Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

O cracoke Island, North Carolina—Present Day

Another glorious day in paradise, Mary thought sarcastically as she stepped onto the front porch of Read Between the Tides. The wide wooden boards that creaked beneath her feet were painted a deep, dark blue, slightly weathered from years of salt air. Above her, the ceiling gleamed in a soft haint blue. The color steeped in the Southern tradition to ward off spirits. Several wicker chairs sat invitingly, their thick gingham cushions and pillows plumped for comfort, while small side tables stood ready to hold a glass of sweet tea. The white porch railing, perfect for propping up your feet, framed a view of the bustling street beyond and the harbor at the end, as tourists wandered, eager to soak in the charm of the island. Customers loved to relax and watch the comings and goings or just while away a few hours reading.

The crisp October air filled her senses with its mix of salt, fallen leaves, and the faint aroma of spirits, likely from the rum-soaked revelry that took place last night at the bed-and- breakfast across the street where a group of Swedish students were staying.

She stood there, glad it was cooler today, savoring the brief moment of peace before the pirate-obsessed hordes descended upon her little shop. The sun had just crested the horizon, as if it too was reluctant to face another day of this madness, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold that reflected off the suspiciously calm waters of Silver Lake Harbor she could just catch a glimpse of through the trees from her backyard.

"Calm before the storm," Mary muttered, bracing herself for the impending chaos.

"Arrr we ready for another day of nautical nonsense? Not bloody likely."

With a snort, she took a sip of her coffee laced with a hint of cinnamon that she'd picked up from Ocracoke Coffee Company when she'd gone for her daily morning walk.

Seagulls wheeled overhead, their cries along with the light traffic on Highway 12, a familiar melody that had always been a part of the soundtrack to her life on Ocracoke Island.

If the jamboree had been two weeks ago, the tourists would have been out of luck, as sand and water had covered Highway 12 for several days after a big storm had blown through. As she sat in one of the painted red wood chairs on the back patio sipping her coffee, she watched the small boats bobbing gently in the harbor, their masts swaying like metronomes, keeping time with the gentle lapping of waves against the shore.

With a sigh, she finished the coffee and went inside to unlock the front door to the shop. The bell chimed softly as she picked up a package Jim must have delivered while she was out walking. The familiar scent of old paper and leather, mixed with the assorted candles and soaps for sale, enveloped her, the scent of home and sanctuary. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air like tiny fairies.

Several stacks of T-shirts with bookish sayings were jumbled on the display table as Mary stopped on her way through the shop to refold them, snorting at the one that said I closed my book to be here . And wasn't that the truth?

As she moved through the shop, straightening displays and running her fingers lovingly over the spines of beloved books, she paused at a shelf of nautical tales in the used section, her hand lingering on a worn copy of Treasure Island . For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine the adventures within those pages. The thrill of the hunt, the danger of the high seas, the promise of untold riches.

"Yeah, right," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. "You're not some swashbuckling hero. You don't even like to be away from home for more than a week."

Hence the tan booktrovert embroidered sweatshirt she'd pulled on this morning along with an old pair of faded jeans, a hole in one knee, and a pair of low brown boots. The wind always picked up in the fall, so she'd braided her long auburn hair so it wouldn't blow in her face.

As she turned away from the shelf, her eyes fell on the calendar hanging behind the counter. November 1st was circled in red, with Pirate Jamboree! scrawled in her mother's cheerful handwriting. Mary's stomach twisted with a mixture of dread and resignation.

"Another year, another invasion," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "At least it's good for business."

The bell above the door chimed, startling her from her thoughts. She plastered on her best customer service smile as an elderly couple entered, their eyes wide with excitement.

"Welcome to Read Between the Tides," she greeted them. "Can I help you find anything?"

The woman, her silver hair tucked neatly under a wide-brimmed sun hat, beamed at Mary. "Oh, yes, dear! We're here on vacation for an entire month and just heard about the upcoming Pirate Jamboree at the end of the month. Do you have any books about Blackbeard?"

Mary's smile tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Of course," she replied, leading them over to a display at the front of the store.

