Page 11 of Night Owl Books

I walked with Harold slowly up the hill, trying to putoddout of my head and remember what Harold had just asked me. “I guess someone got into a fender bender last night and they wanted to know what I’d heard or seen. They’re done with me now. So, what did you think ofParable of the Sower?”

He chuckled. “You remembered. When you said Octavia Butler was one of the sci-fi greats, I wasn’t sure if I believed you.” He shook his head. “Silly of me to doubt you where books are concerned. I read a lot of sci-fi and I’d never heard of her.”

“Yeah, well, she was a Black woman writing in a genre that’s very heavily white and male. I have more of her books, if you’d like to read them.”

“I would, indeed. Which one would you recommend next?” We were almost to the top of the hill, but he was slowing down. “I swear,” he said, “I think this road gets steeper every time I climb it.”

I slowed with him. “We can take a break, if you want?”

“No. I’m not that old yet. I’ll make it.”

He was breathing harder, so I slowed a little more. “If you’re interested in a historical sci-fi mashup,Kindredis wonderful. The main character is a modern woman in the 1970s who gets stuck time traveling back and forth to Maryland, starting in the early 1800s. Which, as you might imagine, is a dangerous place and time for a Black woman. It becomes clear pretty quickly that she’s getting pulled back when this one white boy—the plantation owner’s son—is in danger of dying.”

“That’s interesting,” he said. “What makes him so important?”

“That is the question. One I assume you don’t actually want me to answer. If that doesn’t fit your mood, she has more traditional sci-fi books.” I held out my arm to steady him up the steps.

“Now you’ve got me interested in this other book. Let’s try that one next,” he said.

I pointed to the bench on the porch. “Have a seat. I’ll go grab it for you.”

He slowly made his way to the bench and sat. “I do seem to be worn out tonight.”

After I grabbed the book, I went to the kitchen to fill a glass with water before going back out and sitting next to him.

When I passed him the glass and the book, he said, “Oh, thank you. I hate for you to fuss, though.”

I stretched out my legs, crossed my ankles, and pretended not to notice the tremor in his hand as he took a sip of water. “It’s no fuss to enjoy the night air.”

He took another small sip. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a book in your hand or under your arm.”

Nodding, I watched the investigative group walk through the trees, no doubt to circle around to the back of my place. Harold hadn’t noticed, though Arwyn was making a lot of noise. When the sound cut out, I assumed Declan had picked her up.

I stretched out my hands, palms up, the lack of a book quite obvious. “That must be why they feel so weird.”

He huffed out a laugh and then struggled to get his wallet out of his pocket.

I tapped his knee. “You can pay me next time. I’ll remember.” I heard my back door open and close, but I stayed with Harold. “Would you like me to drive you home? I don’t drive my Jeep often enough. It’s going to die on me soon.”

He waved away the suggestion. “Nonsense. You go ahead in. I’m going to read the first few pages, rest a bit more, and then head home.”

Nodding, I stood. “Okay. If you need anything, just call. I’ll hear you.”

“Not to worry. I’m just going to start this very interesting book.” He opened to the first page and did just that.

I went in, leaving the door ajar. Harold—or any human—couldn’t have heard the group murmuring in the back, but I could. Even amongst supernaturals, my hearing and vision were unusual.Oddhad taken some of the shine off the evening, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t heard it before.

When I came around the bookcase, the talking stopped. Nick was sitting on the floor in my spot, leaving the couch open. Nodding to him, I took his vacated seat.

“Orla,” Arthur said, “my wife tells me I can be a real asshole, saying things without considering how they’ll land. Nick chewed me out earlier for calling you odd when you’ve been bending over backwards to help people just showing up on your doorstep.”

He sat straighter in his chair. “I apologize. I want you to know I didn’t mean it in a negative way. I’ve never met an owl shifter. The only raptor shifter I know is Kaknu and you two are very different. My focus at the time was on Arwyn and whether or not she could tell us anything, so I wasn’t thinking about how I phrased a throwaway observation. Nick’s right, though. That part doesn’t matter. I said something insulting and I apologize.”

Apologies were new for me. I’d gone to regular school when I was younger. The number of times they had meetings with my parents, asking if they could test me, was ridiculous. They thought my parents were being willfully obtuse, pretending they hadn’t noticed their daughter was on the spectrum.

The school counselors and administrators had the best of intentions. They wanted me to get the services they felt I needed. My parents, on the other hand, knew I was behaving just as a little owl shifter should. Children and adolescents can be cruel to the odd quiet kid with big yellow eyes who rarely blinks, wears dark glasses, winces at loud noises, and often falls asleep in class. After a while, it became clear a normal life wasn’t in the cards for me.

My parents signed me out of school and then picked up textbooks for me on various subjects. I began studying at night, when my brain was naturally more active. It was lonely, but I taught myself about every topic that caught my interest. As much as I missed out on normal human interactions, I got to experience them through books. I’ve been to countless proms, fallen in love, had my heart broken, been betrayed by a bestfriend, and survived many a battle. It all felt real in the moment, on the page, until I put the book down and was again alone.

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