by Mia Harlan
For a few minutes, we work in companionable silence. We’ve done this so many times that I don’t have to ask Nole to move my returns to the book truck, or to wheel it off once it’s full and bring me a new one.
Working side by side like this—running the library together—feels natural. Soon, I’ll be gone, and it’ll be just a distant memory. Until then, I vow to enjoy it.
“So tell me, what happened with your brothers?” I ask.
“They snuck into my room while I was sleeping, took all my clothes, and dumped them into our fishing boat.” Nole shakes his head. “It was floating in the middle of the lake when I woke up. I swam out to get it, but it rained overnight, so everything was soaked.”
“That’s not so bad. I mean, compared to last time...” When his brothers threw a bunch of red sweaters into the wash with Nole’s whites. “Did the rain help get the rest of the pink out?”
“Not really. And I was going to just toss everything in the dryer, but I was already running late, so I had to grab what I could find.”
“Wes’s suit,” I say, trying to hide my smile.
“Wes’s suit.” Nole chuckles, then quickly sobers up. “I’m really sorry I was late again, Violet. I promised you I’d be on time from now on, and I meant it. I even set my alarm clock half an hour early, just in case. If it hadn’t been for Neal and Nyle, I would have been here to help you open.”
“I know, dear.” Five points. And a blush I can’t quite hide, because somehow, calling Nole dear makes me feel the furthest thing from old. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Why are you always so nice to me, Violet?” he asks softly. He sounds sad—which gets me every time—and I suddenly feel this overwhelming need to make him happy.
“I think I know how you can get your brothers back,” I say before I can think better of it. Way to act old, Violet.
Except Nole instantly perks up, so I can’t bring myself to regret it. Plus, there are plenty of ways I can help him and sound old at the same time.
“Back in my day...” Ten points. No, twenty. No one my age—my real age, that is—would ever utter those words aloud. “We used to play this prank...”
“On the other skunk shifters?” Nole asks, because that is, in fact, what I am—a skunk shifter. Obviously not the real, chameleon twenty-year-old me—but this body, me. Old Lady Violet, eighty-year-old librarian skunk shifter, at your service.
“Yes, on the other skunk shifters.” I nod. Not like I can tell him the prank’s from my college days—the very few college days I had before I went on the run.
Come to think of it, I can’t remember there being a single skunk shifter on campus. Not any that I knew of, anyway. Being a chameleon doesn’t make telling shifters apart easy.
“What was the prank?” Nole prods, and I realize I’ve actually managed to get lost in thought without trying to. I glance over at him and see that he’s stopped scanning in books and is now just standing there and staring at me. “Violet?”
“Right... where was I?” I don’t give myself any points. Not when the reason for my distraction is hot as hell and staring right at me. “Oh yes. Hair growth formula.”
“Hair growth formula?” Nole’s eyebrows furrow adorably.
“Yes, hair growth formula,” I say, getting excited at the thought of him using it on his brothers. “Did you know when witches brew the stuff, it’s extra potent? And the hair grows really fast?”
“Well, sure, but...” Nole trails off when a patron approaches our desk with a stack of books. She hands Nole her library card, and they make polite small talk while he checks out her book. Once she’s happily on her way, he turns back to me.
“So, hair growth formula?” He runs a hand through his gorgeous, thick hair self-consciously.
“Not for you!” I barely manage to suppress a giggle. “I meant for your brothers. When I was a girl, we used to mix hair growth formula with... soap.” Phew, I almost said body wash. Or did they already have body wash back when Old Violet was growing up? I’ll have to find out when I get home.
“I could give them hairy hands,” Nole says thoughtfully.
“Or you could mix it with their body wash,” I suggest instead.
“That’s brilliant!” He snorts. “But it is temporary, right?”
“I think so? Or maybe there was a counter spell?” It wasn’t as if I ever asked those frat guys how they stopped looking like hairy apes. “I’m sure one of the books in the Supe section could tell us how the spell works.”
