by Drea Damara
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
He didn’t reply, only stood with one arm across his stomach. His skin looked paler than before and she thought she saw the gleam of sweat across his forehead.
“Sir? Are you all right?”
“What? Yes. I…I just feel a bit ill all of a sudden,” he mumbled.
“Would you like me to get you a glass of water?”
“Water? No! No, I’ll…” The man glanced back over his shoulder to where he’d been perusing books. “I’ll be fine. Think I’ll go home and lie down.”
He quickly went out the door. His steps seemed wide, as though he were trying to keep his balance.
“Strange,” Sarah muttered.
“Aunt Sarah, I’m going to lunch,” Ricky called. “I’ll give Freedhof’s one last try. You want anything?”
“No, thank you.” Sarah smiled, happy he’d spoken a full sentence to her.
RICKY RUBBED at his back as soon as he was out of the view from his aunt. It was starting to sting again, and the stifling heat of the day irritated it further. He walked into Freedhof’s and waited behind the last customer in line.
Several people were sitting at the tables that lined the wall. He heard some of them laughing as he peered around a customer to inspect the day’s baked goods. A man walked past him, holding a hand up to his mouth, chuckling. Ricky looked back at the seated customers and noticed that everyone in the store seemed to be laughing to some degree.
The man stopped beside Ricky to throw his paper bag in the trash can. “What’s so funny?” Ricky nodded to him.
“Huh? Nothing really.” The man chuckled again and left the bakery.
Ricky shook his head, not understanding what he was missing. When it was his turn at the counter, he quickly saw that Mr. Freedhof wasn’t laughing. The baker’s plump cheeks looked rosier than usual, and his thick mustache was curved downward with displeasure.
“What do you want, son?” he asked a bit gruffly. While Ricky hemmed and hawed over the items behind the glass, he noticed that Mr. Freedhof nervously cast his eyes toward the customers who were eating.
“What’s so funny?” Ricky asked.
“Hmm? Nothing. Nothing,” Mr. Freedhof said, grumbling. “Well, what’ll it be?”
Ricky spotted a tray of pastries on the counter behind Mr. Freedhof. They were glazed on top with a drizzle of white icing and their centers had crimson goo. He felt his mouth water and nodded to Mr. Freedhof. “How about two of those things.”
“What?” Mr. Freedhof didn’t even turn around to look.
“Those pastry things behind you. I’ll take two of those.”
“They’re no good. Pick something else.” Mr. Freedhof glanced back at the customers.
Ricky arched an eyebrow. He glanced over to see that several customers were eating the very pastries he wanted. He didn’t see a look of dissatisfaction on any of their faces. “Come on, Mr. Freedhof. Everyone else is eating them. I’m sure they’re as good as they look,” Ricky said, assuring the old man. Ricky heard a woman cackle loudly at one of the tables.
Mr. Freedhof’s eyes narrowed on Ricky. He turned and grabbed the baking sheet with the pastries on it, walked over to a large, open garbage can beside the back counter, and dumped the pastries into it. He stomped back over to where Ricky stood in awe. “We just sold out!”
“What the hell? I would have eaten those! Why’d you do that?”
“I told you, boy! They’re no good! Now do you want something else or not?”
Two young men brushed behind Ricky on their way out of the store, both doubled over, giggling. Ricky scoffed at Freedhof’s grouchiness. “I don’t care. Just give me something.”
Ricky let the door to Allister’s slam behind him. Freedhof had finally given him a sandwich. He looked over at Sarah with a perturbed look on his face. “People around here are so weird.” He walked over and sagged into the couch to eat his lunch. Freedhof’s tone and the fact that Shelby still hadn’t shown up yet had put a damper on his spirits.
“Ricky, I have to go over and help Franci for a while. Will you watch the shop?” Sarah called to him, and he acknowledged her with a cursory wave of the hand.
ACROSS THE street, Franci was in a tizzy. She chattered more quickly than usual and paced aimlessly around her shop fidgeting with products. “Sarah, I’m worried. I have ants all over the non-remedy teas, all of the pansies in my greenhouse were wilted to death’s door this morning, and did you hear about Genie?”
