever.
“I’m going to scram while the scramming’s good,” she told him.
A stickler for keeping commitments, he checked his watch. “Oh, this should’ve ended a half hour ago.” He looked at her, raising a brow in surprise, scrutinizing her in that thoughtful way. “Didn’t you say you could do this twenty-four-seven?”
“I’m pretty sure I said that at the beginning of the tour.”
“I’ll get the car.”
“No, that’s okay. I think I’ll take a walk, maybe grab the bus over to Jessie’s later.” Her stomach knotted with guilt. Why was she lying? She’d always been honest with him. He wasn’t strict in the usual sense. If anything, he was constantly coaxing her to get out into the world. He couldn’t seem to accept that she was perfectly content with creating her own interesting and much more entertaining worlds from the comfort of home with her favorite playlist inserted in her ears and her cat, Oz, batting at her pencil while she wrote and doodled. As far as she was concerned, the world could keep its harsh reality to itself.
Eustace smiled with approval. “Good idea. I’m sure your BFE misses you.”
Hearing her egghead dad trying to speak her lingo was about as mismatched as a hammer decorated with pink ribbons and rhinestones. “BFF. At least try to get it right,” she said, rising on her toes to give him a peck on the cheek.
“LYF. That’s one I never get wrong,” he said as she slipped out of the auditorium.
Darn, he had to go and make the guilt worse. She stopped, looking back over her shoulder. “LYF too…” She trailed off when she saw that Lana had recaptured her father’s attention. Annoyed, Fate turned on her heel.
The escalator was in sight when a forbidding form blocked her way. “Going somewhere?” a hushed voice asked.
“Foiled,” Fate muttered. It was the dreaded dark angel from her book, an androgynous character she’d always found unsettling. The angel towered over her with a crown of thorns resting on limp raven hair. Blood dripped down a painted white face with eyes darkened into disturbing hollows. Enormous wings framed the tall willowy frame and the long cemetery-gray gown effectively disguised the angel’s gender.
“Bathroom break,” Fate said, trying her best to appear nonchalant.
The dark angel stood very still, watching her with a stony, unreadable expression. “You’re leaving aren’t you?”
Was it that obvious?
The angel gave her a solemn nod. “I understand. You’ve seen through the illusion of this world now that you’re ready to move onto the next life. Not to worry, I will raze the landscape with a ruinous blaze and turn the world into a massive funeral pyre, just for you. But…”
“Yes, Anguish?” she said, going along with the role-playing now that she knew how far some people were taking it.
“Can you sign my book first?”
“Oh. Sure.” Relieved, she scribbled a nice message inside. The dark angel stepped aside and she hurried onto the escalator. She made it to the top and continued through the vast atrium toward the main entrance, hoping no one else would catch her sneaking out.
As she neared the entrance, the sounds of the busy street outside urged her on. Fate pushed through the doors, breathing in the smell of car fumes and rain on fresh asphalt like it was ocean air. Falling into a run, she hailed a cab.
•
After showing proof of payment because she couldn’t tell her driver where to go exactly, he became surprisingly tolerant with her v
ague request to head north on Interstate 5.
They were less than an hour from the Canadian border when the tugging in her chest yanked hard to the left. Fate grabbed the back of the driver’s seat, pointing into the dark. “Borys. There. Take this exit.” Almost two hours of driving had given them plenty of time to chat and get on a first-name basis. She knew all about his wife and their eight children.
As he swerved off the highway and followed the overpass, she felt the unrelenting pull grow stronger than ever. There was no question anymore that her destination was near. She was on autopilot now.
When Fate directed him to turn onto an obscure road leading to what seemed like the very outskirts of civilization, he slowed the car. “Are you certain?” he asked in his thick Polish accent. “Looks like it goes nowhere.”
