Page 4 of The Librarians
The old guy clears his throat. “Maybe there’s a color in the title?”
“Fifty Shades of Black?Fifty Shades of Greyhound?”
Astrid coughs so she won’t giggle.
“Gray, yes. That’s the color.”
“Fifty Shades of Dorian Gray,Fifty Shades of Earl Grey, or plain oldFifty Shades of Grey?”
“Plain oldFifty Shades of Grey,” mutters the old guy in relief.
“And would you like to read it from the point of view of the female protagonist or the male one?”
“There are two versions?”
“Yes. Or perhaps you’d prefer the cinematic version instead? We have it on DVD.”
“I…” The old man perks up a bit. “Do you have any recommendations as to which version I should go for?”
“Ah,” says Hazel, “I’m afraid I can’t help you there. I’ve never read the book or watched the movie.”
“But I thought librarians read everything.”
“Maybe some librarians do but I haven’t yet. And when I do read erotic fiction, I prefer the male-male variety. I can recommend many good titles in that subgenre. Would you like a few, sir?”
Ah, what joy to behold the unwelcome patron’s hasty retreat. The1812 Overture—or whichever tune plays on Fourth of July right before the fireworks start—should be blaring out of the PA system right now, all pomp and triumph.Serves you right, dirty old man, wasting public servants’ time for your stupid titillation.
The automatic doors open. The old man wobbles out. Astrid at last allows herself to grin openly. She sits down at the idle terminal next to Hazel and looks into the library’s catalogue. Hazel has not exaggerated: The system does own all those titles and more for the delectation of the public.
It would be rude to discuss patrons out in the open, so she leans toward Hazel and whispers, “Do you really read male-male erotica?”
Hazel smiles a little. “Librarians read everything, right?”
What a mysterious and unsatisfying answer. Can Astrid press a little—maybe even confess that she has read more than a few fanfics on what BBC Sherlock and Dr. Watson get up to after hours at 221B Baker Street?
Or maybe that would be too much, given that they met only this morning.
Reluctantly, Astrid straightens, tells Hazel that she’s doing a great job, and flounces out of the circulation area. There’s a middle school less than a mile from the library. After school a fair number of kids come to the library, and Astrid usually spends part of her afternoon in the children’s area, supervising and helping with homework.
Her path takes her near the front entrance, the automatic doors of which part at that exact moment to admit the man who made her feel cherished and understood—and then ghosted her without a backward glance.
Chapter Two
George A. Romero is likely spinning in his grave, but someone who ghosts you and then reappears back on the scene as if nothing happened is called a zombie.
Yet as Astrid’s personal zombie apocalypse looms, she is elated. She always hoped that there was a legitimate reason behind Perry’s abrupt disappearance, that someday he would return to explain everything.
And here he is, looking strong and healthy. Eager. She wishes, all at once, that she hadn’t worn such a hobbitcore outfit today. She actually has an oxblood suit that’s quite sleek. And he—
He walks right past her, as if she were one of the public computer terminals, and heads for Hazel.
Astrid, her hand half-raised in greeting, turns into stone.
“Hi!” says Perry to Hazel.
He sounds breathless.
Astrid understands. She really does. In front of Hazel, she too has a hard time keeping her cool.
