Page 3 of Fleshbound
Quill lightly traced his fingertips over the page, already captivated by the story. It was no spell that seized him—his rare magic was the reason he was a bookseller in the first place. If the tome was cursed, he’d feel it. It would have little to no effect on him. He’d handled some ofthemost cursed books in his lifetime and lived to tell the tale with ease—like the one in the catacombs.
Fleshboundwasn’t cursed, even if the man had been.
A curse, hmm? Of never finding love? I understand that curse all too well.
After replacing the books he’d taken from the safe and securing it, he once again ensured all the doors were locked within the shop. TuckingFleshboundunder one arm, he scurried upstairs. He quickly brewed a cup of Valerian tea and once Mouse was curled up alongside him in bed, he turned to page on Corven’s tale.
The stories drew him in, painting vivid pictures. He eyed the clock around two in the morning but needed just one more chapter before he called it a night. When he reached the final page—the story it told was incomplete.
Mid-fable, the story was left to his imagination. His heart broke.
“How fucking dare you,” Quill whispered, shooting off the rare curse word.
He laid the book on his nightstand and caught a glimpse at the clock.
Eleven in the morning?
Merciful heavens! How in the heck?
He turned to the window, bright sunlight streaming in. How had he not noticed day had come and brightened his bedroom? He reached for his rotary telephone and dialed Perry’s cell number. The little skunk shifter picked up on the third ring.
“You finally remember how to use your phone? I’ve been calling all morning!” Perry said after he’d said hello.
Quill frowned. “It never rang, I swear!”
He’d not noticed the sun and not heard his phone? He frowned, worried the book was indeed bespelled… and he’d not sensed it.
“Whereareyou?”
Quill laid a hand over his throat and sent a prayer to Hecate for the fib he was about to tell. Two sins in one morning. A swear wordanda lie. What was becoming of him? “I think I’m coming down with a bit of a cold…or something.I don’t feel quite myself this morning.”
The last sentence was the truth. He didn’t feel quite himself at all.
Perry sighed with what sounded like relief.
“As much dust that’s in some of these old books, it’s amazing you’re not sick all the time. I feel like I’ve got a constant tickle in my throat these days,” Perry said. “Please tell me you’re taking the day off. I can handle things here, I promise.”
Quill winced at the kindness Perry offered after he’d given a lie. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Quill didn’t respond for a few seconds. Guilt washed over him.
“The shop is only closed one day a week,” Perry said. “And don’t think I don’t notice you come in most of those anyway. You need to take better care of yourself and get some rest. Just as you told me a couple of nights ago.”
“I heard your mumbling.” Quill sighed. “But you’re right.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe I am a bit overworked.”
“I need you well so you can be here when I need you. Not burnt out and exhausted.”
“I suppose you’re right. I don’t rest much.” He fought off a yawn. “I’m headed to bed.Backto bed, I mean.” He winced again. “Goodnight.”
“I hope you feel better,” Perry said before hanging up.
Quill returned the receiver to the hook, remorse over his little fib tearing him up inside.
“Ye heard what the wee skunk said. Ye need to take better care of yerself, Quill.”
3