"We have an entire section dedicated to local pirate history. Blackbeard is quite popular around here."

As she helped the couple navigate the selections, Mary couldn't help but overhear their excited chatter.

"Oh, Harold, look at this one!" the woman exclaimed, holding up a book with a garish cover depicting a stereotypical pirate complete with eye patch and parrot. "Doesn't it just make you want to say ‘Arrr'?"

Harold chuckled, adjusting his thick-rimmed glasses. "Now, Mildred, let's not get carried away. We don't want to embarrass ourselves in front of the locals."

Mary bit back a laugh. If only they knew how many "locals" would be donning eye patches and spouting pirate lingo in just a couple of weeks.

As she rang up their purchases, Mary found herself warming to the couple's enthusiasm, despite her initial reluctance. Their joy was infectious, reminding her of the magic that had once captivated her as a child during the jamboree when she'd dressed as a pirate herself, complete with braided hair, a long black sash, and a dull blade tucked into her pants.

"You two enjoy your stay," she said as they left, their arms laden with books and trinkets. "And don't forget to visit the wild ponies."

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of customers arriving to spend the weekend on the island. By lunchtime, Mary's cheeks ached from all the forced smiling. She put a ‘back soon' sign on the door, locked it and retreated upstairs to her apartment for a bit of lunch and a few moments of peace.

As she munched on a BLT sandwich, after finishing a bowl of tomato soup, her thoughts drifted to the strange events of the previous night. The coin, the map, the eerie feeling that had settled over her. Now, in the harsh light of day, it all seemed like a dream. And yet...

"Where did I put it?" Last night, she'd left the coin on the coffee table. Leaving the cloth napkin that was embroidered with a ghost on the table next to the black and white plate, she pushed away from the table to look in the living room.

"There you are."

She picked up the coin, swearing it was warm to the touch as she turned it over in her hand. The weight of it, the intricate designs etched into its surface, it certainly looked real. But then again, nowadays, movie props were pretty convincing. Maybe she should take it over to the museum, or ask Alex, that marine archeologist, to take a look at it?

"What are you?" she murmured, tracing the outline of the mermaid with her finger. For a moment, she could have sworn she heard the sound of a man laughing.

"Nope. It's too early for your imagination to be working overtime." She tucked the coin away in the pocket of her jeans and went downstairs to reopen the shop.

As the afternoon gave way to evening, casting long shadows across the shop floor, she found herself watching the old-fashioned maritime clock on the wall, counting down the minutes until closing time.

The clock, a gift from her parents two Christmases ago, was a beautiful piece of nautical craftsmanship. It hung prominently above the shop's counter. Its face was encased in polished brass, weathered to a rich patina that spoke of years at sea. The numbers, etched in black, were surrounded by intricate compass rose designs. The clock's hands, shaped like miniature ships, moved with a steady, reassuring precision.

Around the clock's face, a carved wooden frame depicted various nautical scenes—mermaids, ships in full sail, and leaping dolphins. Small portholes at each quarter hour revealed glimpses of painted seascapes behind them. The pendulum, visible through a glass panel below, was shaped like an anchor, swinging back and forth with hypnotic regularity. Customers regularly tried to buy it, but Mary admitted she loved the beautiful old clock and wouldn't sell no matter how much they offered.

Just as she was about to flip the Open sign to Closed, the bell chimed one last time. Barely stifling a groan, she turned to greet the late customer with what little enthusiasm she could muster.

"Welcome to Read Between the—oh, hi, Mom," she said, shoulders relaxing as she recognized the familiar figure in the doorway.

Her mom, Diana Snow, bustled in, arms laden with shopping bags. "I'm so glad I caught you before you closed up. I've got the most wonderful ideas for your costume this year!"

Mary's smile faltered. "We've talked about this. I'm not dressing up for the jamboree. I'll be busy enough running the shop without having to worry about a costume."

Her mother's face fell, and Mary immediately felt a pang of guilt.

"Oh, but sweetheart, it's tradition! You used to love dressing up when you were little. Remember that adorable mermaid costume I made you when you were eight?"

"That was different," she sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I'm not a kid anymore. I have responsibilities now."

