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Alana hums, twirling the granola bar like a wand. “Also, apparently, the residue of magic can cause diarrhea and nausea before it effectively dissipates if your system isn’t prepared to handle it. Luckily—” She offers the bar again. “—I had this in my car from my Human Era. It might be out of date. If that bothers you. Sell-bys are, however, a suggestion, and I can’t lie, so you know that’s the truth.”
Or what she believes is the truth, according to my fae folder.
“That’s okay.” I force a slight laugh. “I wasn’t bribed with snacks. I was interested in seeing you both again. Movie night was fun.” And weird. “Do you really have one every week?”
“Yep. Even had one last week. On the food holiday.” Willow inhales against the pages of the book she’s holding and lets the breath out as a happy sigh before promptly putting it in her basket. On top of two others. That are exactly like it.
My word.
She’s picking them like fruit at a grocery store.
“We killed a rooster,” Alana informs me.
I jerk my attention off Willow and stammer, “Oh. Um. Wow. To…eat?”
“No. For decoration,” Willow says.
Willow, according to my fae folder, can lie. Being a thrall means her existence is paused in her human skin, and retaining humanity means she cannot be trusted. Or at the very least, given this context, I hope she’s being sarcastic.
“We didn’t have as easy access to a turkey without going to the store or on a hunt in Faerie,” Alana mentions. “And who wants to do that?”
Willow snaps another book closed, tucks it into her basket, and looks at me. “Also, I like turkeys. They bumble about magnificently. Roosters deserve a slower death than the one I give them.”
I am fully understanding the eighty-seven percent. In fact, personally, she’s pushing eighty-six.
A moment of silence weighs in the air while I attempt—desperately—to gather my thoughts and personality in front of basic strangers. Mimicking Willow, I pick up one of the books, flip through a few chapters, and freeze as very apparent situations appear before me. In bold, bold language.
My aptitude for skank could never. Oh my word. He’s doing what with his huh now? My entire face blisters as I can’t drag my attention off the display painting itself in horribly vivid hues before me. The images in my head are a blinding reminder why I don’t read fiction more often. I see every word. Hear every sound. Vibrantly. My emotions get tangled up as though I have slipped right into the main character’s skin.
And.
Yeah.
Their feelings are mine.
It’s hot in here, and I can’t breathe.
Willow snaps her fingers in front of the pages, and I jolt.
“Spicy, spicy. You want it? I’ll get it for you.” Willow lifts her chin. “In fact, I’ll get you two. Buddy read with Pollux. Please. Not that I’m begging or anything. In unrelated news, would you like a camera that can capture the fae? It’s only about as large as a dime. To be planted in a most precarious place once you discover where Pollux most often reads books.”
I swallow, hard. “Oh. No. That’s all right.” I would. Really. It’s just that I think I would die immediately if Pollux opened this book in my presence? “It’s not quite the genre I normally read. I tend to stick to classics…history…middle grade.” The occasional thesaurus and dictionary page… Textbooks. Man, can I sound any more like an elementary school teacher?
How in the world am I supposed to mesh with a faerie princess and someone who pokes creatures made of fear for fun?
If the universe is sanctioning this friendship, it has to have made a mistake.
I’m so uncomfortable, my clothes are starting to feel like sandpaper. And the reason I make my own clothes is largely so they won’t do that.
“Is Howl’s Moving Castle appropriate for middle grade?” Alana asks. “The male lead turns into goo at one point. It’s great.”
“Oh. Yes. I’ve seen that one here.” Willow turns on her platform heel.
In a few seconds, I am holding a book with a steampunk looking structure on the cover.
“We can watch the movie based on it this Thursday,” Willow says. “It’s appropriate for Meda.”
Alana agrees before she begins humming softly and perusing whatever genre is closest.
