Chapter 2 Excerpt

Win listened for the happy tinkle of a bell when she entered, but heard only silence. The sight that greeted her eyes spoke volumes, though. Besides herself, the place appeared empty. Dull lighting made the store appear to emit a mysterious glow. The dusty, warped oak bookshelves were arranged in even rows, but that was as tidy as the store got. Mountains of books were piled willy-nilly alongside the already jam-packed shelves. The inviting smell of musty leather and aged paper increased the further in she ventured. She paused in front of one shelf and ran a finger along the spine of a heavy old book.  

         Suddenly, the rustling of papers and the clinking of crystal whispered through the quiet. Her heart skipped a beat.

         “Oh, bugger,” came a man’s voice, and Win giggled despite her worry. The rude British slang seemed so out of place in this quaint setting.

         That jarring moment planted a seed of courage in Win, enough to let her say, “Hello?”

         “Uh...” the voice replied. “Uh, uh ...yes. Yes, hello! Hello there. I'll be right with you. Yes, just wait one moment.”

         With curiosity, Win inched towards the counter visible behind the next bookshelf. 

         Then, as if by magic, a man appeared behind the cash register. “Hello!” he greeted her. His owl-like eyes were big and bright, and a long, straight nose added to his avian appearance. He bounced on the balls of his feet, and his teeth gleamed with perfection. “Hello, hello.” The man kept smiling.

         “Um, hi,” Win smiled back nervously. Something about him sent a disconcerting tingle through her, though he was somehow simultaneously comforting.

“Can I help you? Are you looking for something? Can I help you find a...?” He glanced around as if looking to confirm what was in the shop. “Well, a book?”

         “Oh, no,” she assured him, holding up her hands and shaking her head. “I’m just gonna have a look around. I love a good bookstore.” She shuffled sideways towards a nearby shelf, though she couldn’t tear her gaze from the strange man.

         “Can I find anything specific for you?” the man asked. 

         “Well, like I said, I’m not really looking for anything -”

         “Oh!” the man cried out. He pointed a finger at her in recognition, and she felt even less at ease. “I know why you’re here! Yes, of course! How could I have missed it? Your eyes.”  

“What?” She reached up to touch her face. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s so obvious.” He came around the counter towards her, a long, brown coat sweeping the floor behind him. “I’ve been waiting for you for some time now.” He started off up the aisle Win had just come down, the coat flapping behind him. “Come on!” he called over his shoulder.

Her brow furrowed. She knew she had to leave. She moved her feet, but she found them following the man rather than moving towards the door. 

The man cut into an aisle, turned right, scurried onward, turned left… She twisted through close rows, shelves, and uneven stacks, exhilarated by the maze she was being led through. There were moments the man disappeared from view, but then an edge of his long coat would flap around a corner of shelf, and Win could keep track of him. All worries of her mother chased from her mind, her heart thundered against her ribs. They kept going for longer than should have been possible - could the store really be this big? 

“Here, here!” the man called to Win.“Keep up!”

“Trying!” Win cried back. But he had moved out of sight again.

         “Down here!” his voice echoed again.

          She dodged right, left, picked up her pace, and still couldn’t see the bookseller. However, as she neared the end of a row, closing in on what looked like a solid wall, she noticed a crack in it. She reached out to touch it and realized this bit of wall was ever-so-slightly ajar. How…? she wondered. Win put her mouth to the crack and cautioned, “Hello? Mr…Mr. Bookseller?” She pushed the wall, and a panel of it swung open on a hinge. She took a deep breath and followed him inside.

This new room was round and tall, the turret she had noticed outside. Books that seemed even older than the others lined these walls. This room felt different from the rest of the store. Though it was filled with the same stale air and dust, it also felt as if it was pulsing with its own heartbeat.  

         “Here,” she heard from across the room. Her eyes scanned the shelves until she spotted the bookseller perched on a ladder. With his back to her, he searched the stacks, his brown coat camouflage against the leather books.

         Win made her way across the room. “I think I’m just going to browse the shelves out there…”

“No, no,” he said, holding up a hand but not looking at her. The fingers of his other hand began to spider over different spines. “Here it is!” he exclaimed, the bounce back in his voice. He held a book up for Win to see, and she just had time to read the title, Mythic, Magic Earth, before he turned its cover back to look at it himself.

“It’s an extraordinary work, a really fascinating take on history. I’m not sure if there’s ever been anything else like it...” He rested against the ladder, thinking. Then his face lit up and he straightened. “Yes, one more.” He climbed down, rolled the ladder over several shelves, and scrambled back up at an inhuman pace. When he was near the ceiling, his fingers crawled over the books again until he plucked another one out of the row. “Your Magical Earth,” he said, an audible smile in his voice. He hurried back down the ladder with the two volumes. “You really should have the pair,” he said, passing Win the books. “One is almost useless without the other.”

