Page 3 of Stone Temptation

Carefully, I navigated past the boxes, stepping out into the main shop. It was just as haphazard with messy bookshelves and books piled up in the gangways, the mahogany cash desk like a wooden outcrop in a sea of papery chaos.

Any customers with dust allergies beware!

George, an older man with wisps of white hair and a ratty tweed jumper, sat at the desk, writing something in a ledger. A small radio beside him played classical music.

On my right was another door leading to a tiny kitchen and two sets of stairs. One going up, one going down.

Probably extremely creaky.

Hmmm. How to do this? My power didn’t bless me with feathery grace to avoid creaky stairs. I’d learned that all by myself.

As if by luck, two customers came in, the entrance bell ringing. Straight away, they both fired questions at the old man, taking him away from the cash desk. He vanished between two bookshelves with the women.

Now was my chance. I crept to the stairs, taking my time, testing each step on my way down, keeping light of foot.

Adrenaline helped keep the lid on my fear, my chest a jungle of knots.

You can do this.

Eventually, I reached the bottom of the stairs without any creaky incidents and enjoyed the flutter of relief in my chest, only for it to tighten up again.

The same messiness of upstairs greeted me, but a lot more cramped, dusty, and kind of smelly, like pipe tobacco rolled in wet paper.

The ceilings were low, the floorboards squeaky. A house spider scuttled past me, disappearing into a tiny black hole of arachnid creepiness.

Best place for it.

I took my time navigating the basement, constantly on the lookout for any indication of the book’s location, scanning the shelves, keeping vigilant for any sounds from the stairs.

An area at the far end of the basement finally brought my painfully slow exploration to a stop. Thick metal bars guarded a recess filled with more books, the gate locked.

I rolled my shoulders, checking behind me for any potential stalkers. No old man, no one else here but me. I examined the cage for potential traps or alarm systems, finding nothing.

A wave of unease halted my next step. This had all gone far too smoothly. What if the rug was preparing to be yanked from under me? Life enjoyed throwing curveballs, after all.

A valid point, yes. But what if I turned back now and left behind an actual cure for Finn’s soullessness? A real cure. I’d hit so many dead ends, failing to save Finn too many times over. This might change that. I couldn’t just walk away because of nerves, because of doubt.

Never give up.

Fear might humble me, but it also served as a stumbling block for progress. Sometimes, hope required a leap of faith.

For you, little brother…

Five minutes of jiggling my lockpick later, the cage door opened. No consequences, only the metallic squeak of its hinges to signal my success.

Gingerly, I moved into the cage, eyes scanning the spines of the books.

What was Wuthering Heights doing down here? Mis-shelved? A mask for some deadly charms?

As I went to take it, I spotted what I’d come here for a few books over, worn sliver letters on a blue leather spine.

The Possible Impossible. God, what an apt name.

I bit my bottom lip, scratching at my face as my stomach flipped. It really did exist. This really could be the end of this nightmare.

Oh. My. God.

I moved closer to it in a daze. Pinched myself to check I wasn’t dreaming, that this was life tossing me a friendly curveball.

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