Page 45 of The Fae Menagerie
"Do you have any paper?"Parker asked.
"I do, but no writing utensils. Sharp objects." I mimed sticking a pen in my neck and made a face. Thank goodness he laughed. My mother would have been horrified. "If you want to fold paper into designs, we could do that."
Parker frowned. "I don't know how to do that. Do you?"
"There's a book around here somewhere." I reached for the book at the top of the bookshelf nearest the reading table.
"Why do you have a book about folding paper in a library full of romances?" Parker's suspicion should have warned me, but I continued, oblivious. I flipped open the book I needed, thumbed through the library directory to the art section, and ran my finger across the letters.
The room filled with the rustle of books shifting and changing shapes, some becoming taller, thicker, shorter, or skinnier. Their covers changed, too, from hide-bound to the leather or cardboard of the human realm.
"They're not always romances," Parker accused.
I hung my head in shame. "I can tell them to be whatever I want them to be, as long as the library allows."
I expected him to be angry with me for forcing him to read romance for the last few months. Instead, he laughed.
"You acted like you hated romance."
"I didn't say I hated them. I said I'd read them all." I shrugged. "I've read the others, too. There's a selection on human history, but they're inaccurate, especially in their depictions of the fae."
"Which selection is this?" he asked.
"Art."
"You have a library that can change to whatever books you want?"
I sighed. "Not exactly. I read every book from cover to cover before the directory would let me select another topic."
Parker's gaze darted around the room, and then back to me. "We have to read all these books?"
I grinned and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. "Wedon't have to do anything. I already read them. Now, I can change the library to whatever I want."
He took a step closer. The top of his head came up to my shoulder, but that didn't stop him from poking me in the chest with his index finger. "You're a romantic at heart."
I wanted so badly to lie to him, but my stomach twisted in knots at the thought. Instead, I kept quiet.
"I don't know why you've tried to hide it so much." Another step, and he was within kissing distance again.
"Love hurts." Yes, it was a song I remembered from my days on earth, but it was true.
"You've never been in love, remember?" He rose on his tiptoes and wrapped his arms around my neck.
His skin was warm and inviting against mine, but this was unfamiliar territory for us. I didn't want to overstep and push Parker away even further than before.
"No." That was the truth.
"Then how do you know it hurts?"
"I haven't been in love," I said, carefully picking my words, "but the person I love the most," I glanced above Parker's head, to the portrait of my mother on the inner library wall, "threw me in here."
Parker nodded. "I know all about conditional love from parents. Tell me about yours?"
He slid his hands down my arms and grabbed me by both wrists. I followed him to the table, where thankfully, the flat surface separated the two chairs enough for some breathing room. I struggled to remember my own name, let alone the tale of my parents' divorce, when he stood so near.
"My father was the king of anthousai from an early age. His father and consort died in the Great Night War."
"The war your grandmother's book talks about?"
