Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

She didn't want to go into town while in the middle of an enormous burst of personal growth, and acceptance of her hidden skills, and the new awareness that there were racing snails and talking trees and ghostly grandmothers around. But the simple truth was: she didn't have half the things she needed to make the other potions she wanted to. She didn't even have the right kind of container for the salve the Extra-Strength Soup had turned into.

It needs a small jar with a screw-top lid , that little witch voice inside her said.

And it wasn't just that she wanted to listen to the voice.

She was starting to like that voice. So instead of doing anything sensible, like sleeping for three days, she grabbed her jacket, and remembered her shoes, and wheeled her bike down off the porch. Then sped off into the misty, slightly pink-tinged early morning, in a much more sprightly manner than she had any right to.

This is going to hit me hard later , she thought as she weaved around the puddles that pocked the lane into town. Though as soon as she did, her head filled with a dozen more ingredients she needed to make the perfect Stay Awake Draught. She even thought a Sleep Substitute type of thing might be possible—something that didn't just keep you going, but replenished the body as if it had in fact slept. And had to brake because of it, in the middle of the golden-leaf-littered road, and get out her journal, and scribble feverishly for twenty minutes.

By the time she arrived in town, it was practically a normal time to be there. Signs adorned with Halloween decorations and promises of pumpkin spice were being set out. Awnings were being unfurled, bright in the light drizzle that fell. And smells weaved their way down the street.

All of it the same as it had been before.

Except for one difference.

One shocking difference, that nearly made her careen into the nearest mailbox. She had to brake so hard she almost went over the handlebars. Then couldn't do anything but sit there on her bike seat, eyes as big as moons, mouth hanging open.

Because there, across the street, was a supernatural creature of some kind.

Not even of some kind—it was completely recognizable to her. It had the legs of a human, clad in what looked like a pair of jeans. But above the waist it was a bull. A great big bull, with a snout and enormous curling horns and everything. A Minotaur, she knew. Just standing in front of the movie theatre, examining one of the posters.

Like that was normal. Like it was considering going to see the latest Marvel movie.

How on earth do people not see something that enormous , she wondered.

Though size didn't really seem to be the issue. There were two other normal-sized beings down the street—one with a set of leathery wings, and the other without a face. But nobody reacted like that was the case. She saw the old dude who ran the hat store lift a hand in greeting, to the one with a blank swirl instead of an expression. Then Blank Swirl lifted a hand back.

And Blank Swirl was not alone in being acknowledged. There was what looked like a goblin—green-faced, vaguely moist—carrying a donut and a coffee in its hands. Which meant that somebody at the donut place must have served it. Somebody must have taken whatever weird money it offered, then handed over a strawberry glazed.

Though why this was the fact that unglued her mind she had no idea. It felt more like the whole idea of a goblin having a morning latte should've been the thing to do it. Or the hand wave between Blank Swirl and the hat-store owner. Or even the very existence of Minotaurs.

Hell, especially the very existence of Minotaurs.

Because Seth had definitely not said anything about them. And she didn't remember seeing them mentioned in the guidebook either. She pulled it out of the bike basket, propped it up on the handlebars, and flipped to the glossary to make sure. Then was startled to see them listed. As if she'd just missed them there.

Even though she knew for a fact she hadn't.

She would have absolutely noticed this listing in the book—mostly because it opened up a whole other avenue in her head. Now, suddenly, she had to add mythological beings alongside the more traditionally supernatural sorts of things and the whole religious aspect.

So what exactly did this mean?

If the book didn't describe everything, did that suggest it didn't always know? Did it show the same things to everyone who read it? Or did certain things only exist inside its pages if it realized you believed in them? Like in that weird movie Seth found on Netflix about the Vikings , she thought, when one of them doesn't think Valhalla is real, and so it isn't to him.

Though of course she couldn't be sure.

Until she glanced down at the book again. And there it was, right by her thumb at the bottom of the glossary page. "Yep, you're absolutely correct, that is exactly how it works."

At which point, she almost threw the damn thing. She had to fight just to slap it closed and stuff it back in the basket. And she wobbled as she set off. In fact, she wobbled all the way past the library. She saw Tabitha inside, frowning with concern as she zigzagged by, but couldn't do anything about it. Her leg muscles didn't seem to have the power anymore to make the bike run smoothly. Or in a straight line.

So it wasn't a surprise when she almost ran into someone.

She just wished the someone hadn't been Mr. Hannigan.

Because the thing was, Mr. Hannigan was the sort of person who grabbed your handlebars when you veered too close to him. Or even when you didn't. She remembered him doing it a dozen times to her and Seth when they'd rode on the same one together. Her in the saddle, Seth up front. Hannigan always ready to tell them that they were a disgrace, riding in such a manner.

And he did the same now.

"Cassandra Camberwell, still a nasty little beast, I see," he hissed as he slapped a hand down too close to hers on the left handlebar. And so firmly and forcefully that she came close to flying off the thing. The back wheel almost lifted off the road; the front wheel screeched and skewed a little to the left.

She had to hang on for dear life.

Then automatically tried to get away.