Sarah felt a lump in her throat on hearing about the state of the pansies. They uncomfortably reminded her of the daphne flowers in Farwin Wood, and she felt a sense of guilt for thinking about her ring earlier, wondering if she’d caused Franci’s flowers to wither. “No. What happened with Genie?” Sarah started to take down the normal teas that had no special spices or powers from the Blinney curse.
Genie Mathers owned the dress shop down the street from Freedhof’s. She did alterations for people but also made Blinney Lane more niche for its tourist appeal due to the period-themed attire she crafted. Renaissance players, actors, local theater groups, and many locals around Halloween would come from miles to buy costumes from Genie’s shop.
“She said she was helping a woman into a corset, and the woman started to complain it was too tight. When Genie went to loosen it, it wouldn’t budge. The next thing she knew, the woman was hollering for Genie to help her get it off.” Franci paced around flailing her arms up in the excitement of the story. “Well, Genie looked down then and the drawstrings had broken and they weren’t even tied! The corset was just pulling itself inward. This poor woman was about to pass out, and Genie tried to pry her fingers into it to get her out! I mean, my word! What else is going to happen?” Franci pressed a hand to her stomach and breathed rapidly.
Sarah shook some ants off her hand that had crawled from a tea box to her skin. “Now, Franci,” she said, soothing her shaken friend, “you know Genie drinks a lot.”
“Well, yes. That’s true, but I doubt she imagined all of that. And what about all these ants?” Franci waved a hand at her infested shelves.
“I don’t know, but don’t worry. I’ll look around. Maybe someone spilled something and it’s just attracting them.” Sarah patted her friend on the shoulder. Franci sighed and palmed a nervous hand over the bun on her head.
“I hope you’re right. Thank you,” she said with a smile.
After about three hours of calming Franci down, squashing ants, and inspecting all of Franci’s stock for unwanted inhabitants, Sarah felt she’d done all she could to help her friend. She gave Franci a firm hug and tried to make a few parting jokes to cheer her up before she returned to the bookshop.
Sarah leaned against her shop door once she’d closed it behind her and relaxed in the cool feel of the air-conditioning. It was blessed hot out, and she was grateful for the frigid feel of the bookshop. As she stood there basking in it, however, she realized it felt a bit too arctic. She shivered and walked over to inspect the thermostat. Seventy-five? That couldn’t be right. She tapped at the dial, but the needle stayed in place.
“Is it cold in here, Ricky?”
He sat at the counter stool, legs pulled up to his chest, arms tucked behind them. From behind the computer screen, he muttered, “I’m freezing.”
“Great,” she said with a grimace. Just what I need—an air-conditioning repair on top of the utility bill. She walked over to a little table by the couch and grabbed some discarded magazines to put back in their rack. She noticed a glare catch her eye caused by a small puddle of water on the floor in front of the travel bookrack. Ugh.
“Ricky, toss me that rag in the drawer, will you?”
Sarah caught the dirty rag and walked over to the puddle. She squatted down by the shelf and soaked up the water. At least I hope it’s water, she thought. As she was about to stand up, she noticed a single book out of place, sitting on top of the others on the travel bookshelf. She picked it up and felt some
beads of water on it. Some people had no respect for books. She set the rag down and opened the book to see if there was any damage to the pages. Sailing the Aegean.
She didn’t see any water stains or damp spots as she fanned through the pages. She stopped when she saw motion and turned a few pages back to a double-page spread of a small yacht on the open sea. Before her eyes, an image of the deep blue sea on the page began to ripple up and down. The little yacht rocked with the undulating motion of the waves. Sarah's breath caught, and her mouth hung open as she watched the picture come to life.
The waves picked up, and the yacht moved closer to the edge of the page, closer toward her, arching its bow upward from the force of the windblown sea. As it bashed back down into the sea, Sarah thought she heard the spray of water and felt mist spray her face. She gasped and fell to her backside, letting the book fall and slam shut on the floor.
