Page 6 of Violet

“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.