“Or I could just run over to Highway to Spells and ask Willow. She’s always up for a good prank,” Nole says, eyes bright.
For a split second, I feel a wave of jealousy, even though I have no right to. “She gave you those energy drinks that made your brothers sound like chipmunks, right?”
“Yup. And the fart spell.”
I snort. “I wish I’d been there. Not for the fart spell, but definitely for the chipmunks.”
“Me too. You definitely didn’t want to have been there for the fart spell.” Nole grins and plugs his nose. “Hey, how about I have you over for dinner once the hair growth formula kicks in?”
My pulse spikes. It almost sounds like a date, at least for the split second before I remember I’m old. So old that Nole is probably trying to set me up with one of his grandfathers.
“Please, Vi? I’d love for you to meet my family.” He gives me those innocent, honey-brown puppy dog eyes, and I just can’t say no.
Except I should say no, shouldn’t I? I’ve already said no whenever he invited me for dinner in the past. When I first moved here, I was terrified every little thing would give me away. And when Nole invited me over for Christmas dinner, I already had plans.
What would be the harm in eating one meal with his family? Especially when I might have to pack up and leave soon, anyway? I should just make the most of the time I have left.
“What do you say?” Nole presses.
“Yes. Yes, I’d love to.” Especially since I really, really want to see the hair growth formula at work.
“Great.” Nole grins. “You think Willow’s shop will still be open when my shift’s over?”
“It might not be,” I say and practically feel his disappointment. “Why don’t you run over during your break?”
“I couldn’t do that! Not when I was already late for my shift.”
“I’ll cover for you. Don’t worry. Just make sure to empty the book drop before you go!”
Chapter 3
Violet
Nole empties the book drop onto a book truck and leaves it for me to check in. I insist I’ll be fine on my own, but once he’s gone, I realize I’m dead wrong.
I’m not fine. I’m definitely not fine!
Walking across the library earlier had been a workout all on its own. Checking in all the returns? Pure torture!
By the time I’m done, I feel like I’ve had a run-in with a tree. And I would know, since my mother’s idea of teaching me to control my powers was racing across the forest in bird shifter form.
I scan in another book and groan.
Pain is how you know you’re alive! My best friend Violet’s cheerful voice echoes in my head, and no, I’m not talking about myself like a crazy person.
The fact that we’re both named Violet is how the two of us first met. I’d just started volunteering at her nursing home when I found her sitting out in the garden, holding a miniature painting of a violet. She told me her daughter gave it to her just before she passed away. Then I’d introduced myself, and the rest is history.
A few hours later, it felt like we’d known each other forever. Violet and Violet. I just wish I didn’t have to shift into her every single day.
I’m instantly flooded with guilt.
I owe everything to Violet. She’s been there for me when no one else in my life was. She helped me find this job and came with me to Silver Springs. If she hadn’t, I don’t know where I would have gone. I’m not even sure I would have survived.
Shifting into Violet’s old body every day is a small price to pay, especially when she doesn’t have the luxury of shifting into another body every night. The only time she gets any relief is when she shifts into her skunk, but she’s been doing that less and less with each passing week.
She’s dying.
I feel a lump forming in my throat, because there’s no denying it. Violet’s getting older, and every time I shift into her, I can feel it in my hips, my back, my bones. With each passing day, I feel more and more tired, another reminder that Violet won’t be around forever. That once she’s gone, I’ll lose my best friend in the whole world.
I already have my bags packed, ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Who knows where I’ll go next. Wherever it is, it’ll never come close to Silver Springs and Spell Library.
“Violet? Are you alright?” a familiar voice asks from the other side of the counter.
“Yes, yes. Just lost in thought,” I tell my sister, Gwinnie. Not that she knows who I am.
She smiles—happy as always. Glowing, even. And I can’t help but wonder how we could possibly be sisters when we look nothing alike. And I don’t mean just when I’m in this eighty-year-old body, either.