She didn’t answer. Her gaze was fixed on the lit edges of the road. As the headlights grazed over a broken-down tractor, she watched for the weather-beaten paddles of the windmill farther up. Her heart thudded with a joyful ache when she saw it. “Once you pass over the covered bridge, go right,” she said, her voice but a whisper.
Borys turned his head as if to speak but remained silent. The cab bounced over the rickety bridge’s warped planks. As they passed through the wooden tunnel Fate held her breath, her muscles tight with anticipation. She felt like she was entering a time portal into her past.
On the other side thick brambles and tall grass crowded the dirt road, blocking her view of the outlying tulip fields. They would be in bloom about now, a golden blanket woven together by bands of April Moons, Apollos, Goldstars and Yellow Giants. Her grandparents had given her mother the field as a birthday present, allowing the eight-year-old to pick all the bulbs. She’d chosen only yellow, selecting them by interesting names alone. Fate had grown up making the trip to Gran’s with Eustace every April 3rd to celebrate the birthday and memory of the mother she never knew. But Gran, widowed by then, filled the hole, telling stories about her mother’s childhood––always starting with how her precocious daughter had described the annual bloom as the time of year when sunbeams fell in the back yard just for her. The best birthday present ever.
As the car turned right, Fate sat straight, watching the high beams illuminate a large brick building a half-mile down the lane. She could hardly believe her eyes. Fables Bookstore. She was amazed she’d found it. The last time she’d been there was when she was ten and totally clueless about directions.
“I should take you home now?” Borys asked.
His voice brought her back to the moment. “No, that’s okay. I’ll get out here.”
He shifted in his seat, turning to look at her with some effort since he was a heavy man. She avoided his troubled expression, ducking her head to search for her credit card. He handed her the terminal so she could pay. She passed it back with a hundred-dollar tip folded on top.
“Oh, too much!” he protested.
“You deserve it. You have the patience of a saint.” She climbed out.
He gave her another look of concern.
She feigned a carefree smile. “It’s perfectly safe. I own the building.” She wasn’t lying. She’d inherited the bookstore when her grandmother had died seven years earlier, though she hadn’t returned since. The pain that had always kept her away was already flooding in. She shut the car door and waved goodbye.
As Fate stood in the pitch-black watching the lights of the cab disappear, she felt anything but safe. Not because of the inky darkness wrapped around the secluded vale or absence of close neighbors. But because the inexplicable compulsion that had propelled her there was terrifying.
She had lost her mind. Why else had she talked Borys into leaving without her?
Yet here she was, standing in front of the century-old bookstore, where she’d spent all her childhood summers burrowed deep within its vault of stories––tumbling down a rabbit hole with Alice, skipping along the yellow brick road with Dorothy’s gang and flying to Neverland with Peter. Indeed, Fables Bookstore was where she’d first started writing her own adventures.
All the sweet memories rushed in, making her yearn for a time long gone.
The clouds shredded thin, allowing enough moonlight to give her a better look at the building. It looked more like the granary it had originally been with its stark façade and entrance and windows boarded over. The sign, which had been made to look like a giant book with Fables written on it, was gone. Had someone stolen it? This worried her. She could easily imagine someone taking it as a unique piece of art for display in some metropolitan apartment. She stared at the worn letters painted over the brick, which spelled out Bookstore in all caps. The quaint, old-fashioned flourishes that once surrounded the sign now looked bizarre without the book to complete the design.
It made her angry and sad to see the place looking so forsaken. Fables had been loved by generations of loyal customers throughout the county. Not to mention all the tourists who came to visit the historic bookstore on their way to the quaint countryside getaways peppered throughout the valley.
Her stomach knotted with guilt. Why had she promised her grandmother she’d run the bookstore someday? Maybe because she’d thought Gran would always be there, creating the perfect haven for fellow bookworms. But Fate didn’t know how to do that. Especially since the heart and soul of Fables Bookstore had died with Gran.
