Page 5 of It's In His Hiss

“Must be the storm,” she says, her laugh light and unburdened. She doesn’t know how close she came to being a statue in my mythology section.

“Must be.” I manage a smile, though I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something extraordinary about her, something beyond the chestnut hair and the quirky dress. A sense of connection that’s as terrifying as it is exhilarating. She’s everything I never knew I wanted. But that’s not possible, is it?

“Are you new in town?” I ask once we’ve set the last book back in its place.

“Yeah, I just arrived. Talk about a welcome, huh?” She stands, brushing her hands on her dress, which clings to her skin, still soaked from the rain.

“Welcome to Screaming Woods,” I say, finally standing. “Where the weather is as unpredictable as… well, everything else around here.”

“Sounds exciting.” Her grin tells me she’s up for the adventure, and something inside me wants to be part of that adventure with her. Even if I’m only the monster lurking in the background.

“Never a dull moment,” I mumble, hoping my nervousness doesn’t show. Because despite everything, I find myself wanting to know more about her, to hear her talk about storms and gods like they’re old friends. To feel that spark once more.

Then, she seems to trip over thin air as she turns to look around the shop.

“Please, just…stand still for a moment, miss,” I urge, reaching out to steady her as she wobbles on the spot. Her eyes brim with tears that threaten to spill, and her distress tugs at something inside me.

I offer a smile that I hope conveys calm instead of my inner turmoil and gently guide her to the armchair that’s more my home than any other part of the shop, nudging it closer to the warmth radiating from the old electric heater.

She sinks into it, the chair's fabric absorbing some of the rainwater clinging to her like an unwanted second skin. She looks up at me, and I’m careful to meet her gaze without locking onto it.

“Thank you,” she breathes, a shiver running through her. “I’m Alice Hawthorne.”

“Gordon Stone.” I offer a nod instead of a handshake. Less contact, less chance of slipping up and doing something irreversible.

“Wait... your name isGordonStone?”

I groan. “Yep. Gordon Stone. Gordy to my friends. Or to people who enjoy tormenting me with the obvious.”

“Stone? Seriously?” Alice tilts her head, barely holding back a grin. “That’s either fate, cosmic irony, or the universe having a really dark sense of humor.”

I sigh. “Try all three. I was a regular guy until I drank one scientifically questionable party punch andboom—I’m suddenly a walking cautionary tale.”

“Oh, Ilovethis for you.” Alice claps her hands. “Tell me you leaned into the branding. Please tell me your business cards say,‘Stone-cold book recs from your favorite Gorgon.’”

“No, but thanks for giving my snakes a new reason to hiss at you,” I deadpan.

“Hey, I’m just saying—it’s a marketing goldmine.” She pauses, then nudges me.

“Do you at least sell souvenir bookmarks that say, ‘Don’t look directly at the owner?’”

I rub my chin thoughtfully. “Okay, that one Imightactually use.”

Alice nods in approval as she swipes at her hair, now a dark curtain plastered to her forehead. Her maxi dress, a riot of pastel colors dulled by the rain, sticks uncomfortably to her legs. She plucks at the fabric in a vain attempt to unstick it from her skin.

“Here, let me get you something to dry off with.” I leave her side reluctantly, heading to the small bathroom tucked away behind a shelf heavy with travel memoirs and books on foreign lands. Grabbing a stack of paper towels, which suddenly seems like such an inadequate gesture, I hurry back to her.

“Thanks again,” she says as I hand them over, her voice steady despite the chaos she’s walked into—or perhaps brought with her.

Alice starts chattering then. About the weather, books, and this little town of Screaming Woods and its peculiar charm. How she visited a few times with her best friend, Verity, and decided to move here since Verity and her husband, Gideon, live in the neighboring town of Fable Forest.

And every so often, Alice gives me this look like she’s trying to figure out something. It’s probably best she doesn’t solve that particular puzzle.

“Sorry for the mess,” she says with a chuckle, gesturing vaguely at the disarray she’s caused, which somehow looks like a representation of her scrambled thoughts. “Seems I have a knack for causing trouble.” Her lips curve into a smilethat suggests she’s far from sorry—it’s infectious.

I find myself smiling back, genuinely amused. “Trouble’s not always a bad thing,” I counter, feeling bold. “Sometimes, it’s the universe’s way of shaking things up. Like when you walk into a bookshop and turn it upside down.”

“Or when a gorgon tries to play host without turning his guest to stone?” she teases.

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