Bookish and the Beast

“They certainly can.”

My fingers come to rest on the waterlogged copy that began this entire ridiculous scenario, and for some reason—I pull it out.

“Well, I have to go, but if you like those books so much, they’re yours. Happy birthday, Vance. Thinking of heading back?”

I let out a breath. “I don’t really know, honestly.”

And that means I…can leave. I can go back home. I can go back to my old life. My stepfather and my mother can’t keep me here anymore. All my life I have been trying to be what my parents have wanted me to be, and I often rebelled—oftentimes to ruination.

But today, I’m in charge of my own life for the first time, though it doesn’t feel anything like I thought it would. It feels like I’ve been offered the pilot seat and a vast galaxy and no coordinates. It’s overwhelming.

“Oh!” Natalia adds as she begins to hang up. “I do remember that the inscription wasn’t where it normally is, which was why we bought the collection in the first place, thinking they were all unmarked. It’s at the very end. Last page. God, I almost missed it! Have a great birthday, Vance.”

“Thanks, you too,” I say absently as I hear the call end, and I drop my phone onto one of the chairs and break open the waterlogged book. The spine crinkles as I leaf toward the first page. Not the title page but the end—where at the end?

I start prying every page unstuck one at a time until—

My breath catches in my throat.

A moment later, I see movement out of the corner of my eye and I glance up, and there is Rosie standing in the doorway. Her hair is pulled up in a bun, and she’s wearing garish school pride colors—a blue-and-yellow sweater with a yowling wildcat—so it’s almost impossible to miss her. She smiles at me and comes inside. In the sunlight that slants through the windows, her brown hair shimmers with strands of auburn, and her hazel eyes look almost green in the sun. My chest feels tight, as tight as my grip on The Starless Throne.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over this sight,” she says in awe, spinning around looking at the books and her hard work, floor to ceiling. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” I reply, unable to take my eyes off her.

The library was already completed before she walked into it, but now it feels whole.

She walks up and plants a kiss on my lips. It still feels so strange when she does, like each one is the first. “Okay, so this might be a weird question…but I remember you said something about never going to school before,” she begins, twisting a lock of hair that had come undone from her bun.

“Well, aside from that one indie film—”

“That doesn’t count,” she admonishes me, and then reaches into her back pocket. She takes out two golden tickets. “Would you…want to go with me? To Homecoming?”

I stare down at the tickets, the answer on the tip of my tongue.

“I mean, I’m really bad at dancing, and I’m probably going to be the absolute worst on the dance floor, and if Garrett wins Homecoming King tonight I don’t even want to begin to think what sort of problems that’ll give me, but—”

She’s nervous. That I’ll say no, I realize.

I tap the edge of the book against her mouth, and she quiets and blushes. “I’m babbling again, aren’t I?” she says.

“This is for you,” I reply, outstretching the book to her.

She accepts it with a strange look. “The Starless Throne?”

“Open it up.”

I CRACK OPEN THE BOOK, CONFUSED. There’s nothing on the title page, but then he tells me to keep going, and—

On the last page of the novel, my mother’s handwriting loops over the top in an inky blue script. Somehow it didn’t bleed all that much when it took the dip in the pool, and I can still make out the words—her words.

To my Rosebud,

This is only the beginning of your story, not the end.

With all my love,

Mom

My breath catches in my throat. I never opened her books after she died. I never thought to see if she left anything in them for me. I couldn’t bear to, because I was afraid I would see her in every word, and the hole in my chest would open up larger and larger and swallow me whole.

But here it is—here she is—so easy to miss unless I read to the very last page. I never flipped to the end first. It’s a rule. But she probably thought I would get to the end of my favorite book someday, again, and there I would find it.

Her words.

I press the open book to my chest, tears coming to my eyes. I wipe them away with the back of my hand. “H-how did you find this?”

“I found out the books were purchased locally, so I used my one brain cell to figure out that it must’ve been your mother’s collection.” And then he takes a deep breath and adds, “It’s yours now.”

My eyes widen. I stare at him, wondering if I’d heard properly. “This book?”

“The entire collection.”

I gawk at him. “All of them?”

He outstretches his arms. “It was yours to begin with. I’m just giving it back to you—you can take them, or you can keep them here.”

Take them—or keep them? This…this is too much to comprehend. I shake my head. “No, I—I know how much those books sold for. This must’ve cost…” I trail off, because I can’t even begin to think how much money it would take to buy something like this, or how much money Vance needed to give for its owner to relinquish their hold.

He rubs the back of his head, a little sheepish. “Do…you want the rest of them? I mean, I’m sure they can be sold for—”

“What? No! Please!”

His eyes widen in genuine surprise. “Then…”

I hug The Starless Throne to my chest. Why does this feel like goodbye? It feels like it’s permanent, as if he’s going away. “Why?”

“Because you seem happy with these books.”

Oh. I am. But he only has half of the equation. Because I’ve felt happiest not just with these books, but with someone to share them with, and I don’t know how to say that. “And…you? If I keep these books here—will you be here, too?”

He smiles, but there is something bitter hidden behind it. Something I’m not sure I trust. “Of course I will. I’ve still got loads more boring books to read.”

“They’re not boring,” I chastise him, but his words make me feel better. I step closer to him, and I take him gently by his chin, and move his face down toward me. I kiss him. “Thank you,” I whisper against his lips. “I could stay here forever.”

“Mmh,” he mumbles against my mouth, “but don’t you have a football game to get to?”

I gasp, pulling away from him. “Oh, shit! I told Annie I’d pick her up!” I try to hand the book off to him again, but he pushes it back toward me.

“Take it. You might get bored,” he says, the edge of his lips twisting into a grin.

“I’ll come back later? And we can finish The Starless Throne,” I add. “I love the ending. It’s one of my favorites.” As he agrees, I kiss him one last time and rush out of the library—our library—and out of the castle-house to my car waiting on the side of the road.

The Homecoming game can’t be over quickly enough. But first: we have to make sure Garrett does not win Homecoming King.

* * *

—

I ENVY THE PEOPLE WHO LOVE FOOTBALL GAMES, because I don’t understand the sport at all. Even as I make my way up the aluminum bleachers with Annie, picking our way between popcorn on the seats and gum on the ground to an empty section next to the band, I don’t understand the appeal. It’s October and the air is sticky and humid still, and there’s a weird smell that I can only assume is coming from the marching band, but otherwise it’s a beautiful night. It’s almost game time, and the band is beginning to file out of the bleachers and onto the sides of the field, near the end zones, to start the pregame show.

During halftime, those running for Homecoming will parade onto the field one last time, and the principal—Mrs. Rogers, an ex-Marine whom I am thankful I have never crossed paths with on the disciplinary scale—will announce them one last time. Garrett and a few of his buddies are already down by the sidelines, along with most of the other contestants.

I frown, squinting down the sideline. “Where’s Quinn?”

Annie, with a tray of nachos, shrugs. “Dunno. They said they didn’t need a ride to the game.”

“Really? They’re your best friend!”

“Yours too, don’t forget. And there are things neither of you know about me, so it ends up being fair,” she replies mysteriously.

I roll my eyes. “Your AO3 username isn’t as hidden as you think, you know.”

She mock-gasps. “How dare you! It’s very hidden.”

“I guarantee I can search ‘Starfield Carmindor/Sond hurt-comfort fantasy AU amnesia’ and your fic will be at the very top.”

She blinks, frowns, and then shoves a chip into her mouth and says around it, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”