Page 3 of Dark Stars
Then he was gone, leaving only the scent ofcinnamon sugar, fresh coffee, and the faint tang of freshblood.
"Fuckhead," Harold muttered as he steppedfurther into the café, removing the ballcap that went with himeverywhere. "You want your usual?"
"Yes, please." Bobby wandered over to thebookshelves, but sadly nothing had changed since his last visit twodays ago. He'd have to thin down his own collection again, beef upthe variety here. He drew out one that by condition and smell hadclearly been read more often than anything else, at least twentytimes by him while he waited in long lines.It was the firstin a series, but the café never seemed to have more than the firstone. He'd just have to fix the problem himself.
He turned as Harold approached, taking thecoffee he held out. Iced, no cream, drizzle of caramel."Thanks."
"Never a problem," Harold said with one ofhis rare smiles. A hard childhood and a harder adulthood had lefthim fairly contained with anything he deemed 'soft,' but over theyears, Bobby had earned his friendship, and Harold his, even ifthey were the unlikeliest of best friends. "Come on, let's go getyour two thousand books."
"It's only a hundred fifty today."
Harold grinned ever so briefly over hisshoulder as he pushed open the door and led the way out. "Uh-huh,and how many more coming in this week?"
"Another two hundred, shut your stupidface," Bobby said as Harold laughed. He couldn't help it; he likedto read. Especially romances, especially fantasy romances, fromlowest to highest. "You don't get to laugh at me when you borrowlike thirty percent of them."
"Yeah, yeah," Harold said, sucking on hisdrink, some sort of cookies and cream abomination because the manlived and died by all things sweet, though you'd never be able totell it by the way he was almost too thin. A side effect of hisarcana, which he was vastly more adept with than most humans.
The bookstore was only a couple of blocksaway, but given the number of books he'd be carrying out, Bobbydrove them down. He backed into a space right in front, finishedhis coffee, and headed inside, shadowed by a slower, chucklingHarold.
"Bobby!" Yates said, immediately abandoningwhatever he'd been doing behind the counter. "Your books arrivedjust minutes ago! I kept them all boxed up for you, so let me knowif there's anything missing or whatnot, I'll try to get it added toThursday's shipment."
"Thank you!" Bobby said, already excited totear into the boxes and get started. Was there anything better thana pile of books waiting to be read? No, there was not. Well, agreat romance all his own would be wonderful, but something aslegendary and perfect as his parents' eternal love was not likelyto happen again.
Even though he was technically half human,they were invariably scared of him when they learned the truth, andhis relatives on his mother's side found his humanity repulsive,which was pretty fucking hilarious and hypocritical, but that wasrelatives for you.
Once the books were loaded up, and he'dspent another hour perusing new releases for what wound up beinganother twenty books, they headed for his house, where Haroldhelped him unload them.
Setting the last of the boxes down, Haroldsaid, "I don't know why you bother going to the library when youlive in one."
"More books, more better, obviously," Bobbysaid. It was true he more or less lived in a library. Minus hisbedroom, bathroom, the finished attic, and the kitchen, he'dconverted everything else to shelves, with more free-standingshelves wherever he could fit them. Even the stairs held books. Hewas going to need more space soon, but that would requiresignificant arcana, and he was lazy.
Sweeping up his locs into a loose bun, heopened the boxes and started adding them to his catalogue beforeputting them on the shelves. This, Harold didn't bother to helpwith, except to make them more coffee before settling at thekitchen table to do some work of his own.
By the time Bobby was finished, night wasbeginning to fall, the fireflies frolicking across his backyard,more of them than anyone would believe if they saw it. Firefliesliked him, had chosen to become his charming little avatars.
He went out to stand amongst them, eyesgleaming the same yellow-green, savoring the feeling of thesunlight fading, the dark overtaking. Against his chest, beneathhis shirt, the jewel in his pendant thrummed, equally delighted toonce more be in nightfall's embrace.
In sunlight he played. In moonlight heworked.
When the fireflies had faded off to carry onwith their night, Bobby returned to the house, where Harold sippeda fresh cup of coffee as he waited patiently. "All your bookssquared away?"
"Yes, thank you. I appreciate you never tryto rush me."
"I know a bit about waiting and not pushingpeople, but you know that better than most. So what will itbe?"
Chapter Two
"I want the Innsmouth Triangle."
"Of course you do," Harold said with asmile. "Come on to my house, and I'll give you all the informationI have from other cases and various visits. Not that you reallyneed preparing, but I do need this case solved, not justdevoured."
Bobby wrinkled his nose. "Cultists aren'tvery tasty snacks. They never bathe, for one."
Harold laughed, finished his coffee, andstood. He scooped up a small pile of books, lifting them in silentquery, smiling in thanks when Bobby nodded.
Bobby followed him outside and climbed intohis truck, driving off back toward town and then right back out ofit to the remote cabin where Harold lived. It was an old farmhouse,beautiful and sprawling, with additional buildings around it,including a small barn that Harold had converted into what hecalled his Office of the Weird.
Unlike Bobby, who was only half human, andSheriff Jones, who was one hundred percent purebred vampire, Haroldwas completely human. Not a single drop of nonhuman in him; Bobbyhad looked thoroughly. He simply had an affinity for arcana thatwas nearly unrivaled, and a capacity to deal with the weird andstrange that most humans simply didn't.
