Page 12 of Myths and Manuscripts
But was I good enough to do that? What if I let him down?
“I don’t think–”
“You’re too afraid to write my last book, aren’t you?” His shoulders slumped. “Fine. I’ll find somebody else.” The Demon Lord stood up and started walking away with the saddest look on his face, making me feel like I’d failed him before I even tried. I said I was never going to write another book again though. I couldn’t go back on that just because a handsome guy was giving me puppy dog eyes, right? I wasn’t a real writer. I was an apothecary.
I took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Finding another writer sounds like a good idea. I can help you look for somebody if you want.”
“Really?” He frowned at me, confusion clear in his eyes. “I thought it would be a great opportunity for you. If you’re worried about your skills, don’t. I promise, you’re talented. I wouldn’t have asked you to write my story if I didn’t believe that. The world deserves to read your books, and my series can help you with that.” He moved closer, putting his hands on the snack shack on either side of me. “If you’re worried about the emotional parts, I can help you with those. I want to feel something real. Something my story never let me feel before. Wecan make this book amazing. Together.”
The familiar scent of old parchment and something smokey, almost like vanilla, enveloped me as he stood there, staring into my eyes. His confident gaze soothed my panic. He not only liked my story, but he wanted me to write his too. That was baffling, but it also felt kind of nice. If the Demon Lord believed I could do this, then maybe I should have a little confidence in myself too.
It was only one book. How hard could it be to write?
Memories of the Tales and Tomes Festival invaded my mind. I couldn’t just forget all the long nights, early mornings, and exhausted editing sessions where words barely even felt real anymore. Writing that last book had been the hardest thing I’d ever done, and the gods just laughed it off. My chest ached, remembering the despair I’d felt reading that note in front of all those people at the festival.
“I just can’t do it.” I shook my head, pushing past him as I got off my stool. “I don’t want to feel like that ever again. I’m an apothecary, not a writer. Find somebody else.”
Tears burned my eyes, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. Not when that kindness of his had almost swayed me into doing something I’d regret. This was for the best. I didn’t need to write some book to feel fulfilled. I was already happy as an apothecary.
I wiped the tears from my cheeks as I slowly left the library, each step feeling worse and worse. If this was really the right decision, then why did it feel so awful?
Chapter 6
Willow
The long trudge back into town gave me plenty of time to think about what the Demon Lord had said. Some writers were naturals, and their stories were the ones who touched people’s hearts, sticking with them for years to come. Other writers had good ideas but weren’t as skilled at bringing them to life. I was apparently in that second category, which was fine. I’d given writing a try, and now I knew it wasn’t for me. I’d made the right decision, even if the Demon Lord wasn’t happy about it.
I pulled open the door to our shop, inhaling the calming scents of honey and ginger. Gran must have been cooking a new batch of cough syrup. This was where I wanted to be, getting lost in making medicines. I hurried inside and dropped my bag behind the counter.
“Welcome home.” Gran smiled at me as she stirred a pot of honey simmering on the stove. “How’d the meeting go?”
“Fine.” I headed over to the table covered in freshly harvested yarrow and twine as if she’d been in the middle of bundling them to dry. “He liked my book.”
“That’s great!” The corners of her eyes crinkled as her smile grew. “Now you’ll let me read it too, right?”
Not a chance, but I couldn’t tell her that. “Uh sure, maybe later.”
The yarrow smelled sweet and earthy, grounding me in my work as I hung each new bundle from hooks on the ceiling. I used to lay on the floor as a child, gazing up at all the dried herbs like they were a mysterious upside-down garden. Grandpa had caught me doing it once and joined me, telling me wonderful stories about the tiny fairies who dried the plants out for us.
I’d spent the next few years trying to spot one until I realized he was kidding.
If only he were still here. He never wrote any of his stories down, but he loved to brainstorm and think of all the possibilities. They were my happiest memories of him, gardening or blending herbs while we talked about fantastical worlds and fictional people. Work never felt like work when he was there and coming up with stories had actually been fun. Doing it alone was completely different. Every idea was a struggle and forming them into words was even worse.
“Are you okay?” Gran asked softly, joining me at the table. “You said he liked your story, so why do you seem sad?”
“It’s nothing.” I hung another bundle of yarrow up, its delicate leaves soft against my skin. “Can we just focus on work for a while, please?”
She quirked an eyebrow as she leaned down to snag something out of my bag. “Nothing, huh? Then what’s this crumpled up flyer all about?”
I glanced over, wincing when I saw the big illustration of the hero from the seriesI Just Wanted a Peaceful Life, but Now I Have to Stop the Demon Lord and His Entire Army!That damn demon must have snuck it in my bag on my way out. He apparently didn’t take no for an answer very well.
“It doesn’t mean anything, Gran.” I shook my head, wishing she hadn’t seen it. “I’m done writing, okay? I’m not going to enter the contest.”
“But you love this series!” She rested her hand over herheart, smiling. “Do you remember when you snuck into your Grandpa’s workroom and accidentally grabbed the third book instead of the first and tried to pretend like you weren’t thoroughly confused? He finally gave you the first two even though you were way too young for the series, but you were hooked after that. The two of you read every book that came out, waiting in line for hours at midnight releases. I thought you were both crazy, but you were happy, and that’s all that ever mattered to me.”
“Of course I remember that, Gran.” I just tried not to. I rubbed my eyes and focused on the work in front of me instead, bundling up the rest of the yarrow far too quickly. “Being a fan is exactly why I don’t want to write the last book. Can you imagine how many people I’d disappoint if I tried?”
She frowned at the flyer, putting her glasses on to look closer. “But it says that the family of the author will be choosing the winner, not the fans. Nobody will even see your story unless they think it’s good enough to win. So what’s the harm in having a little fun?”