         Win took the books carefully, afraid of damaging them. The first book had a cover of thick, sturdy brown leather, worn from age. Colored inks - red, green, yellow, and blue - formed the words of the title and the name of the author, George Cromish, in fancy script. She opened it up and turned a few of the thick, yellowed parchment paper pages. 

The second book had a similar cover, though the lettering was much simpler, and it was all in black. “Um...” Win turned the books over in her hands a few times. “Did you say these are history books? History isn’t really my thing.”

“I know!” the bookseller cried, rolling up onto the balls of his feet. “But there’s no doubt in my mind. These books are for you. You must have them both.” He winked, then turned and walked back towards the main part of the shop.

         Win took another look at the books in her hands. History books? How could history books deal with magic? She opened the second book to see if it offered any answers - 

         But all of the pages were blank. 

         Win’s head snapped up. “Mr. Bookseller?” she called, running after him. “Mr. Bookseller!” 

When Win found the man again, he was in an office behind the counter.

“Yes, yes,” he mumbled. He was sweeping from one wall of the office to the other and back again. “Brown hair...” He reached up to grab something and then went to another wall. “Green eyes…” He pulled something off that wall before he noticed Win standing on the other side of the counter.

“Mr. Bookseller,” she said slowly. She held up Your Magical Earth. “This book is blank.”

“When is your birthday?” he asked.

         “Sorry?”

         “Your birthday. When is it?”

         “What has my birthday got to do with the fact that this book is blank?” Win dropped the book onto the counter and slapped her hand on it. “It's a book. There are supposed to be words in a book.”

         “Everything.” A wave of seriousness swept the bookseller’s face, and a chill ran down Win’s spine.

         “What?” 

         “You asked me what your birthday has to do with the blank book. It has everything to do with it.”

         Dry-mouthed, Win asked, “Why?”

         “I can't...” The bookseller ran a hand through his hair and turned in an exasperated circle. “I can't tell you yet. I just...” He sighed. “Look, these books... they were published as a set. One is a history of Earth that reveals things that have never been spoken of before. The other is the companion journal. You see, this book claims to be so revolutionary that you have to record your thoughts as you read. Now, to do that, you need to mix your own ink. A very special ink. A very personal ink.” He reached into the pockets of his coat and pulled out several small bottles which he placed across the counter. “You mix some elixirs that correspond with different aspects of your life, and they give you something to write with, and only you can write down your reactions with it.” His lips spread again into that perfect pearly grin. “Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”

         Win scrutinized his face. Though his expression was playful, an aura of desperation surrounded him. What was he going on about? Personal ink? A book so mind-blowing that your reactions had to be written down? This was getting too strange, and she again wanted to bolt out the door. Still, the Bookseller’s blue eyes twinkled with a childlike joy that tugged at her heartstrings. She had been a child desperate for magic and adventure once. 

         This is still ridiculous, she thought to herself, a moment before she conceded. “I guess.”         “Oh, good.” The bookseller sounded relieved. “Just a couple of questions then. First of all, your birthday.”

         “January 28.” 

         “Well, happy birthday!” he exclaimed with that toothy grin. “Didn’t realize that it would be so close. Oh, good month, January.” The bookseller ducked back into his office and scanned the walls. “Garnet is one of my favorite stones. Such a deep blood red.” He put a small bottle of a merlot colored liquid on the counter at the end of the line of crystal vials. “Age?” he asked next.

         “Eighteen,” Win responded.

         “Perfect.” The next bottle the bookseller grabbed contained a thin, bubblegum pink liquid. 

         “Occupation?”

         “Student.” This led to a thicker, yellow liquid the color of #2 pencils.

         “Favorite genre?”

         “Fantasy.” An iridescent glitter filled bottle joined the line-up.

         “Can I have one of those?” asked the bookseller, pointing to her head.

         “What?”

         “Your hairs.”

         Win reached up, plucked a single strand from her head, and placed it on the counter. Something about the rapid-fire nature of the questioning was becoming more and more fun, like some kind of game.

“Thank you!” The bookseller put the hair into its own vial. “Now.” He took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes at her before he leaned forward and said, “Do not take this question lightly. What is your biggest fear? I'm not talking spiders or public speaking or anything like that. What fear resonates with you? In your soul?”

