Page 5 of When the Woods Go Silent

Nothing has happened the way Ruby and I schemed at thirteen, but that’s how life goes. Even though we’re both only twenty-five and have years of adventure ahead, something about Clearwater and our new-old bookshop feels right on the verge of the happily ever after we’ve each been searching for.

I just have to teach myself to trust the peace and stop inventing trouble.

THE WOODS

The man belongs to us, and yet he doesn’t, though he visits us often. He smells of winter and frozen earth, but also the heat of fire and the choke of ash.

We haven’t figured him out yet.

But we’ll welcome him beneath our branches as long as his feet are gentle on our roots. He’s only standing, after all. Staring silently up at the building where the woman sleeps, his fingers rubbing against each other like branches in the wind, as he scents her blood, tastes the dark blot of it.

We would welcome her, too, although she seems to fear us. She smells of rain-wet roses and the lonely memory of our lost magic, shrouded in midnight and fog.

CHAPTER THREE

RUBY

Is it actually kind of crazy to trust your own memory more than the world around you?

Being back in a concrete jungle is even more draining than I remembered - especially one as enormous and crowded as New York City. Exhausting. I’m definitely having fun at the book conference, but it’s so people-y. I can’t wait to be back in our quiet store in the middle of the Adirondacks.

Central Park is pretty, but so not the same vibe. I’m in love with the dense, dark woods around our shop, and I can’t believe it took me all these years to make that magical place mine again.

Speaking of...

“That is a freaking gorgeous cover,” I blurt to the author sitting behind her conference table, startling her into a smile. The cover in question is filled with the dark mystery of a fairy-tale forest, and as she launches into her pitch about the trigger-filled romantasy series, I practically swoon on the spot. Perfection.

“I want it. You can’t talk me out of it now - the whole series. Four copies of each if you have them.” My book blogger nose is absolutely twitching at the sound of this plot and the yummy characters that will be put through hell for my wicked enjoyment.

By the Goddess, I love books, the darker the better.

The author is glowing with the excitement of the sale, and we become instant besties as I describeUnder the Covers, the revamped shop Rose and I are opening in Clearwater. I want as many indie authors as I can find on my shelves - and I can’t wait to have author signings and readings and book clubs and poetry nights and...

I reel in my hyperactive brain long enough to pay the author, nestling the glossy stack of books carefully into the lawn wagon thing I bought for my haul. We exchange business contacts, and I move to the next table, grinning like a kid.

Having enough money to buy all the books I can read is still a new, heady experience for me, and I’m soaking it deep into my bones. I never want to be poor again.

Rose is the more careful, frugal one, but that’s only because she thinks of the inheritance asmymoney.

Sure, it may have come from my bio dad’s life insurance, but the whole seven years I was waiting to age into it, I’ve always thought of it as mine and Rose’s future. My mother’s death from cancer three years ago left me with only Rose to claim as family, and I’m never letting her go.

Just three things in my life have ever held proof of the magic I crave - dark fantasy romance books, deep woods, and my forever friendship with Rose. Part of me worries that getting them all at once is too good to be true, but I keep telling myself it’s more proof that fairy godmothers are real.

I text Rose constantly throughout the day, sharing juicy bits of books and gossip, selfies with authors and their books, and even a picture with a male model someone brought to help advertise. He’s dressed up in some kind of Viking outfit and towers over me, which admittedly, is not hard to do.

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