She twisted the handlebars and backpedaled. But of course, if he was strong enough to stop a bike in its tracks like that, then he was strong enough to stop her from riding away. And he did. He held her fast. He watched her squirm like a worm on a hook.

And when she looked up at him again, something else was there.

The writhing ghost of a smile, concealed beneath that tombstone face. Like he was enjoying watching her struggle. "Oh now you're in a hurry," he said, then he leaned close, so close she could see strands of yellow saliva oozing between his enormous teeth. "Well, perhaps you should have thought of that before you meandered around, mouth open like a fish, almost running into your betters."

Did he say ‘betters?' her mind popped out.

But he had released the handlebars, so it was hard to answer that question. She was too busy focusing on getting away from him, before he did something worse. Though naturally he did something worse anyway. "You go about your business in a seemly fashion, Cassandra Camberwell," he bellowed after her, as she swerved across the street, and careened around a car, and finally somehow found herself in front of Nancy's bookstore.

Accidentally, she assumed.

Although once she was in front of that pumpkin-and cobweb-and-book-filled window, she didn't think it had been an accident. She thought maybe her brain had automatically searched for a safe haven. For a place where words like "seemly" and "betters" had no effect.

And it had found this place.

And it had been right to.

The second she was inside she felt like her normal adult self again. But not just because she was surrounded by shelves stuffed with books, and lighting that reminded her of reading by candlelight in a fat little armchair. No—there was also Nancy, who looked up from the counter tucked into the corner, the moment she wheeled in.

And instead of (very reasonably) saying bikes go outside , she squealed. And launched herself at Cassie. "I knew you'd come," she said as she hugged Cassie so tight her ears popped. Then once the hugging was through, "I even had a feeling just now that it would be today."

Which, taken on its own, meant nothing.

But given everything else that had happened over the last week, felt slightly suspicious.

I'm giving out witch signals now , Cassie thought. And rather than telling herself that this was silly, she found herself glancing back over her shoulder, out the store's window. To the place where Hannigan had stood, but now no longer was.

Go about your business in a seemly fashion , she went over in her head again.

Then itched to get out her new book and look up "seemly."

"Unwitchlike," she imagined it saying, before she shook herself, and turned back to Nancy. Bright-as-a-button Nancy, peering at her curiously through those little round glasses of hers. Like she knew something had happened. Like it was possible that Cassie wasn't the only one with witch senses and signals.

And that idea only grew as she watched Nancy fly into action.

There was something familiar about it—the flurry of activity. The way she bustled around, brewing coffee in a big old brass machine behind the counter. Then stopping when she remembered she hadn't asked if Cassie actually wanted one. Before flying back to stir and pour and forget where she'd put the milk, once Cassie said she'd love one.

And all the while she chattered away, in the same absentminded yet somehow completely focused manner. So how has your life out there in the big city been? was one question. Is Seattle as cool as it seems? was another. Then just as Cassie tried to swallow a mouthful of a frankly delicious latte, Nancy said, "You look fabulous, by the way, like you're glowing."

And when it did the coffee almost came back up.

She coughed and spluttered and shot a long, suspicious look at Nancy. But Nancy's back was turned, intent as she was on finishing the pouring of her own coffee. And by the time Nancy took a seat opposite Cassie, there was no way to tell if Nancy had really seen anything.

All Cassie had to go on was that one word: glowing.

Which could have meant that Nancy was just being nice about her skin care routine. Or kind about how happy Cassie seemed. But she couldn't deny it might have meant something more. And especially when the books right next to her were doing that very thing. She could see them all out of the corner of her eye, just blazing away brightly. Glowing, just like she did.

Plus most of them written by an author she now knew well.

Annie Taylor Watts.

Creator of possibly sentient guidebooks.

Just right there an inch from them both.

So of course she had to say something . It felt like Nancy had introduced Cassie to her boyfriend, and her boyfriend had turned out to very visibly be Slenderman. She couldn't just ignore weirdness like that, any more than she had been able to ignore Hannigan's hand on her bike.

But the thing was—she simply didn't know how to go about it. She couldn't just segue from the weather in Seattle to a topic like that. It felt too jarring, too almost rude. As if she were breaching some supernatural etiquette, of the sort that she didn't understand. Apparently, you were supposed to do something like a courtly bow. Or maybe you had to perform the secret handshake.

And until you did, people pretended to be oblivious.

After all, Nancy wasn't saying anything about it.

She was now on to the food in some city Cassie no longer cared about. Seattle had great sushi it seemed. But it was so far from Maine, and she hated flying, and, oh by the way, had Cassie heard? This great new eatery had opened up on the outskirts of tow—and oh god, oh no, she just couldn't hold it in any longer.

"I see you've got some supernatural books there," Cassie blurted out.

And knew it was a mistake, immediately.

Partly because it sounded absolutely ridiculous, once she heard it aloud.

But mostly because of what it did to Nancy's face.

Her whole expression simply dropped, the moment Cassie spoke. Like someone had cut the strings that held up every muscle. More than that, in fact. The light seemed to disappear from her eyes, too. And she didn't answer the question Cassie had asked. She just kept staring, silently, blankly, in a way that made Cassie think of what Seth had said, and which the book had elaborated on: humans can't see supernatural things .

