Chapter Two
> Taking a deep breath as though preparing for a long, difficult journey, he cracked open the book.
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> “Have you ever been up here, Big James?”
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> It seems like prolonged exposure to his flamboyant sister had rubbed off on the young boy. James preferred “uncle,” but he didn’t have the energy to argue with the boy.
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> “Of course. I’ve been through the entire shop.”
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> That wasn’t actually true. James had never gone up to the highest level of the shop, even though his parents had done their best to convince him there was something “special” up there just for him.
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> “The bookshelves up here are super tiny, like for fairies or dwarves or something.” James Junior’s voice echoed down the staircase like a loud gust of wind, and James sighed. It looked like his decades-established schedule was being disrupted at every turn today. First the debacle with Bel, and now the unexpected visit of James Junior… at this rate, something terrible would happen and Josef wouldn’t show up with James’ regular from the Tavern on the Green.
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> James might have to scrounge through his bare kitchen for something edible to eat for dinner. Like his father’s three-year supply of oatmeal. The oatmeal had lasted longer than Henrie and filled up the entire tiny pantry, much to his mother’s chagrin. She’d been more of a fruit smoothie person.
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> James agreed with his mother wholeheartedly. Oatmeal was a decidedly “old person” meal, and just because he was old didn’t mean he had to embrace the gloopy mush.
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> “Why are the bookshelves so tiny? And look! Look at this! Big James, you have to see this!”
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> “What tiny bookshelves?” James had been so focused on his existential fears of oatmeal that he’d completely missed whatever his grandnephew was so excited about.
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> “Up heeeerrre. You have to see if you yourself. I thought you said you’d been everywhere in this old shop, Big James.”
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> “I must have missed a spot,” he ground out, slowly getting up from his comfortable chair and groaning as he slowly straightened up, everything popping and snapping like a battered bendy straw.
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> “Are you coming?” As James approached the circular staircase in the center of the bookshop he spotted his grandnephew’s head peering down at him, shaggy blond hair falling into his face.
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> “Don’t lean over like that, what if you fell down?”
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> “Sorry, Uncle James.” James Jr. sounded subdued for a moment, but that was quickly forgotten as he found something else to catch his attention and he called down, “Hurry! It’s so strange!”
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> “I’m coming, I’m coming. I’ve been coming since you asked me the first time.”
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> “Are all old people this slow? Grandma Di Di goes running sometimes. I think she’d get up here faster than you.”
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> The only thing that would compel Diane to run was a chance to attend one of the paparazzi parties with Mr. Tanned Muscles and Mrs. Million-Dollar Wedding Ring.
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> “She probably would, but she’s not as old as I am, James Jr.”
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> “But she is old.”
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> “Everyone is old compared to you. Besides, hasn’t your mom taught you to be respectful of us ‘old’ people?”
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> “Sure, but you’re family, so you don’t count.”
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> James laughed under his breath, although it ended up sounding more like a rasping cough as he slowly worked his way up the narrow, twisting staircase. He hadn’t noticed before, but the staircase railing had tiny images engraved into the wood. Instead of creatures like the front door, these seemed to feature a variety of different fantasy musts, like swords, potions, pointed wizard hats, crowns, and more.
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> “Someone with too much time on their hands…” James muttered. “Probably Dad. Never could keep still.”
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> As James finally crested the landing, his knees angrily crying out at him for enduring such brutal abuse, his grandnephew looked up, his big blue eyes bright.
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> “Finally! Now, look at this, Big James. What’s up with these tiny books?”
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> James spotted a small stool crammed into one of the corners and beelined for it, eager to sit down. After he was seated, he met his grandnephew’s gaze. James Jr. was right. The bookshelves on this level were truly tiny, as though they’d been built for mythical beings like fairies. Each shelf ringing the circular space was only about a foot tall, and the books matched the shelves in size. They were small and easily fit in James Jr.’s palm.
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> A skinny arched window illuminated the space, the only source of light. Dust motes danced freely through the small space, giving the entire space an ethereal quality. James could already feel his eyelids growing heavy. It had been an awful climb, but now that he was up here, this would be an ideal place to nap. The small space was warm, hot sunlight was lazily streaming in…
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> “Big James! Now is no time for a nap.”