A brisk wind swept past her, rustling the brush and trees with a mournful moan. She shivered, feeling small, wanting more than anything for her grandmother to run out, wrap her in a blanket and take her inside where a cup of hot chocolate and a good book was waiting.
The pull to go inside the bookstore was overpowering. But she remained rooted to the spot. She may have been lured there by a sudden burst of nostalgia, but now she felt like a fish caught on a line, struggling to swim in the opposite direction while the hook dug deeper. How could she go inside without Gran being there? She couldn’t. Just thinking about it was too painful.
A fat raindrop smacked the top of her head. The moment she looked up, the sky dumped a torrent of rain in her face. She shrank under the deluge. Within seconds her hair was plastered to her head and her clothes were drenched.
Glancing up, she blinked into the pelting rain. “Really?”
Knowing she had no other choice but to surrender to this untimely force of nature, she ran around the corner looking for the delivery door. Thankful it wasn’t boarded over like the front entrance, she fished in her purse for her keys.
Fate froze just as she was about to put the key in the lock. Strange that she hadn’t taken the key off the ring after all these years. Then again, having it there had helped her pretend Gran was waiting for her at the bookstore. She was a pro at pretending, always had been. But there was no room for that now. Shoving the key in, she turned the lock and pushed the door open. It was time to grow a spine and face why she’d come back to roost like some absentminded homing pigeon.
Chapter 2
THE MUSTY ODOR OF DAMP PAPER filled the dark interior. The moment she stepped inside, the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. Clicking on the tiny flashlight attached to her key ring, Fate directed its modest beam at a cluttered storeroom. Without stopping to scrutinize anything in particular, she navigated her way through a maze of boxes, bypassed a door labeled Janitor, and slipped past a panel of green velvet curtains.
As soon as she entered the main floor, another wave of nostalgia hit her. She’d expected the place to be empty, but it was just as she remembered. The cozy reading nooks still contained the comfy wing-backed chairs, though there was nothing inviting about them now. Under the cold, meager beam of her flashlight they looked as gray and forbidding as tombstones.
She pointed the light at the rounded cashier’s counter, her chest tightening, her eyes stinging with tears. She could almost see Gran standing behind the counter, sorting through piles of books or looking up over her reading glasses with that lopsided smile and eyes twinkling with childlike wonder.
Sniffi
ng, Fate blinked to hold back a flood of tears, but they escaped, rolling down her face unchecked. She looked away, unable to bear the overwhelming sadness and turned her attention to the rows of towering bookcases filling the large, open interior of the bookstore. They were still brimming with books. Wiping her eyes, she walked over to a bookcase filled with classics. She ran her fingers over the spines before pulling out a random book. It was Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. A shower of paper dust fell from its warped hardbound cover, drifting to the worn cedar floor.
Perplexed, she stared at the husk before checking several other volumes. They were all crumbling. What could’ve caused this? Books, no matter how dusty and neglected, simply didn’t disintegrate as if they’d undergone some sort of weird time warp. She suddenly had the heebie-jeebies.
Shivering from a mixture of nerves and wet clothes, she glanced around, disliking the shadowy corners keeping the dead spaces hidden from view. As she stared into the dark, her skin prickled with a sense of being watched.
Fate pointed her flashlight into the blackest regions of the store. The light bounced off a framed poster, which she recognized as the Moonlight Rider, then grazed over a whole series of old fairy tale posters she knew well. When the round beam moved across a bookcase off to her right, she held still as something darted from the light.
It looked like a gray cat jumping from one shelf to another, except its movements seemed more halted than lithe. She knew it couldn’t be the former bookstore cat. Oz lived with her now.
“Here, kitty, kitty…” She started to follow, but an appalling stench stopped her and she was quick to make an about face. No doubt this was where the stray was leaving its unsavory victims to rot. And if the cat was feral, she was best to leave it alone.
Fate's Fables Boxed Set (Fables 1 - 8): One Girl's Journey Through 8 Unfortunate Fairy Tales Page 2