And here was the proof, right in the slightly creepy flesh. Nancy, unable to even accept the presence of certain books on her own bookstore shelf. Dead to the world, until Cassie changed the subject.

"So how have you been, Nance?" she asked, more cheerily than she had ever asked anything in her life. And to her relief, Nancy immediately snapped back to normal. All the animation rushed back into her face; the flat look disappeared from her eyes.

And she answered as if continuing a perfectly normal conversation. "Probably not as good as you clearly have been, you sly thing. Come on, tell me honestly. Have you been rekindling any old flames since you got back in town?" she asked.

Then she dropped a wink, in a way that made Cassie's stomach lurch.

Seth is not an old flame. That isn't a thing , she had the strongest urge to say.

Despite the fact that Nancy hadn't mentioned Seth at all. And why would she? To her, Seth was still the guy who had humiliated her in front of the whole school. They were enemies, as far as Nancy knew. She didn't know about the deal. The apologies. The fact that they'd grown so close that things were getting kind of weird.

And anyway, why was she even focusing on this?

Nancy had turned into a robot version of herself, right before Cassie's eyes. Cassie had a book in her bike basket that could grow words while you weren't looking. Hannigan thought she was unseemly. Minotaurs were looking up the movie times for Dr. Weird and the Way of Whatever the Fuck down the street.

It had been a hell of a morning. And a yesterday. And a week before that.

Yet, this was the thing she was flustered over? It seemed absurd—even as she felt the answer to it pressing against the panicking part of her. You're not used to the idea of Seth like that, but you are getting used to the supernatural stuff, a voice inside her wanted to say. And though she tried to bat it away, she knew it was right. She could feel it slowly settling over her. A kind of calm, and an understanding that what had happened to Nancy was nothing to worry about. It was normal. It was natural. Like breathing.

Whereas everything with Seth?

Well, that wasn't. It felt reckless and raw. Too full of seventy different weird emotions.

And it made her want to steer clear. To change the subject. "Oh gosh, not at all. I guess I'm just enjoying being back in town," she tried. Then for good measure, she added, "Especially when lovely people send me fruit baskets."

Which seemed to please Nancy.

Her dimples deepened; those bright eyes sparked.

And thank god, the topic was now something else entirely.

"I'm so glad you liked it. I wasn't really sure if that was the right thing, you know. In fact, I almost sent donuts, or muffins, or books. But I wondered what the first two might imply, and the third one—well, I couldn't remember if you even liked to read all that much. I know it was always you and Seth and movies," Nancy said, all in a way Cassie recalled very well. That sweet overspill of honesty, the chirping, chattering manner that had often overwhelmed her in high school.

She'd be pondering at least three different subjects Nancy had raised, while Nancy was off on the next one. Or worse: looking at Cassie sadly, because it seemed that Cassie didn't want to respond. Even though she did. She always had.

It was the reason she made herself respond now.

"Oh no, I do like books. In fact, I was thinking of buying some while I'm here," she said, and didn't think twice about it. There wasn't even a twinge of you don't have much money to spare . Because the second she had the afterthought, the little witchy voice in the back of her head responded, you never have to worry about that again .

And she knew it was telling the truth.

She could already feel the outlines of several money-making potions taking shape in her mind. And okay, some of them were risky and difficult. They might draw attention. But if she was careful, as she suspected Gram had been with her weird coins and such, they would keep her fed.

Not to mention in reading material.

"Well, you have to let me recommend some stuff. I just got a selection of these old creepy ghost stories, and a bunch of vampire-type things. You like horror, right? I think I might have the perfect book, actually," Nancy babbled away, and then she was off again, bustling around her store, gathering this volume and that—though never going near that glowing shelf, Cassie noticed.

So Cassie went to it herself.

Once Nancy was in the back, rummaging around and calling out questions, she looked over the shelf feverishly. And confirmed that its contents were almost all guidebooks. Healing Your Inner Horbeast, she saw, sat alongside something called Goblin Etiquette . Then another one about growing magical vegetables. But it was the last book on the shelf that really caught her eye. Werewolfery for Beginners , she read, and snatched it up.

She didn't get any further, however. Nancy came charging back to her in a great flurry of dropped books and fluttering pages and curly hair—god, the girl had so much curly hair. Cassie often thought her own dark waves were a bushy, messy disaster. But she had nothing on Nancy. Nancy was an explosion in a hair factory.

Yet somehow, it only made her prettier.

She practically glowed herself, as she busily used brown paper and twine to wrap the books Cassie said yes to. And said glow only disappeared when she got to the werewolf guide. The one Cassie had slipped onto the stack, hoping Nancy's blank look wouldn't come back.

But it did.

Her whole face changed. Even though she didn't actually stop what she was doing . She still rang it up, still wrapped it with the others, still accepted money and said thank you. Then it was done, and she was Nancy again. Nancy, who said stop by again soon, and waved cheerily as Cassie left.

As if it were that easy to slip into and out of worlds, that you couldn't even see.