Undeterred, her mom set the bags on the counter, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Well, if you won't dress up, at least let me show you what I've bought. Maybe you'll change your mind when you see how much fun everyone else will be having."

For the next half hour, Mary found herself subjected to a parade of pirate paraphernalia. Striped shirts, leather vests, plastic swords, a few serving wench outfits, and no fewer than three different styles of eye patches spread out across the counter.

"And look at this!" her mom exclaimed, pulling out a silver plastic hook. "Wouldn't this be perfect for Mr. Evers down at the hardware store? You know he's always joking about needing a hand."

"Okay, that's funny, I'll give you that," she said. Despite her best efforts, Mary found herself grinning at her mother's enthusiasm.

"Mom, you do realize that not every pirate had a hook for a hand, right?"

Her mom waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, pish posh. It's all in good fun. That's what the jamboree is all about. Bringing a little magic and adventure into our lives."

As her mother continued to chatter about costume ideas and planned events, a familiar ache echoed in her chest. She loved her parents, loved the island and the community, but sometimes she couldn't help but wonder if there was more out there, off island? More than just books and tourists and the same old routines year after year.

Finally, after extracting a promise from her to at least consider wearing a sash with a cutlass and her knee-high boots during the jamboree, her mom gathered her purchases and headed for the door.

"Oh, and don't forget," she called over her shoulder, "dinner at the house tomorrow night. Your father's grilling steaks."

As the door closed behind her mother, Mary leaned against the counter, suddenly exhausted. She glanced at the clock. 6:30 pm. She had just enough time to close up the shop and make it to her dinner plans with Lily.

But it wasn't to be. Mr. Evers, the owner of Buccaneer's Tools & Supplies, the local hardware store, strode in, a package under his arm.

"I know you're closing. I won't take but a minute," he called out, voice warm and jovial. "Are you all stocked up in preparation for our little upcoming festival?"

"Ready as I'll ever be. At least I know where to find nails and plywood if I need to barricade myself in here."

He laughed heartily, the sound filling the bookstore. "Well, I brought you something that might help fend off the pirates. Just a little something I whipped up."

When he opened the package, unwrapping the brown paper to show her a small wooden sign, hand-painted with a cheerful skull and crossbones and the words, Pirate's Cove, Beware of Book Dragons , she reached out to trace the letters.

"I absolutely love it," she exclaimed, admiring the sign. "It's perfect."

"Glad you like it," he replied modestly. "I figured it would add a bit of charm to your displays."

"I'm going to hang this right above the counter. You know tourists are going to want to buy them."

"You think?" He rubbed his chin. "I guess I could make a few more, see how they do."

His eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Make sure your customers know the real danger lies in their choice of reading material. I hear those pirate novels can be quite addictive."

Mary laughed, her anxiety over the upcoming jamboree easing slightly. "I'll be sure to put a warning label on them. But not on the front cover. I hate when retailers put a sticker on the front cover of a book." She shuddered.

As he left, a group of rowdy tourists burst in, talking about their boat and where they were sailing next, laughter and chatter filling the shop as they began browsing the shelves. With a sigh, she texted Lily that she was running late.

"Ahoy there, matey!" one of the men called out, wearing a makeshift pirate hat. "We be lookin' for treasure!"

"You're a bit early for treasure. The jamboree isn't until November first."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile as she shook her head.

"But I think you'll find plenty of treasure in the history section, or perhaps a few pirate romances, if you're feeling adventurous."

"Romance? Count me in," he said with a playful wink, causing her to laugh despite herself.

After she'd checked them out and tidied up, she locked the door behind her and climbed the stairs to the apartment above the shop. She changed into a cabled ivory sweater, touched up her makeup, and left her hair braided. With a final glance in the mirror on the wall, she grabbed her keys and headed out to meet Lily at their favorite restaurant.

The Drunken Clam was hopping when she arrived, the warm glow of its windows spilling out onto the darkening street. She spotted Lily immediately, her friend's blonde hair shining like a beacon in the crowded room.

"Mary!" Lily called, waving enthusiastically. "Over here!"