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> “I know, I know. What did you want me to see?”
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> “Look at these books. They aren’t normal.”
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> “I can tell they’re smaller than usual,” James observed dryly.
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> “Nooo. That’s not what’s weird about the books. Look at this.”
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> James Jr. picked up the one book not on a shelf already and handed it to his great uncle. James studied the cover. The entire book was engulfed by his skinny hand and long fingers. The cover featured a dragon, blowing blue and emerald flames.
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> “Seems pretty average to me. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen a fantasy book with a dragon in it yet. Almost seems like a requirement for these authors if you ask me.”
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> “Not the dragon, silly. Open it up.”
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> Under the watchful gaze of his grandnephew, James struggled to open the tiny book, his big fingers getting in the way. When he finally cracked the book open, he flipped to a random page. It was blank. Confused, James started flipping through the entire book. Finally he caught a glimpse of black ink and stopped, his thumb almost entirely covering the page.
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> “Can you make out whatever this says?” he asked James Jr., handing him the minuscule book. The blond boy complied, taking the book and holding it close to his face, his nose slightly scrunched up.
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> “It’s a couple numbers. 13, 4, 21.”
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> “Sounds like nonsense.” But even as the words left James’ mouth, he found his eyes wandering around the small space, looking for anything that might give the numbers meaning. Above some of the book shelves he could see a dark blur, which could have been a number or just a decorative symbol, like a flower or something.
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> “What are those things above each of the shelves?” James asked the boy, pointing with a crooked finger at the blurry shape. The boy rushed over, standing on his tiptoes to look at the symbol closer.
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> “This one says ‘2.’ Hey, I bet there’s one with the number ‘13’!”
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> The boy was probably right. Gets his brains from me. He is named after me, after all, James thought with satisfaction.
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> “You’re probably right. My eyes aren’t good enough for this, do you think you could find number 13?”
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> “Definitely! Do you think this will lead to buried treasure or something? Do you think someone set this up for us to find? Who would do this? A fairy queen or something? But the shelves are so small… maybe your mom and dad? Great Grandma and Grandpa? Maybe they made a treasure hunt for you, Uncle James!”
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> The boy was ecstatic, his mouth racing as he bounced around the small space, searching for the number thirteen.
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> “I found it! Look, look!” James turned in his chair to see the shelf his grandnephew was pointing to. It was the shelf to the left of the skinny window.
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> “Hmm, okay. But what should we do about the other two numbers? Four and twenty-something?”
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> “21!” James Jr. said enthusiastically. “What if the 4 is the individual shelf, and then 21 could be the book.”
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> “Worth a shot,” James agreed, stroking the skinny white mustache and beard he’d been trying to grow for over two years.
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> James Jr. counted from the top of the bookshelf down until he got to the fourth shelf, then worked his way across the row, his finger skimming the books’ spines as he quietly counted out loud, stopping when he reached the twenty-first book.
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> “Here it is!” he proclaimed, offering the book to the old man. James accepted the boy’s offering and glanced briefly at the cover. This tiny book featured a long shaft of wood with a glowing ball of golden light on the end. Maybe a wizard staff or something. After flipping through the book again, his fingers fumbling with the baby-sized pages, he found another combination.
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> “11, 10, 1.”
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> James Jr., who clearly thought this was the best game he’d played in a while, sped to the eleventh bookshelf and went through the same process, fetching another book and giving it to his great uncle.
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> This cover featured a dark outline of a man with silver knives in his hands who James assumed was a rogue or assassin of some kind.
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> “8, 1, 15.
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> “9, 4, 18.
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> “2, 6, 3.”
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> Soon, the two were looking at a collection of thirteen books, one from each of the thirteen shelves ringing the upper room of the bookshop. Besides the dragon, staff, and rogue, they had found books featuring a spell tome, a sword, a woman with long hair, a bubbling pot, an axe, a young man wielding a weapon, a beautiful green rose, a jagged key with a padlock, a battered scroll, and last of all the outline of a rickety tower.
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> “What do you think we’ll find in the tower book, Big James?” James Jr. asked. The smart boy had already come to the same conclusion James had—this was the thirteenth book and would probably lead them to a new clue instead of another tiny tome.
