Page 13 of When the Woods Go Silent

“Don’t leave me,” eleven-year-old me had cried, rushing to follow after the magical creature as she floated through the forest, held up by rolling carpets of moss and vines of flowers that swung her along. It looked even better than wings. It’s still the most vivid memory of my life, and despite everyone else believing I made it up, I know what I saw.

As I begin to wrap up the memory for the authors, something tugs a tear to my eyes. Knowing that I’m back in the same woods after all these years, making my new home and business in such a magical place, gives me the most hope I’ve had in a while.

“Of course, the fae woman did leave me behind, and I know it sounds like a child begging for attention to keep telling a story nobody believes. But you know what? I know what I saw. The fae woman appeared several more times over the few days my mom and I stayed in the cabin. I dreamed of her each night, and each dream was so vivid and real to me. She begged me each night to come deeper into the woods, but of course I wouldn’t just sneak out at that age. But now... I’m back, and I can look for her again. Every time I walk in the forest on dark nights, I listen for that same silence. You know, when the bugs and night animals pause all their movement so they can listen, and even the wind diesdown out of respect. Because when the woods go silent, that’s when the magic is ready to be found.”

Dark magic, I add in my head, as one of the authors scribbles notes with an enchanted expression on her face. I hold back the part of the story I’ve never told anyone except Rose.

It’s one thing for these authors to fantasize that I really saw a glittering fae creating garlands of flowers and moss in a forest as a kid.

Experience has taught me that it would be too much for them to accept that I still search for the same fae now.

Because deep down, I knew that fae woman was dangerous. Deep down, I understood that the woods actually go silent out of fear, as all the small prey animals hold their breath in the presence of a threat. If magic exists, it isn’t all rainbows and light.

Continuing to chase it anyway is the part that might actually make me a bit crazy, but my brain has always been drawn to darkness, fixated on learning everything I can about the potential of a hidden world, right alongside ours.

There’s a quiet pause as the authors both take in my words, and I watch them with an edge of nervousness to my mood. Still, the overall feeling is excitement.

When you gather the courage to speak dreams aloud, that’s when they begin to manifest and shape themselves into reality. I want this memory to become real again, just like the bookstore has.

“That’s such a cool image,” the woman on the left says, looking up from her spiral notebook with a smile. She sees me as another storyteller, but that’s okay. “So, we really want to hear more about the bookshop. Why that one? Why did you buy all those used books if you plan to sell mostly new?”

I smile bigger, glad she asked this question. It’s a big part of the message I’ve worked hard to spread on social media forseveral years now - that you don’t have to own shelves full of expensive, pristine hardbacks to be a book babe.

“This particular bookshop has ties to my childhood. My mom used to take me to Clearwater in the summers, and I would spend hours in that same shop while she waitressed in one of the tourist-packed restaurants. It was better money than where we usually lived. And I was in heaven. Bookstores have always been my favorite place to escape. Libraries too, of course.

“And then, everything happened at exactly the perfect time. I aged into the money from my dad’s life insurance. He died on the job when I was a teenager, but I couldn’t access the money until twenty-five. I always knew I wanted to open a shop, and when I found out the owner of my favorite place was retiring and didn’t have any family willing to run it, I made him an offer. He was so happy to sell to me because there are a ton of developers trying to buy all the land there and tear down the gorgeous old houses.”

“That sounds kismet,” the author says, smiling at her friend.

“Meant to be,” I agree. “And to actually answer your question, we’ll still buy and sell used books. We just plan to curate the main collection more toward indie authors, women and LGBTQ authors, culturally diverse voices, and of course, the most popular romance genres on social media. All writers and readers should have a place, and allbooksshould have a place, and that place isUnder the Covers, because book boyfriends do it better.”

That was definitely the right answer to say to a pair of indie romance authors, but it’s also the freaking truth.

They wrap up our interview, promising to keep in touch. Of course, I know they will - I’ve purchased multiple paperbacks from each of them for the store. And we’ll share our finds for each other, always building that great circle of books.

I stand and stretch, realizing it’s already way past lunch time. The conference has been officially over since the goodbye brunch this morning. Yet several others besides me are still hanging out, hating to let go of the warmth of being around like-minded people. It’s the best. Book people don’t always get that camaraderie in the real world, and it’s a special kind of love when so many of us are all in one place together.

But the hotel staff is trying to clean up the conference rooms and the halls, and I have a crap ton of books to load in my car before the long drive back to Rose. It’s time to go home to Clearwater.

Home- I can still barely believe it’s true.

The whole process sounds daunting, until I grin to myself, remembering that hey, I havemoneynow.

I’m no longer the kid who grew up poor, with a single mother who could barely keep me in school supplies and never got a dime of child support. Roy didn’t even send birthday cards when I was growing up, but he did name me as his only insurance beneficiary. Anticipating my twenty-fifth birthday had been such an obsessive corner in my mind, that it’s still too easy to forget the fat balance in my bank account now.

“Thanks for that, at least, Roy,” I snark to myself as I grab an overpriced sandwich and a huge iced coffee from the lobby’s deli. I stop at the front desk and ask them to call a porter to my room. Standing at the wall of windows in my hotel room while I wait, I grin at the city spread before me. I assure myself it’s totally normal to sit and drink my coffee while the cute valet brings around my new-ish black hatchback and the porter loads in boxes of shiny new books.

Because it is totally normal, now. The money, the sale of the bookstore, Rose being able to leave her job and move in with me - everything happened exactly when it needed to. It’s all partof the magic, and I can feel myself getting closer every day to solving the mystery of my childhood.

I may be terrified of losing everything, but there’s a huge adventure waiting in Clearwater, where magical secrets hide like jewels in the dense darkness of the Adirondack Mountains. I can’t stop searching now, just when everything is falling into place.

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