“You all right?” Ricky nonchalantly called from the counter. She couldn’t see him from behind the shelf where she'd landed on the floor, the book between her feet.
“Fine,” she responded breathlessly. She panted and remained on the floor for a moment, absorbing what had just occurred. This can’t be happening! What else? What else is going on? Don’t panic, Sarah. Don’t panic.
She nudged the sailing book back into its place and began to walk around the shop. Arms across her chest, hands tucked under her armpits, she slowly paced beside the shelves looking at the books. She watched, listened, and even smelled for a sign of anything unusual. As she rounded the line of shelves to where they ended by the overlooking balcony, she noticed Ricky digging his fingernails forcefully into his back.
“Ricky, stop that!” Her agitation level was at its peak.
“It itches,” he said with a grumble and let his hand drop to his lap.
Sarah decided to take a walk past the bookshelves in the back. She needed to know the extent of the peculiar events that were occurring in the shop. With Franci’s ant infestation and pansy crop failure, Genie’s killer corset, her own agitated wrists, and now a normal book coming to life, Sarah worried that what could be overzealous nervous reactions were in fact indications of a heightening in the curse’s power.
Scanning the rows of books on the second level, she began to feel calmer. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Hopefully the worst of what would happen had already occurred.
She heard Ricky ask if she needed any help.
“No, I’m fine,” she said, eyes still scanning for anything unusual. She’d have to start getting Ricky to go out in town more. Maybe getting him away from the shop a little longer each day would alleviate the peculiarities. She rounded the last shelf in the back. From ceiling to floor, the rows of books seemed just what they were: old books sitting diligently on a shelf. She faced the glass cabinet now, feeling relieved that nothing was amiss.
Through the glass, she stared at the cover of Durley Allister’s book on the Revolutionary War, the first in the line of weeping books behind the bars and glass cabinet doors of the illuminated case. There were no drops of dew about the bottom pages of the book and it brought her a wave of relief.
She stared at the book for a moment, wondering what Durley Allister must have gone through on his first encounter inside his own creation. What to do. What not to do. What to avoid. How to get out of a book! She gave a grateful smile as she started to walk out of that last cubby of shelves.
At the end of the shelves, she stopped. Something caught her eye—or rather, didn’t. She took a step back to look at the last book on the inside of the cabinet, and her heart felt like it dropped into her stomach.
Each time she had ever passed The Lands of Farwin Wood, she would distinctly see the slightest glint of light on the foil embossed letters and images of daphne flowers adorning the book’s cover. Standing before the thick book now, there was no glint. There were no flowers. Sarah stepped forward and pressed her fingers against the glass. Where The Lands of Farwin Wood had sat untouched for nearly the last twenty years sat an edition of The Canterbury Tales. She slowly turned to glance behind her and couldn’t help but notice Ricky’s head quickly shifted from casting his eyes in her direction back to the computer screen.
“Agatha, don’t stop me until I’ve had enough time to kill him,” she said under her breath with each steady stride toward the counter.
FARWIN WOOD
18 YEARS EARLIER
SARAH SPENT an entire week at Daundecort Hall after the feast, at the insistence of Vasimus, Deronda, and even Richard, who seemed to be enjoying his time immensely. She traveled out into the surrounding countryside each day with Vasimus, leisurely strolling along on their stroomphblutels. Each day they would stop to relax and either eat at an inn or from a basket of goods Vasimus had brought from the hall.
On the morning she had gotten Richard to agree upon returning to Allister Hall, Sarah packed her things with a bubbly and nervous feeling. The afternoon before, by the base of the great mountains to the north of Daundecort Hall, where Sarah claimed she and Richard lived far beyond, Vasimus had kissed her. As wonderful as the moment had been, Sarah now felt a sudden urge to flee back to the motherly comfort of Netta and the safety of Allister Hall, a place that reminded her more of home, more of the reality she had to go back to once the summer ended.