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> The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
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> “Only one way to find out. Would you like to do the honors?” James handed the small book over to James Jr., who eagerly flipped to the first page. Blank, like so many of the others. Undeterred, the young man started flipping through the pages, his enthusiasm waning as he got closer and closer to the end of the book. When he reached the end and still hadn’t found anything he looked up at his great uncle, who looked dangerously close to falling asleep.
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> “Uncle James, there’s been some kind of mistake. This book is empty!”
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> “Huh? Wha… really. Let me see.”
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> After fruitlessly flipping through the book like James Jr. had, James was at a loss.
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> “Maybe the cover has some kind of clue or something.” He held the book close to his eyes, straining to catch any details he might have missed. He was so engrossed in his search that he barely heard his grandnephew cry out, “Look at the back!”
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> “Back? Back of what? We both flipped to the back of the book and found nothing.”
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> “No, no, the back of the whole book.” James Jr. pointed at the back cover. James turned the book over and saw that the boy was right.
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> Look Up had been written on the back in Sharpie.
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> In unison, the old man and young boy looked up.
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> “It’s just the ceiling,” James Jr. said, as though he’d been expecting to see a secret trapdoor or a genuine chest of treasure suspended from chains and raining down gold coins.
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> “An astute observation.” James squinted up at the white-washed ceiling above their heads and wished he had his reading glasses. “I’d assume that it must be another clue. My parents must have had a little too much time on their hands when they put this section of the bookshop together.”
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> James Jr. studied their cramped confines, his blue eyes finally settling on the chair James was comfortably inhabiting.
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> “Can I see your chair, Big James?”
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> James immediately understood the young boy’s request but made a show of hobbling out of the chair, clutching his back and mumbling about “pain” and “kids these days.”
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> “Thanks, Big J,” the blond boy said, his grin threatening to jump off his freckled face and run off. “I appreciate your sacrifice,” he said, attempting to lower his voice and giggling.
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> “Just get your little tail up on this chair and take a look at the ceiling so we can wrap this up and I can visit the bathroom. And then take a nap.”
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> The boy complied, standing up on the chair. James stood at his side, keeping a hand on the chair and staying close by James Jr. in case he accidentally fell. The last thing he wanted was for his grandnephew to take a plunge down the spiral staircase.
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> “It looks pretty blank to me. I don’t see anything.”
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> “Can you feel anything? Any irregular surfaces or bumps or anything?” James asked, straining his neck as he also looked up at the ceiling. It looked like a regular ceiling, and James wondered if his parents had put together this entire elaborate puzzle to distract him and his sister when they were kids. He’d certainly never stumbled upon it, but maybe Diane had. He doubted it, but he’d give her the benefit of the doubt.
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> “Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing,” the boy raddled out as he felt along the ceiling, searching for anything unusual. “Still nothing, nope, nada, no thing, nothin’, nothing… hey, wait!”
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> The boy had stumbled on a thin wire that reminded James of a spiderweb. “Might as well pull it, boy.”
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> “Okay, Uncle.” James Jr. gripped the gossamer thread and pulled. At first nothing happened, then James Jr. said in awe, “It’s coming up. Seems like it’s shaped like a square or something. I bet if I keep pulling—”
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> The boy’s words cut off as the wire snapped, and he yelped as he teetered on the chair, grabbing at James in fear.
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> “It’s okay, no need to…”
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> A moment later the pair were sprawled on the ground, James groaning as his body loudly protested, James Jr. sitting on the old man’s lap, eyes wide, the piece of wire gripped tightly in one of his fists.
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> “This is going to bruise,” James commented, trying to focus on anything but the sharp pinpoints of pain radiating through his hips and bones.
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> “I thought pulling the wire would make something happen, but then it snapped and I got scared and I—”
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> James Jr. coughed as a thin plank of white-painted wood fell in his lap, a heavy package wrapped in white paper joining it. The young man looked winded and a little crazy, the white plaster dusting his hair aging him forty years.
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> “Kids these days. You grow up too fast,” James laughed, reaching out and rustling James Jr.’s hair, making them both sneeze as the plaster swirled around the dusty room.
