Chapter Seventeen

One Thing You Should Never Do

Veda

I never expected Salinger to bring Pearl and me closer together. It was unthinkable for Pearl to only have one dress for fortune-telling, so she had ordered one online and I was making her a second one. It felt like the last time I would get to spend with her before the world flipped over.

Pearl was happy with her life and I realized that was why she had always been a drab little thing in stripes. She hadn't yet learned the skill of making herself happy. I wasn't sure if she had learned it yet, but when she talked about the future, she was like a champagne flute, full of bubbles.

Suddenly, when I thought of her future, I couldn't stop thinking about Salinger. I had given Pearl a boyfriend, but Salinger had given her something else. He was giving her a business worth inheriting. He worked at Cold as Stone almost every day—for free—working to make a different dream come true.

Back in my bedroom, I selected the book where I schemed on behalf of Pearl and looked at it. Before Salinger came, the list I had of things that needed to be done for Pearl was long, longer than it was for any of the other cousins. She had to pick a color. I had secretly hoped for blue. She had to make all kinds of decisions for her life. She had to get some confidence and be a person who had energy. I had taken a terrible shortcut teaching her confidence with a boyfriend.

I was filled with dissatisfaction as I struck each part of my plan written out in my book and wrote a little blurb about each one. Everything had been done by someone else. I may have given her Antony, but Antony had gone to her himself. I didn't make him, and I couldn’t make him stay with her. Looking back, the other cousins had done more than I had, yet Pearl attributed all her success to me. She even thought Salinger's help was because I had put him up to it. I hadn't done anything. She was supposed to be one of my projects. Now she didn’t need me and in the future, she wouldn’t need me either.

Without my schemes, I guessed we were friends.

⚘⚘⚘

Since my eighteenth birthday, I was allowed to enter and read the books in the hidden library. Clementine had given me a brief rundown as to which ones to read and which ones to avoid. I knew she had one that was her favorite. I didn't need her to hide it. It had a hold on her that was completely undesirable, but I hoped it was fading. A person could only read one book so many times. Earlier in the summer, she looked miserable since the school was only open until five and she usually worked during the day. Lately, she looked radiant. Maybe she had finally finished the book.

That was what I wanted for Clementine. I wanted her to stop living in a dream world. I had been at a loss of how to do it. I knew the real world didn't have much to offer compared to the book.

Previously, I had tried a few things. First, I tried getting her addicted to online gaming. Normally, a person would say that getting addicted to anything would not be an improvement, but in her case, I felt that it would have been vast. At least then, she would be playing with real people. The spell book she read was written by someone who was long gone. There was no one left to make a connection with. Too bad my venture was a failure.

Clementine had yawned and said, “I'm supposed to type on a computer? Sounds stupid, and slow.”

I pointed at the great graphics and then I turned red. The picture at that moment was an exaggerated view of some anime guy's abdomen.

She rolled her eyes and walked out on me.

I was ready to admit it hadn't been such a great idea.

The next thing I tried was to get her to join a fencing club. To my astonishment, she said she already knew swordplay and she wasn't interested. The instructor said he wanted to see what she knew, so she suited up.

He had underestimated her and paid for it dearly. I didn't even know you could throw someone flat on their back in fencing. Apparently, he didn't either, because he got up, removed his grill, swore, and asked her for a rematch. She'd given it to him, and she'd made him bleed.

On his knees, with her sword at his throat, he'd proposed marriage to her.

She shook her white hair free and said, “Don't be stupid. What happened in the last fifteen minutes that would make me want you?” She kicked him over and walked out.

From what I understood, he had somehow got her phone number. The last time he’d called, she had threatened to charge him with harassment if he didn't leave her alone.

I gave up on the club idea. Witches had such weird talents. Clementine could fence. Did she learn how to do it within the pages of the spell book she read?

My most recent try was to give her number to a guy from school who had been in my grade instead of hers. He had always liked her. She had said she didn't want to date a guy who was younger than her. I thought maybe it was a teenage pride thing. If that was true, she might be okay going on a date with him after he had graduated from high school.

Clementine didn't tell me anything about it, but I got a text from him explaining that she’d blown him off again.

Something was going on with her.

I went over to her place to find out what it was.

She wasn't there.