Even as kids, we’d been polar opposites. Gwinnie’s hair was always a pretty, wavy blonde, while I’d been stuck with dark, unruly curls. Her eyes were a gorgeous hazel I envied, while mine were a boring brown. She was cute and chubby, while I was all skin and bones.
She took after our mother, while I was stuck looking like the sperm donor who’d left us before I was born. I should have been jealous. I should have hated her. But I didn’t. I’d idolized my big sister. Followed her around like a little puppy, begging for her attention. She’d been my everything. My best friend. My role model. My confidant. Up until the day she left me behind.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks gently, since I’m sure I’m about to cry.
Her concern—and the caring look in her eyes—makes my heart ache. It’s the kind of look I’d needed when I came home battered and bruised from another run-in with a tree. The kind of look I’d craved when our mother criticized my shifting. The kind of look I wish my sister had been there to give me the first time I had my heart broken. The kind of look I’d been desperate for when I called home, begging for help, and our mother turned me away.
Except that look isn’t aimed at me now. Gwinnie doesn’t even know who I am. All she sees is Old Lady Violet, town librarian, and she cares more about her than she ever did about me.
“Violet?” Gwinnie reaches out a hand and places it gently on mine. The lump in my throat grows.
If I try hard enough, I can almost imagine that she actually cares. That if I open up—let her into my world—she’d keep my secrets. Except I can’t. Not when everyone in my life had turned on me. Not when Gwinnie never called, never texted, never even tried to add me on Screech. She abandoned me all those years ago, and I can never forget it.
“I’m alright, dear.” I pull my hand away, steel my shoulders, and turn to the stack of books in her hands. I even remember to give myself five points. “Are you returning these?”
“Sort of.” Gwinnie gives me an odd look, but one I recognize. Even after all these years, all this time apart, I know she’s hiding something. And that something has to do with me.
Did she figure out who I am? Is that why she’s here? I feel myself starting to sweat. What if she tells everyone in Silver Springs? Or makes a huge scene? What if they find me?
“Hey, are you feeling okay?” Gwinnie asks.
I try to remember to breathe.
There’s no way she knows the truth! I haven’t shifted in public once since moving to Silver Springs, though she probably wouldn’t recognize me if I had. But they would. Which is why I’ve always made sure I was inside the apartment, with the door locked and the curtains drawn.
I haven’t even half-shifted, not all those times I’d been so tempted. And I’ve definitely never made the mistake of calling her Gwinnie.
“I’m fine, Amber,” I say softly.
Amber. That’s what she goes by now, just like I go by Violet, not Adelyn. Leave it to our mother to call us by our middle names our whole lives and never bother telling us our legal first names.
I only found out mine when I got my driver’s license and needed my birth certificate. Didn’t start using it until I went away to college and needed a fresh start, away from my mother. And I definitely never knew Gwinnie’s first name was Amber, not until the first time I entered Jewels Cafe.
There’s no way she knows who I am. I’ve been so careful around her, watching my every word. I even made a show of counting out small change from a coin purse the few times I’ve stopped by the cafe.
“You sure you don’t need to sit down?” Gwinnie—Amber—presses.
Even if she suspects, it’s time that I prove her wrong.
“A rest does sound nice, dear,” I tell her—five points—and make a show of slowly, painfully settling in on my walker—another ten. “Now let me check those books in for you.”
Amber sets them down on the counter and I scan them in one by one. Marketing book: probably for the cafe. Gardening book: Amber or one of her guys must have picked up a new hobby. Love Blooms by C. C. Pine: looks like a romance novel.
The girl on the cover—who’s wearing floral undies, of all things—suddenly flickers. Then, for a split second, she looks like me: young me, not old lady me.
“It’s a reverse harem romance,” Amber says.
I jump and nearly toss the book across the counter.