As she made her way to the table, she couldn't help but smile at Lily's infectious energy. Her best friend was the polar opposite of her in many ways. Outgoing, adventurous, and always up for a good time. Back in third grade, on the first day of school, Lily stood up for her against a group of bullies who said her pirate lunchbox was stupid, fiercely defending her when Mary had been too afraid to speak up. From that day on, they'd been best friends.

"I ordered us a couple of High Tide Mojitos." Lily said as she sat down. The drink was a refreshing twist on the classic mojito with rum, fresh mint, lime juice, club soda, and a dash of coconut water. "I figured we could both use a drink after a long day of dealing with the weekenders."

"That's good," she said, taking a sip of the drink. Mary made a skeptical face. "You're a tour guide. Dealing with tourists is literally your job."

Lily grinned, raising her glass in a mock toast. "Exactly! Which means I've earned this drink twice as much as you have."

As they sipped their drinks and perused the menu, Lily launched into an animated retelling of her day, complete with impressions of overeager visitors and dramatic reenactments of near-mishaps on her tours.

"And then," she said, leaning in conspiratorially, "this guy asks me if we have any ‘real' pirate treasure on the island. Can you believe it? As if we're just hiding Blackbeard's gold in the back room of the museum or something and bring it out and sprinkle it around the island during the weeks leading up to the jamboree."

"Well, you never know. Maybe there's a secret vault under the lighthouse that we don't know about." She pushed the sleeves of her sweater up, the heat from the fireplace stifling in the small, crowded space.

Lily's eyes lit up. "Ooh, now there's an idea for a tour! ‘The Hidden Treasures of Ocracoke.' We could make up all sorts of wild stories about buried chests and cursed doubloons."

"As if we need another reason for treasure hunters to dig up the island," but she laughed as they ordered.

By the time their food arrived, Mary was starving. She ordered shrimp tacos and Lily ordered her usual fajitas. They talked about work, and typical for this time of year, the conversation drifted to the upcoming Halloween party, and of course, the jamboree. Lily, unsurprisingly, was bursting with excitement.

"I've got the most amazing costume planned," she gushed. "Picture this," she held out her hands. "A female pirate captain, but with a twist. Instead of the usual frilly shirt and corset, I'm going for a more sleek, badass look. Leather pants, a fitted embroidered vest that Miss Agatha made, and I found these incredible boots at that vintage shop in Wilmington last month."

Swallowing the bite of taco, she nodded along, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. "That sounds great. You'll look fantastic."

Lily narrowed her eyes, studying Mary's face. "Alright, spill it. What's got you so down? And don't try to tell me it's just the usual jamboree anxiety. There's something else going on."

After draining half the glass of water, Mary sighed. "It's nothing, really. I just... I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'm stuck in a rut, you know? Like everyone else is out there having these grand adventures, and I'm just... here. Selling books and watching the world go by."

Her best friend reached across the table, squeezing her hand. "You know there's nothing wrong with the life you've built here, right? You've got a successful business, family that loves you, and let's face it, you live in paradise. Some people would kill for that kind of stability."

"I know, I know," she said, forcing a smile. "I'm just being silly. Forget I said anything."

"Do you think this is because you just turned 25? Like the meltdown I had when I turned 23?" Lily handed her plate to the server before turning her attention back to Mary.

"I get it. You've always had that spark of wanderlust in you, even though you try to hide it. Maybe what you need is a little shake-up in your routine. Speaking of which..."

Mary groaned internally, recognizing the mischievous glint in her friend's eye. "Lily, whatever you're thinking, the answer is no."

"You haven't even heard my idea yet!" she protested. "Look, I know you're not big on the whole costume thing, but what if we did something low-key for the jamboree? Just a simple outfit, nothing too outrageous. And then you could come on one of my tours, see the island through fresh eyes. Who knows? You might even have fun."

"Well, I am dressing up for Halloween this year." Maybe it was the drink, or the lingering effects of her strange experience the night before, but suddenly the jamboree didn't seem quite so terrible.

"I'll... think about it," she said finally, earning a squeal of delight from her friend who had the biggest heart of anyone Mary knew.