Not even a little put-off, I went to her work, but she wasn't there either. The manager said she was still on the day shift and had left hours ago.

I texted her. No reply. I started asking around. Her mother didn't know where she was, but maybe someone else did. I texted each one of the cousins, but each of them said they had no idea. Finally, I texted Salinger.

The text I got back from him read, “Yeah, I know where she is. Be cool. Talk to her in the morning.”

What exactly did that mean?

I tramped straight over to Cold as Stone. The sign outside said it was closed for renovations, but the lights were on and I could see them banging around inside. I tried the door. It was locked. I had to make a commotion to get someone to notice me.

The guy who answered the door was unfamiliar to me. He opened the door a crack and said, “Sorry, we're closed.”

“I know you're closed. I'm here to see Salinger. Is he here?”

The door immediately opened. The guy gave me enough room to bring in a hit squad with me.

Salinger wasn't in the showroom.

“I’m Veda. Who are you?” I asked the guy.

“I'm Remy. Sal's cousin.”

I was so concentrated on finding Salinger that I barely looked at his cousin. “He had to bring in reinforcements?” I commented drolly as I stepped past him.

I found Salinger working in the customer bathroom. He was bagging up broken tiles. The dust made his hair gray instead of brown.

“Veda!” he exclaimed in alarm. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.”

“Did you just get here?” he asked, agitated.

“Yes.”

“You mean, you just got here? You didn't stand out front talking to Remy for the past hour, did you?”

“No. Why would I have done that?”

Salinger looked over my shoulder, to check who could be listening. “So, you came straight in here to talk to me?”

“Yes,” I said slowly, feeling annoyed. Why would that matter?

His eyes were enormous. I was about to ask him what was going on when he abruptly dropped his broom and dustpan and brought me into his arms.

“What are you doing?” I protested. “I'm wearing all black. You're making a mess out of me!” I struggled against him and when that didn't work, I kicked him in the shins. “What's the big idea?”

He backed off and fell on the floor nursing his bruised leg. “It's nothing,” he lied, before covering his mouth to hold back a chuckle.

“Your hand is very dirty,” I remarked.

“Maybe.” He rubbed it across his forehead and made a chalky smear. Getting control of himself, he got to his feet. “Sorry about that. I was just so happy that...” he trailed off.

“Happy that what?”

“Nothing. What’s up?”

“Clementine.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

He dropped his amused expression. “She said to keep it a secret from you.”

“I won't like what she's up to?”

“No.”

I tried to figure out what she could be doing that would set me on fire. “She's not getting another tattoo, is she? I couldn't pull the same trick on her that I did on Fair Isle. Her tattoos are real. She isn't getting another one, is she? She already has enough to make a Mongolian mummy jealous.”

“I'm not supposed to say,” he said, clearly enjoying something about the situation.

“Okay. If it's not that, then I have to conclude that you have somehow found a way for her to read that toxic book at night after she's finished work and if I were to break into the school, I would find her there.”

He looked less amused.

I got it right. “Why do you encourage her, Salinger? When she really gets into that book, she doesn't eat. She's not part of our world. I don't want to let her waste the best part of her life in a book that can't give her anything.”

“What makes you so sure it can't give her anything?” he asked suddenly.

“It's a book. Who knows how long ago it was written? The author is gone.”

“What if the author wasn't gone?”

I blinked at him. “Are you saying you know where he is?”

“I do.”

I brushed the dust from my clothes. “Are you planning on bringing him out to meet her? What would he want with her? She's nineteen.”

“You know as well as I do, that's not true. Did you know, she hasn't got very many chapters left? When I talked to her earlier, she had two. If she does one tonight and then the last one tomorrow night, she may be a free woman.”

“May!” I stressed, repeating the word acidly. “What if she simply turns it over and dives in for round two?”

“I've already told her she can't do that.”

I tapped my forehead and prepared to let the sarcasm roll forth. “Why didn't I think of that? Just ask her not to read compulsively? She always does exactly what she's told!”

“Hush up!” he said mildly. “Has she told you much about what her life is like within the book?”

I let my shoulders droop. “No.”

“She hasn't told you anything because it's special and it can't have anything to do with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you would violently disapprove. Just trust me to know how to solve this problem because I'm doing what she wants.”