         Win saw the weight of the question mirrored in the bookseller's eyes.  It was an easy one for her, though. “Not having a place where I really belong.”

          The bookseller’s eyes widened. “Profound!” He went back to his office, where his hands roamed the shelves for a bottle that matched this response. Then he said, “Now think about your greatest ambition.”

         It didn't take long to come up with the thing that had been plaguing her as she had skimmed through college brochures. “To do something worthy of being remembered.”

         Though he hadn't seemed to find the right vial for the previous response yet, the bookseller looked at her with admiration. “You're such a clever girl. Wise beyond your years.”

         “Uh… thanks.” Her cheeks flushed at the compliment. 

         The bookseller found the last two vials and added them to the line on the counter. “Now,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “this is the fun part.” Out of a breast pocket, he produced a bottle larger than the others. It was half full with a jet black liquid. “Starter ink,” he told Win. 

Then, from another pocket, he produced an eyedropper and from yet another, a piece of paper. The bookseller put the eyedropper on the counter and unfolded the paper. “One drop each of hair color, eye color, age, and occupation,” he read. He took each of the corresponding vials, opened them, and added a drop to the base ink. The colors of each sat on top of the black liquid before swirling together seemingly of their own accord, not completely combining.

         The bookseller held up the instructions again and read, “Two drops of birthday. Then the hair.” He didn't need the eyedropper to put the hair in, just tipped it out of its vial into the ink, which sucked the hair slowly into itself. “And now three drops of biggest fear, and four of greatest ambition.” This time, when the bookseller added the new bits, the ink gave off a glittering sheen. 

“Perfect,” the bookseller confirmed with the resulting liquid. He picked up the bottle and capped it before giving it a shake. Finally, all of the fluids mixed to make one coherent color. When the bookseller held it up to the light, it was a soft magenta with an unexpected green iridescence to it. It was stunning, unique, beautiful.        

“Now,” said the bookseller, thrusting the bottle of ink towards her. “You hold this. When you're ready, uncap the bottle. Then, very confidently, speak your name into the ink and cap it very quickly as if you're sealing your name in. Yes?”

         Win nodded.

         “Wonderful. Go ahead then.”

As Win lifted the bottle towards her lips, time seemed to slow. Her heart began to pound, almost synchronized with the pulsing she had sensed in the tower room. She felt connected to this time and place, felt the importance of the moment weighing on her. She flexed her fingers a few times to get them ready for quick movements.

         Then her hand flew up and uncapped the bottle. She held the lip of it right under her mouth. “Winston Broome,” she said into it. Her voice sounded different, full of a rich confidence that came with years and experiences she had not yet had. She was the sole focus of this moment, and it made her feel powerful.

         She capped the bottle, and the moment was over. She was just plain Win again in a weird bookshop. She felt off, like her mind had been somewhere separate from her body and they were joining up again. Around her, everything seemed to spin lethargically.

“Wonderful!” the bookseller said in a voice that brought Win back to where she was. “So take home your books and your ink. Oh, and one more thing!” He dashed into his office and returned with a necklace box. “This is important.” He handed the box to Win, and she opened it to find a pen made of delicate, clear glass. When she took it out and held it up to the light, it shimmered.

“Dip the tip of it in the bottle and leave it there for a couple of seconds,” he instructed. “It'll absorb some of your ink, and then you can write with it. Pretty neat, huh?”

         “Sure,” said Win, her brain still spinning.

“I know this whole thing probably seemed a bit odd,” the bookseller admitted. “But I want you to go home and have a read. I have a feeling that this… This will give you exactly what you’re looking for. This will change your life.”

“So you’ve read it?”

He laughed softly. “Something like that. Well, Winston Broome, it has been a pleasure to meet you. Enjoy your books.” She pulled the gift certificate out of her pocket, and the Bookseller shook his head. “They’re my birthday present to you. As payment, you can come back and tell me how you liked them when you’re done.” He waved a hand up the aisle, gesturing towards the front door. “Bye now.”

         Win stood still for a moment. Part of her was glad this meeting was over, but another part felt there was a lot more they had to say to each other, or would have to say. She settled on simply, “Thanks. Goodbye.”

She spun on her heel and started up the aisle. Each step she took was easier and clearer, the feeling she’d had of moving too fast dissipating. When she reached the door, she turned over her shoulder to say something else to the Bookseller, but she wasn’t surprised when he was nowhere in sight. “Bye,” she said again softly, knowing he wouldn’t hear her. Perhaps she was just saying farewell to this mysterious and intriguing place. 

Yeah, she contradicted her own thoughts. Or maybe I’m just losing it.

She walked out into the growing dusk.