Page 96 of Touch

“… been worried about you,” Ulrik exhales.

“… call next time.”

“… gotta get to work.”

Andrew still has difficulty accepting the man’s affection. Ulrik pats Andrew’s back, which makes Andrew stiffen. Through the window, he watches as Ulrik drives off to the auto shop.

Holly waits to finish their discussion. It’s a clear shot.

Love swipes an arrow from her pack. The iron is dense and heavy, dragging her arm down twice before she nocks itto the longbow. Her breathing uneven, she steps into the open doorway. No one can see her except for the person who matters most, the human who will forget she exists, who’s about to fall in love.

It will happen quickly. He won’t know any different.

Georgie guides the customer into the hallway, heading toward another room where the person’s recommended book can be found. On her way out, the matriarch plays detective, frowning briefly at Andrew and Holly before disappearing around the corner. Outwardly to her, it appears Andrew has made his choice, and the “Iris” specter is gone.

Very well. It’s going to be true, for Holly will soon become the highlight of Andrew’s days. She’ll be the center of his universe, the bright light in his existence, and the antidote to the darkness Love has brought him.

Holly will get to know Georgie when Andrew introduces them. And one day in the future, the matriarch might dare to ask about Iris.

To which, Andrew will ask, “Who?”

Love fails to quell her whimper, the noise slipping through the bookshop. Andrew’s shoulder blades tense. The instant he pivots and his eyes lock with hers, there’s a charged, static moment of confusion. Then realization. Then betrayal. She had never said it would be today.

Yet no one is around. Andrew and Holly are alone for this precious moment. It’s the perfect opportunity.

His features contort with anguish. He opens his mouth to say…

Something passionate. Something eternal.

Something that will break Love.

On a pained cry, she looses the arrow. It tears across the shop like a missile. The weapon disappears into her target’schest, the impact blasting Andrew backward and ramming him into the bookshelves.

In her mind’s eye, Love sees the protective outer layer of his heart shatter like a thousand other beating organs she has penetrated in her lifetime. Only this one causes a rupture in her own chest as well.

The furnishing quakes, volumes toppling from the ledges. Holly yelps—“Andrew!”—and seizes his arm, attempting to steady him while shouts erupt from the other room. Heels clack against the floor, making haste toward the commotion.

Before Georgie and her customer materialize, Love growls and fires once more. Holly buckles, releasing Andrew and catapulting into a neighboring shelf, the shop convulsing from the blow as snowfall whips into a blizzard outside.

Andrew and Holly stumble to their feet. They glance at each other. And they don’t look away.

That’s all Love can bear. She flees, barreling through the door seconds prior to Georgie and the customer’s return, the partition whipping open and slamming shut behind her. As if she was never there, Love vanishes into the tempest.

She sprints across the street, obstinate tears stinging her eyes and forming icicles on her lashes. The blizzard is a thick curtain, its density obscuring her vision. Her arrows have morphed into heavy iron monsters, gravity fighting to pull her down.

Through the forest, Love propels herself past one landmark at a time. That tree. Now the trail up ahead. Now a little farther to that bend. A little farther still.

The gale whisks pinecones and branches off the ground. Her boots sink into the snow. That discomforting outdoor sensation returns to attack her. The closer she gets to the glass cottage, the harsher it becomes, stinging her skin and makingher teeth clatter. She feels the peculiar need to pull her coat closed and block out the storm.

She glances down and gasps. Her fingers are shaking. The nails have turned blue.

This, although she shot her targets. This, when she should be healing instead.

What is happening to me?

An evil wall of wind shoves Love sideways. She stumbles to the ground, her weapons scattering. Reaching out for them in a daze, she grabs hold of a slim, pointed object that bites her, the pang intensifying because the snow is wet and something else.

A sharpness rips into her blue-fingernailed hand. A thin line of blood carves through her palm.

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