Thus far in our conversation, I had not been angry. He thought I wouldn't do what was best for her? No one in the world was more prepared to do what was best for her. Who did he think he was?

I did not say anything. I turned on my heel and headed out. He followed me. He was saying things, pleading for me not to be mad.

In the showroom, I actually saw Remy for the first time. He did not look like a random guy the second time I went through. What was different? He looked attractive to me as he wiped his hands with a rag. He was every bit as smudged as Salinger, but the muscles in his arms looked accentuated and something about his unassuming gaze struck me as downright magnetic.

I stopped and said to him, “Do you think I could ruin someone's happiness just by being concerned about them?”

His voice was clear as he said, “Absolutely.”

I exhaled painfully. He had no reason to insult me. He didn’t even know me. Disgusted, I moved to leave when he grabbed my arm.

I didn't turn around to look at him, but I heard him whisper in my ear, “It's part of your charm that the black witch cares so much about other people.”

It felt like my heart tripped, righted itself, and then started beating again. I told myself it was just the welcome heat from his breath in my ear that made my body react.

I turned around to look at Remy, but it wasn't Remy who had grabbed me and whispered in my ear. It was Salinger. Remy was standing behind him looking like an idiot. Why hadn't I realized he was an idiot before I asked him my question? Salinger was still there, grasping my upper arm and making my cheeks hot.

“Are you going to let me go?”

“I'm going to take you home,” he said, releasing my arm and giving it a little rub. “Remy, can you get a lift home with Antony?”

I felt battered as he led me out of the store and up the hill, though he hadn't handled me much and he had definitely not hurt me. On the street, he walked beside me, giving me all the space a woman with sensory issues needed.

Finally, I formed the words I needed to say. “What will happen to Clementine if I let you be her handler?”

“Who said anything about wanting to be her handler? Is that how you see yourself? As her handler? Pretty small ambition.”

I closed my eyes and took a breath, but it didn't feel like I could get the right kind of air in my lungs. He put out his hand and took mine in his. “From now on, I'm holding this.”

“Your hands are filthy.”

“They're only filthy because of the work I'm doing for you.”

When he put it like that, the hand that held mine didn't seem dirty at all. “It can't all be for me,” I whispered.

“It can. It is.”

“But...”

“Let me take care of Clementine,” he interjected. “What I'm doing will either make all her dreams come true, or it will bring her into reality exactly the way you want. Trust me.”

I felt sick. “I don't know that I've ever trusted anyone.”

“I'll help you.”

“How?”

“Slowly.” He paused. “Let me explain something about me. Did you know that fairy tales were not just meant for little girls dreaming of a prince charming, but also for little boys dreaming about the princess they would one day grow up to rescue? That a little boy wishes that one day he will have a girl all to himself and together they will do better than his parents. They'll care for each other before they take care of anyone else. They'll make each other’s dreams come true, everything from a frosted cupcake to a diamond necklace, and maybe, one day, the dearest ambition of their lover's heart.”

“I still owe you a scarf,” I muttered, feeling suddenly that I had let him down. “I'm only half-finished.”

He kissed the back of my hand. “Intarsia tells me that knitting takes a long time. I'll let you have all the time you want. It's summer, so I don’t need a scarf and I know that when you are making it, you are thinking of me.”

“I have been,” I confessed weakly. “But tell me, when you were a prince and you dreamed of a princess, what kind of a girl was she?”

He gazed off into the blackness of night, trying to remember. “I don't think I was able to think of anything as vivid as you in that purple dress.”

My back straightened. “I don't own a purple dress.”

“Of course, you don't. You've probably only broken your vow that one time at graduation. If I had been dreaming of a princess in a white dress, the sight of you would have shattered the idea. The truth is, I can't remember what I used to fantasize about, because now it’s you.”

I couldn't focus on what he was saying. He had said a moment ago that he had seen me in a purple dress. There was only one place he could have seen me dressed like that and I felt sick with horror at the thought of it.

“Have you been in my room?” I asked crossly.

“No.”

“Then where have you seen me in a purple dress? You said you could not have imagined something like that, so where did you see it?”

“There was a book in the reading cupboard of the hidden library.”

“And you picked it up and read it?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you still have it?”