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> The boy just continued staring at his lap, eyes wide as dinner plates.
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> ***
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> “Can’t I look at it, please?” I helped find it,” James Jr. was arguing, arms folded over his chest.
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> “I know you found it, but it’s clearly addressed to me. Look at the name on the package.”
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> “So? My name’s James too. So it could be addressed to me.”
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> “Sure…” James fought back the urge to roll his eyes. He’d outgrown that twenty years before… he hoped, “but you weren’t born yet when my parents passed, so I highly doubt they hid something in the ceiling for an unborn great grandson they didn’t know about.”
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> “Fine, grumpypants, don’t share with your favorite grandnephew, I see how it is.”
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> “I’m glad you understand. Besides, it’s 3:29. Your grandma should be here any minute. Literally.”
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> “Which is exactly why you should open it NOW so I can look at it before Grandma Di Di gets back!”
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> “Which is exactly why I will not be opening it right now. Your grandmother is too nosy for her own good, and she’d get upset if she found out our parents left me some random gift in the ceiling and not her. You would be upset if your mom and dad hid a secret present for one of your three sisters but not you, wouldn’t you?”
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> “Okay, I get it. You win. But, you have to promise to tell me what it was the next time I see you!”
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> The young boy held out his hand, extending one of his pinkies while looking at James expectantly.
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> “I don’t think this warrants a pinky promise…”
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> “I’ll tell her.” There was a wicked glint in his blue eyes that belonged to a classic villain more than a ten-year-old boy.
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> “Alright, my pinky is sworn to your harsh demands.”
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> “Good.” James Jr. rubbed his hands together in anticipation. There was still a light coating of white dust in his hair, but James doubted Diane would notice, and there was enough going on at James Jr.’s house for his parents to find it odd either. When you were busy keeping your two-year-old from eating crayons and your four-year-old from feeding the two-year-old said drawing instruments, a little dust was irrelevant.
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> James was studying the clock resting on the counter by the old-fashioned cash register when the familiar sound of chimes filled the room like a tiny symphony and Diane swept into the room, a new scarf flung around her neck.
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> “James darling! So nice to see you!”
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> “Nice to see you too,” James said, amused and slightly taken aback by the greeting.
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> “Oh, hi, brother.”
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> “I was James before he was,” James grumbled as his sister rushed over to her grandson and pulled him into a hug so tight his eyes started to bug out.
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> “Take care not to squeeze your grandson to death. I’d imagine you’d have a hard time explaining that to his mother and father.”
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> “Don’t worry, little James likes the attention, don’t you?”
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> “Idfslna…”
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> “Exactly.”
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> “You were almost late.” James eyed the clock, a brass piece with hands shaped like tree branches.
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> “But I wasn’t. Love you, see you, toodle-lo!” In a flash of pink fabric she was gone, carting James Jr. out with her. Before the pair left, the boy mouthed “next time” and pointed at his pinky.
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> James nodded and mimed a salute, and then the door shut and the room was plunged in silence.
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> He waited for a few minutes, cautiously poking at the bruises already forming on his knees and arms from his tumble in the small alcove. James Jr. had only been winded, but James knew he would be feeling the results of their little adventure for weeks. If he was lucky.
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> In truth, he was just as curious about the package as his grandnephew, but he figured it was about time he learned how to maintain appearances. It probably wasn’t proper for a seventy-year-old to rip open the paper, too eager to discover the contents to bother with stuffy traditions like carefully removing the wrapping and gravely setting it aside to reuse for someone else’s birthday or Christmas.
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> But now that he was the only one in the shop…. He eyed the clock again. 3:33. Ester wouldn’t be in for another twenty-seven minutes, which should give him plenty of time to open the package. Except that it was 3:33, and James had already missed most of his nap due to James Jr.s’ unexpected visit, and the afternoon sun was warm, and his blanket was right under the counter, fluffy and inviting…
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> For the second time that day, James’ nap was interrupted by the horrible sound of little chimes twinkling innocently. He lifted his head to glare at the little sleep-destroyers when a pair of eyes met his gaze and a commanding voice declared, “James Blaise. Sorry to disturb your nap.” Ester was a small woman, with a voice like a senator or member of congress. Even though she was petite and barely over five feet, everything else about her demanded respect. Her hair was long and perfectly curled, a deep auburn that made even grown men swoon. At least, that’s what David was fond of telling James when he stopped by the bookshop to visit. David was James’ next-door neighbor, and he was infatuated with the wealthy fashionista.
