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It was an owl. Just a quick sketch, three or four lines, but recognizably an owl. Cute, round-headed and self-possessed, it was quite similar to the Owl’s Bookstore logo.

Tempest looked at it for a moment. She felt a lump in her throat and swallowed, trying to force it down.

Don’t say it…

“Owl’s,” he said, like he’d suddenly remembered something. “That was the name of the bookshop.”

She looked up from the coaster and found him watching her. His aquamarine eyes were very steady. Noting everything. Filing it all away somewhere.

“I’m familiar with it,” she answered truthfully.

He held her gaze for a moment and then looked back down at the owl, as if giving her time to decide something.

“Well. Small world.” He added some details to one of the Owl’s feathers.

“And yet not always big enough,” she said, wryly.

The corner of his mouth twitched up. She picked up her Old Fashioned and took one last delicious sip. She still thought it tasted perfect, just the right amount of complexity and depth. But this date, or whatever it was she was having with Dan, suddenly seemed much too complicated. She was in way over her head.

She watched as Dan glanced back down at the owl sketch and then back up at her, searching his memory, trying to remember something. They hadn’t met at the signing, but she’d been there the whole time, running around in the background. And Dandelion Wilder, she already knew, didn’t miss a thing. He had a mind capable of replaying visual data like a video camera. She could see him rewinding, thinking back to that night in his head. She had thirty seconds before he replayed the part where she’d been an extra.

She was already standing.

“I’m sorry,” Tempest said. “I just remembered there’s somewhere I urgently need to be.”

Somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t here.

He looked up, startled. “Oh. Of course. Do you want me to⁠—”

“No! Please stay. I-I’m sorry.” She pulled a bill from her pocket and slapped it on the table. Then she turned to go.

Half of her expected him to come running after her. Half of her wanted that. She could picture him pouncing. She could picture herself being caught, happily caught, in his arms. But the other, saner half, the half determined not to be found and arrested for stealing a busload of books, was grateful he stayed right where he was.

She made herself walk back to the lot. Not run. She kept her pace brisk but even as she strode out the door and down the two blocks to where The Stardust Library was parked.

She dove into the bus when she got there, and collapsed in the driver’s seat. She pressed both palms flat against her thighs and waited for her heartbeat to settle.

Outside, the rain had started up again. She started the engine and drove eastward. It was still early enough, and she wanted to put some miles between herself and that man.

It was only later, after she’d brushed her teeth and tucked herself into her bunk that she realized the magnitude of her error.

She’d been about to make a note about his allegedly perfect recall. Was that really possible? Surely there was some room for error? A bad mood. A distracting argument. A bad hair day. There were so many things that could distract you and throw you off your game. She sat very still, looking at the empty spot on her nightstand. She could hardly believe what she’d done.

She’d left her tote bag with Dan Wilder’s book inside, sitting in their booth in the bar.

Q: According to a proverb of likely Eastern European Jewish origin, how many times does a person die?

A: Twice.

Once when they stop breathing. And once the last time someone speaks their name. No single authoritative source has been identified. The wording varies. The sentiment does not. It has been the fate of countless millions and someday will be ours. There is no known remedy to this most human of afflictions.

—Dan Wilder, The Most Important Question: Fanciful Trivia by Dandelion Wilder, page 214

TWENTY-ONE

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Dan’s coffee had gone cold. The morning crowd at the Mudpuddle had come and gone. He’d been sitting at the table in the turret reading nook since half past nine. It was just him and Arthur left in the cafe. Maida was shelving a new shipment in the back. Granny was whipping up pastries before the lunchtime rush.