As they ordered dessert, apple pie to share, Lily's expression turned sly. "So," she said, leaning in close, "have you heard the latest gossip about Jake?"

"You know I don't pay attention to island gossip."

"Oh, but you'll want to hear this," Lily insisted. "Apparently, Jake's not just coming for the jamboree or to try and rekindle things with you. Word is, he's got big plans."

Mary's fork clattered against her plate, her heart suddenly racing. "What kind of plans?"

Lily leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "I heard from Cathy at the coffee shop that Jake's been meeting with some big-shot developers from the mainland. They're talking about knocking down the old inn and building a luxury resort and country club."

A knot formed in Mary's stomach. "But that would be so commercial. The whole character of the island..."

"Exactly," Lily nodded. "And get this, they're eyeing up some of the older properties in town too. Rumor has it they've already made offers on a few places."

The house the bookstore was in had been in her family for generations. Would it be safe? "Do you think?"

"I don't know," Lily cut her off, sensing her worry. "But Jake's been asking about you specifically. Maybe he's hoping to get you on board with the whole thing?"

Or he wanted her shop. The location was fabulous with a view of the water. Heat spread across her face, a mixture of anger and anxiety. "He's in for a rude awakening if he expects me to help him turn Ocracoke into another Myrtle Beach."

As they finished their dessert, the thought of Jake making plans to change her beloved island was both infuriating and terrifying. There was no way he was getting his hands on her store.

"Earth to Mary," Lily said, waving a hand in front of her face. "You still with me?"

She blinked, forcing a smile. "Sorry. Just lost in thought. I needed this, thanks."

They hugged goodbye outside the restaurant as Lily told her about her next date with Alex, her friend, falling hard as usual. As she climbed into her golf cart for the short drive home, Mary couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting, like the ground beneath her feet was no longer quite as solid as it had been that morning.

The drive along the island was usually peaceful, but tonight there was a strange energy in the air. The wind had picked up, carrying with it the tang of burning wood and something else. Something wild and ancient, as if the island was under a spell.

As she rounded the corner that would take her past the beach, Mary gasped. The sky had taken on an eerie green tinge, clouds roiling and churning like a pot about to boil over. The waves, usually gentle lapping against the shore, were crashing with unusual force, sending spray high into the air.

Drawn by some inexplicable urge to get a closer look, Mary pulled the golf cart over to the side of the road. As she stepped onto the sand, a gust of wind nearly knocked her off her feet.

That's when she saw it. There. A glimmer in the sand, like someone had dropped a light stick. When she leaned down to pick up the trash, brushing away the sand, she realized it wasn't trash at all, but a piece of brilliant blue sea glass, unlike any she'd ever seen before. It glowed with an inner fire, its edges smooth and perfect as if it had been made by a machine rather than tumbled by the waves.

Without thinking, she reached out to pick it up. The moment her fingers made contact, a jolt of energy surged through her body, sending her to her knees in the wet sand.

When she looked again, the sea glass had stopped glowing, looking for all the world like an ordinary piece of beach debris. But she knew what she had felt, what she had seen.

As she sat back on her heels, trying to make sense of what had just happened, Mary caught a glimpse of something on the horizon. For a moment, just a heartbeat, she could have sworn she saw the silhouette of an old ship, its tattered sails billowing in the wind.

But when she blinked, it was gone, leaving her to wonder if it had been nothing more than a trick of the light or her overactive imagination.

Mary shook her head to clear the fog. When nothing else happened, she picked up the sea glass, tucking it into her pocket alongside the mysterious coin. As she made her way back to the golf cart, she decided she simply needed a good night's sleep.

But by the time she reached Read Between the Tides, her hands were shaking so badly she could barely get the key in the lock.

Once inside the apartment, she collapsed onto the sofa, heart still pounding. She pulled out the coin and the sea glass, laying them side by side on the coffee table. In the soft lamplight, they looked ordinary. Talk about losing it. A flash of light outside the window made her jump.

"It's the stress of the upcoming jamboree, nothing more," she whispered to the empty room.

The only answer was the lonely call of a gull, and the wind making the house shift and moan.