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> James wasn’t personally attracted to the woman, but he was deeply grateful for her hidden love of geeky fantasy books that kept him paid and off the street.
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> “Sorry, Ester, my grandnephew paid me a surprise visit and, well,” James said, holding up his hands in defeat.
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> “I understand. Anything new?” She asked him every time, even though the bookshop hadn’t received any new books since his parents had passed. They had poured their hearts and souls into the shop and its vast collection of books, but James didn’t have the knowledge or burning desire they had. He wouldn’t even know where to start; his parents had used a huge web of friends and acquaintances to discover new books—their “spy network” they’d called it.
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> But this time the answer was actually “yes.” Knowing Henrie and Sera, the bulky package wrapped in white paper was a book. Not that he could guarantee that yet. The nap had been worth it though.
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> “Not this time,” he said dutifully, repeating his normal mantra.
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> “Hmm. Maybe next time.”
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> “Maybe.”
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> With that, the woman retreated to the back corner where she kept a small bookshelf of the novels she was currently working through. After stealing a quick glance through the shop, she settled into her favorite chair, took a small pair of reading glasses out of her bag, and mentally vanished into another world.
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> ***
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> The walk back had been uneventful. It was the height of summer, with fall creeping into view. Leaves were bright and green and heavy, and James knew it would only be a matter of weeks before they transformed into flaming shoots of red and orange and yellow before drifting down to the ground in small brown piles.
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> Ester had stowed her glasses and thanked James in her customary manner before slipping out the door right at 5, just in time for James to lock up.
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> He was now sitting in his chair back in his studio apartment, the white package on his lap.
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> His usual Tavern on the Green meal was sitting mostly neglected on the bed next to him. Sitting on top of the book was the green envelope Bel had handed him the day before, along with the actual invitation. In typical Bel fashion, it was embossed on the edges with watercolor flowers. In all his time living across the way from Bel he’d never known her to throw a garden party, or a party of any kind, and he couldn’t help but feel intrigued.
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> “What’s the special occasion I wonder?” he asked Prince Charles as the cat shoved his head against James’ foot, demanding tummy rubs.
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> “Her birthday isn’t until September, and unless there’s some new holiday in mid-July that I don’t know about…”
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> Prince Charles meowed, happy now that one of James’ hands was absentmindedly treating him like the royalty he no doubt thought he was.
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> “Well, guess I’ve put it off enough.” He pushed the invitation to the side, still uncertain if he would go. He reached for the package with his free hand, feeling the edges. Definitely a book.
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> With a sharp tug, he pulled at the white paper, ripping it off the package. It was a book, that much was obvious. But that was the only thing that was obvious. It seemed to have some kind of title and cover, but both were blurred, like someone had taken the book and melted the cover until the colors and shapes blurred together like some abstract painting. He couldn’t make out a title, and the picture was indistinguishable, just a haze of colors.
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> Maybe one of the pipes in the old bookshop had leaked and destroyed the front of the book, but that didn’t add up. The cover wasn’t warped, and the paper along the edge didn’t seem crinkled or damaged by water. Intentional then?
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> James sat there for a while, taking turns studying the strange book sitting in his lap and the invitation resting next to it.
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> “The Green Garden Party” it proclaimed in curling script. James didn’t know how many other people had been invited. Didn’t know why he had been invited, although that morning when they had spoken and she had called him by name…
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> Huffing, he reached for the book. Anything to distract him from such confusing feelings, even if fantasy wasn’t really his thing. Hopefully the text inside wouldn’t be distorted like the front cover. Taking a deep breath as though preparing for a long, difficult journey, he cracked open the book. As he did a piece of paper slipped out, falling to the floor. He caught a glimpse of his father’s handwriting, as well as his mother’s loose script, and was reaching for it when a sound like thunder hammered his apartment and everything faded to a blinding, piercing white.