“No. I left it there and it was gone when I went back to get it.”

Me wearing a purple dress could mean a lot of things. “What happened in the book? Were you drawn in?”

“Yes. It was set in the lobby of a theater.”

I felt my stomach fall. It was something I wrote. It was a manuscript I had discarded. I thought it empty of all magical content, so I hadn't burned it. I had thrown it in the trash. Someone found it and put it into circulation? In that case, the number of people who had read it was a big fat unknown number.

“Let's go to the hidden library and see if we can find it,” I mumbled, pulling the hairpins from my hair as we walked. Suddenly, my hair felt painfully twisted by those pins.

Salinger said nothing. I didn't normally wear my hair completely down with no adornment. I stacked the bobby pins in my palm as we walked. I didn't realize I used so many. The pins felt very heavy. I tucked them into the pocket of my vest. Then I undid the top two buttons of my shirt. They felt like they were choking me. I also didn't realize I had so many buttons. I undid the ones on my cuffs and all the buttons on my vest. As I untucked my shirt, I noticed Salinger staring at me.

“Letting it all out?” he inquired.

“I feel sick. We have to find that book,” I answered evasively. “I don't want anyone else to read it, no matter who has already read it.” I let the spell on my hair go and I felt the uncoiling curls hit my waist.

“Trying not to look like a princess?” Salinger asked as he reclaimed my hand.

“No. I just suddenly feel very tired and you know what? For the first time in my life, my high heels are hurting my feet. It feels like I'm getting blisters in some places and bleeding in others.”

“Let me see.” Salinger picked all of me up like a princess and set me on the sidewalk.

“I'll get dirty!” I complained.

“You're already dirty,” he reminded me as he unbuckled my shoe and turned on the flashlight of his phone to see in the darkness. “Your stockings are ripped in a few places and yes, you are bleeding. You didn't notice until now? We need a ride. Who do you know who has a car?”

“Antony, but if you call him, I'll kill you,” I reached to take my shoe back from him.

He stretched it out of my grasp. “Why?”

“I can't let him see me like this.”

“But it's okay if I see you like this?”

“Apparently. Besides, if you read my story then you know all about me, don't you? What would be the point of trying to hide? When an author writes a story all sorts of things they believe come out in between the words whether the author allows it consciously or not. How much more powerful an effect of unmasking a person would a spell book have? This is why I have never let anyone read one of my books before. I wanted to get a grip on that aspect of writing before I publicized them. You see, I never wrote anything as adorable as a sport where you fling moss balls.”

“You wrote that book?”

“Of course, I did. Who else is going to write a story about me running around a mansion in a purple dress? Who else would find that interesting?”

Salinger had been crouching on the sidewalk. When he heard I was the author, he fell over.

“That shocked?”

“Yes. You are a much better author than I am.”

“I'm not too sure about that. I can't experience my stories, so I don't know if they are going well.”

“I can't either. If I could, I would have known my second book was a flop.”

“It was a hit with Fair Isle.”

He shook his head like he couldn't stand thinking about it.

“It seems strange to me that you’re bothering with Clementine’s problem. Fair Isle is the one you should be saving.”

“How do I do that?”

“All you have to do is write a new story. Don't worry about making the world of the story intricate. Just write something that describes how you feel about her. That way, her story with you can end.”

“I'm not sure,” Salinger said hesitantly. “What happened in the story after you stopped reading was intense. I used the story as a mechanism to show you my love for you. My love confession was perfect. I got the words just right. If only it had been you who read it.”

“I hardly ever get the words just right.”

Salinger handed me my shoe. “I'll carry you.”

“Like a princess?”

“Sure, if princesses are carried like drunk Korean girls. Get on my back.”

We walked like that for half a block before Antony, Pearl and Remy pulled up in their car beside us.

“Do you want a ride?” Pearl called.

At the sound of her voice, my hair curled into ringlets and my buttons did up. Salinger set me on my scratched and blistered feet. He yelled back that we would. Then he glanced at me.

“You make fresh makeup happen, too?” he asked.

“I might be able to do even more,” I said as I got in the back of the sedan beside Remy.

I looked at Salinger's cousin one more time to see what I thought of him. He looked like an idiot. Why did I think he was something special during that one moment?