The Daundecort brother and sister promised to come and visit Richard and Sarah at Allister Hall to return the company that had been bestowed upon them. Sarah observed Vasimus watching her with curious eyes as they parted. In spite of her nervousness over her first kiss with a fictional character, she couldn’t help but smile at him each time he looked at her. She was the first to mount her stroomphblutel and noticed that Richard stood intimately close to Deronda, whispering something in her ear. Deronda looked up at him with a familiar dreamy look on her face; it was one Sarah had seen in her own mirror just that morning.
“Sarah? May we continue on beyond Oedher Village when I come to visit you?” Vasimus queried hopefully, referring to their rides throughout Farwin Wood.
“Yes, I’d like that.”
“I’ll count the days,” he said with a smile.
As they rode down the windy stretch from Daundecort Hall, both Sarah and her brother cast occasional glances back to the place they had just departed. Neither said anything for a long while, each lost in his or her thoughts and melancholy from parting their hosts. Finally, Richard let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Sarah, I think I’m in love.”
“What?” She snapped her head around at him so quickly she nearly fell off her stroomphblutel, who also jolted at the cry. Richard’s shifted a few paces away from hers as quickly as it could, and he soothingly patted the poor beast.
“Easy! What’s with the hostility?” Richard frowned at her.
“Hostility! Try reason!” Her mind reeled as she recollected all the times during the past week when she’d seen her brother and Deronda together, as well as all the times she hadn’t seen them at all because she'd been off with Vasimus. Whatever had happened?
“Would you lower your voice, please?” Richard tried again to steady his mount.
“Richard, how would that work? Are you going to stay here and remain in endless sleep back on Blinney Lane for the rest of your life? And what if she wants to see Blinney? What then?” Sarah tried to keep her composure, but it was difficult reasoning with her brother.
Richard seemed unaffected by her worries. He sat erect, confidently gazing forward as they rode down the dirt road toward Oedher Village. “Well, maybe I’ll tell her.”
“Tell her! What? You can’t do that. What if everyone finds out? What if telling her means you can’t go back again? What if—”
“What if, what? You don’t know, do you?” Richard scoffed.
“No, but that’s the point. You don’t know what could happen.”
“Sarah, I hate to break this to you, but that’s life no matter where you are,” Richard remarked calmly.
She became irritated by his composure and the i
dea that her nonsensical brother might make more sense than her for once in his life. How can he be older than I am, when he’s usually such a carefree idiot? “So…what? Are you not going to start working somewhere after the summer now? I thought you got an internship in New York?” She chose to ask her questions with less severity.
“Sarah.” Richard sighed. “I don’t know. We’ll see where it goes and how she feels about me. I don’t know, but I’m happy. I’ve never been so happy.” He let out a laugh. “I’ve never met anyone like her before. She’s kind and beautiful, funny and generous, and she’s not pretentious like the girls at school were.”
“What is there to be pretentious about here, Richard? Who has the bigger stroomphblutel?”
“You know what? I’m sorry I told you. I thought I could talk to you, but I guess you’re just not mature enough to have a serious conversation. You’re the one who always wants to be serious anyway. Maybe you’re just afraid. Is that what all this is about?” Richard scowled at her now.
“Afraid? Afraid of what?”
“Don’t give me that! I saw how you and Vasimus were checking each other out—staring at each other like fools all week, smiling and laughing, going off all day on rides. I was happy for you, but now maybe I should just pity the poor guy. You’re going to be the one who’s the heartbreaker, not me.” Richard stared ahead as he ranted in a sour tone.
Sarah didn’t like the observations he’d made about her and Vasimus when she was just coming to terms with them on her own. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Vasimus and I…well, he’s just proud of their lands and was showing me around. I was just being polite. What was I supposed to say? Don’t read too much into it.” Sarah avoided his eyes after her haughty reply.
“Oh, yeah? Nice bracelet.”
Sarah scoffed and tugged her sleeve down over the bracelet. “It was from the wickrit from our feast! He was just being nice,” she stammered defensively.