Not because it’s RH—I’ve read plenty of those. One girl with multiple men doesn’t shock me. What I just saw—or think I saw—does.
Did Amber see the shifting cover model too? Does she know?
Panic flares, and my heart pounds wildly in my chest. My eyes snap up to Amber’s, but she’s just being her usual self. As her sister, I would know!
Or would I?
I haven’t seen Amber in years. Haven’t spoken more than a dozen words to her until today. Which is probably the reason I’m freaking out. This is the first time I’ve talked to her one-on-one like this, without the line at Jewels Cafe stretching behind me, or one of her mates around.
Get it together, Violet! It was just your old eyes playing tricks on you!
I take a steadying break and peek down at the book again. I make sure to tilt the cover away from Amber, just in case, but it doesn’t flicker. It doesn’t do anything, really. Because it’s just a normal paperback, Violet! Well, normal-ish, if you ignore the cover model’s choice of wardrobe, the funny-looking shirtless dudes, and the lack of barcode.
“Is it a library book?” I flip the book over in case it somehow ended up on the back.
“Oh yeah. I mean, no. It’s a donation.”
“Is it? I haven’t heard of C. C. Pine.” Not that I’m surprised. There are so many reverse harem authors out there. Working full-time at the library—and buying all the books for the Spell collection—means I’m familiar with most of them, but definitely not all.
“Pine is a new author.”
“Oh, that explains it.” I flip the book open to a random scene and read a paragraph. “A swan who owns a shoe store... why does that seem familiar?”
“I’m not sure.” Amber grabs a book from my pile of returns—a heavy engineering text—and starts flipping through it.
I open Love Blooms to another random section, and the next paragraph has me chuckling. “Why are they running through the forest with tubs of ice cream? And look, one of her guys is a bunny shifter!”
“He is?” Amber’s eyes widen, and she suddenly shifts. Into a troll.
I’d always wondered what it was that Betty saw in trolls. She’d brought in a few old photos of her late husband, Martin—each funnier than the next. One of her troll in high-rise pants and a floral shirt, sporting a bushy mustache. Another of him with a mullet that—if I’m being honest—wouldn’t look good on
anyone.
I’ve also seen a few trolls throughout town, but I’d never spared them a second glance. Not since meeting Nole.
Amber’s troll is different. Even though I know he’s actually my sister, I can’t help but stare. And not just because he’s wearing her floral-print dress.
She always did have trouble shifting her clothes, even before she left the academy—but that’s not why I’m staring. There’s just something about the way the light blue material stretches across the troll’s large, hard muscles. His chest that almost looks like it’s made of marble—tanned, fleshy marble, but definitely as hard as a rock.
He’s got big plump lips I quickly turn away from. No way do I want to think about kissing my sister. And why the Chameleon am I thinking about kissing this troll?
“Who is he? I don’t think I’ve seen him around,” I say, hoping I don’t seem too interested. It’s bad enough I’m lusting after my bear-shifter assistant—who just happens to be Amber’s mate’s younger brother. I should not be crushing on a troll in a dress whom my sister just shifted into. How messed up is that?
Except the troll is so hot. And huge! I don’t mean huge like Nole. The bear shifter is definitely taller, though not by much. The troll is broader. Wider. Definitely more muscular. Is he a bodybuilder? Maybe a wrestler?
“He’s no one. Just a customer,” Amber says in a voice that’s deeper than Nole’s, more gruff. It almost sounds like a growl, except it’s a sexy growl, not a frightening one.
And what the Chameleon is wrong with me, thinking this way when it’s actually my older sister?
As if on cue, she shifts back to her regular, blonde self, looking all shifty. I don’t mean chameleon shifter shifty, just shifty like she’s hiding something. Plus, Amber shifts when she’s emotional, or upset, but why would she be either of those things?
Could she know who I am? Is that why she’s acting strange? No! This can’t have anything to do with me. I hope.
