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Authors: Tawny Taylor
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jeans, and then, feeling a little confused and used, she accepted the things he handed her and left.
Wow, that was one strange, nerve-racking, and intense experience. She wasn’t sure whether she hoped he would accept her or not.
The next evening, after a long day at work, Wynne glanced at the Arby’s and considered heading in for a quick sandwich and fries before diving into the glory of the used bookstore next door. But her raging hunger for books forced her to set aside the need for physical sustenance in favor of mental. It was late already, well past her usual dinner hour. The bookstore wouldn’t be open much longer. She would rather wait another hour to eat than miss out on getting a new book. Besides, she’d rather take her meal home and settle down to eat with a good book, rather than sit in a fast food restaurant by herself and feel like a loser.
Ready to replenish her dwindled to-be-read pile, she headed into the bookstore.
Ahhhh, home. The store smelled of dust and books and incense.
After greeting the store’s owner, a friendly woman of sixty-some-odd years, she made a beeline for the paranormal romance section in the back, hoping she’d find something she hadn’t read already. Not far away, a man was browsing the fantasy fiction section, his back turned to her. After a quick glance around, she concluded they were the only two customers in the store.
Back to the hunt.
She just loved book shopping. It was, she guessed, her way of exorcising a subconscious drive to search and hunt and claim. Her distant relatives, a zillion years ago, might have had to search for food, hunt for prey, conquer the land. The best she could do was hunt down the perfect book, search for a new author, or perhaps wander into a new genre. By the time she left, she would be adrift in a wave of adrenaline, feeling jittery in a very good way, a hefty bag of books in her arms.
She felt herself frowning as she checked the first shelf. Nothing new. Nothing interesting. After skimming the other two shelves in the section, she turned around…and saw him .
It was Dierk, from the dungeon.
And he most obviously recognized her.
“Hello, Wynne,” he said, his voice a low hum. He held a paperback novel in his hands, sort of sandwiched between them.
“Hello back, Dierk.” She nodded toward the book. “Looks like you’re having better luck than me today. I’m empty handed yet.”
“Yeah?” He lifted the book, letting her read the cover. “It’s a first edition. I’ve been looking for a copy for months. I never expected to find one signed by the author for less than thirty dollars.”
“Really?” She reached for the book. “May I?”
“Certainly.” He handed it to her. “Are you familiar with James Clemens?”
“Not at all. Is he good?”
“Excellent. I have everything he’s written, both under his Clemens pseudonym and his Rollins pen name.”
“Rollins?” Not really paying attention—how could she with Dierk standing there looking all amazing and talking books?—she skimmed the back cover copy. From what she did comprehend, the premise sounded pretty interesting, sort of the typical fantasy “evil versus good” theme. “That name sounds familiar.”
“ Subterranean , Ice Hunt , Sandstorm , Map of Bones —”
“Yes! Map of Bones . I read that book. I liked it!” She handed the book back to him.
Their fingertips grazed.
Their gazes locked.
Some kind of electricity buzzed between them, and her insides fluttered.
“It was about religious relics, right?” she asked.
“Yes.” He extended his arm. “If you liked Map of Bones , I think you’ll like this, too.”
“But, it’s the book you’ve been looking for—”
“It’s okay. I’ll buy it from you once you’re finished, if you’ll sell it to me.”
“Of course I will. But I feel bad. You were so happy to have found it. What if I lose it or something?”
“Don’t worry about it. My life’s not over if I don’t get it back.
Wow, that was one strange, nerve-racking, and intense experience. She wasn’t sure whether she hoped he would accept her or not.
The next evening, after a long day at work, Wynne glanced at the Arby’s and considered heading in for a quick sandwich and fries before diving into the glory of the used bookstore next door. But her raging hunger for books forced her to set aside the need for physical sustenance in favor of mental. It was late already, well past her usual dinner hour. The bookstore wouldn’t be open much longer. She would rather wait another hour to eat than miss out on getting a new book. Besides, she’d rather take her meal home and settle down to eat with a good book, rather than sit in a fast food restaurant by herself and feel like a loser.
Ready to replenish her dwindled to-be-read pile, she headed into the bookstore.
Ahhhh, home. The store smelled of dust and books and incense.
After greeting the store’s owner, a friendly woman of sixty-some-odd years, she made a beeline for the paranormal romance section in the back, hoping she’d find something she hadn’t read already. Not far away, a man was browsing the fantasy fiction section, his back turned to her. After a quick glance around, she concluded they were the only two customers in the store.
Back to the hunt.
She just loved book shopping. It was, she guessed, her way of exorcising a subconscious drive to search and hunt and claim. Her distant relatives, a zillion years ago, might have had to search for food, hunt for prey, conquer the land. The best she could do was hunt down the perfect book, search for a new author, or perhaps wander into a new genre. By the time she left, she would be adrift in a wave of adrenaline, feeling jittery in a very good way, a hefty bag of books in her arms.
She felt herself frowning as she checked the first shelf. Nothing new. Nothing interesting. After skimming the other two shelves in the section, she turned around…and saw him .
It was Dierk, from the dungeon.
And he most obviously recognized her.
“Hello, Wynne,” he said, his voice a low hum. He held a paperback novel in his hands, sort of sandwiched between them.
“Hello back, Dierk.” She nodded toward the book. “Looks like you’re having better luck than me today. I’m empty handed yet.”
“Yeah?” He lifted the book, letting her read the cover. “It’s a first edition. I’ve been looking for a copy for months. I never expected to find one signed by the author for less than thirty dollars.”
“Really?” She reached for the book. “May I?”
“Certainly.” He handed it to her. “Are you familiar with James Clemens?”
“Not at all. Is he good?”
“Excellent. I have everything he’s written, both under his Clemens pseudonym and his Rollins pen name.”
“Rollins?” Not really paying attention—how could she with Dierk standing there looking all amazing and talking books?—she skimmed the back cover copy. From what she did comprehend, the premise sounded pretty interesting, sort of the typical fantasy “evil versus good” theme. “That name sounds familiar.”
“ Subterranean , Ice Hunt , Sandstorm , Map of Bones —”
“Yes! Map of Bones . I read that book. I liked it!” She handed the book back to him.
Their fingertips grazed.
Their gazes locked.
Some kind of electricity buzzed between them, and her insides fluttered.
“It was about religious relics, right?” she asked.
“Yes.” He extended his arm. “If you liked Map of Bones , I think you’ll like this, too.”
“But, it’s the book you’ve been looking for—”
“It’s okay. I’ll buy it from you once you’re finished, if you’ll sell it to me.”
“Of course I will. But I feel bad. You were so happy to have found it. What if I lose it or something?”
“Don’t worry about it. My life’s not over if I don’t get it back.
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