Page 2 of Stone Temptation

A memory flashed through my mind, echoes of that night at Crab Cove sending a hundred barbs into my heart.

Finn’s face, his screams, the utter hopelessness…

I shut it down.

Not this. Not now. Tumbling into a depressive state would only ruin the morning.

I reached the quaint village of Tudor houses, flower boxes, and suffocating charm. Because of the local no-vehicles-of-any-kind rule, everything was eerily quiet, far too perfect.

The sooner I got out of here, the better.

I passed a duck pond in the village square with no ducks but plenty of orange motes hovering across the surface like fireflies. Only the postman and a few residents were braving the weather this Saturday morning.

At least there weren’t any monsters around.

The freezing wind blew harder as I crossed the square, face frozen in place as if I’d been hit with a dozen doses of Botox.

What a shame my invisibility didn’t come with central heating.

Avoiding becoming an ice pop, I passed through an archway into a shopping arcade behind a DIY shop, ducking into a tiny alleyway beside a bookshop to catch my breath.

George’s Books. I was finally here, ready for my five-finger discount.

After extensive research online, taking me into some nefarious corners of the web, I’d discovered George, the owner, possessed a collection of extremely rare and illegal magical books in his basement. One of those tomes allegedly contained a recipe to brew a wishing potion.

Dangerous. Scary. The possible key to saving my little brother.

There were so many questions surrounding this recipe. Like had anyone else tried stealing it? How was George even allowed to keep it? And why would there even be a record of it online? Okay, so the information hadn’t been easy to find, but it seemed both ludicrous and overly hopeful.

Doubt tried to catch my attention, getting a swat for its troubles.

Screw the questions.

Screw the doubt.

Embrace the possibilities.

Oh, I’d been embracing them every second of the day, my insides dancing an excitable tango. If I could wish Finn out of his predicament, then my life would be back on track. Pain lifted, happiness back to shake my hand, and Finn there for me to bear-hug every morning.

If I couldn’t brew the potion myself, I’d find an enchanter to help me. This was the best piece of intel I’d received in ages. A sweet taste of hope.

I began counting down from thirty, readying myself for the next move and unwrapped another strawberry cream, letting it slowly melt on my tongue.

To complement my invisibility, I’d learned to pick locks. I carried some guilt over that because I really didn’t want to be Robin Hood without the giving-to-the-poor part. But then Finn suffered every day, so he was the good part to complement the bad.

Guilt could go take a kick to the family jewels.

I fished my metal lockpick from my coat pocket, making short work on the shop’s locked back door at the end of the alley. George was open for business but my invisible backside strolling through the front door would only arouse suspicion.

Slip in the back, creep down to the basement, steal the book, thank you, goodbye.

A much better plan.

Door unlocked, I opened it wide enough for me to slip through, gently closing it behind me.

Clutter surrounded me, the room made of wood paneling and wonky shelves was super dusty and chaotic. Stacks of yellowed paperbacks filled almost every space, really crammed into those shelves. Cobwebs clung to the single lightbulb above my head, a hazardous path cutting through piles of boxes between me and another door.

Someone needed to sort his back room out.

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