Hypnotical y, I stared into the flames and wondered why they stil seemed so beautiful.
"You haven't had any water," the man said slowly, breaking the spel .
I nodded and reached for the glass. My trembling fingers almost knocked it over, but on my third try I got a good grip and took a sip. It tasted a bit metal ic, but familiar. I shut my eyes.
"Did that bother you?"
I knew exactly what he was talking about--the fly. I nodded and tucked my chin into my chest, wondering why he'd asked. Obviously I'd been upset. In fact, I stil was.
"Why?"
I set down the cup. Why did my throat stil feel so dry even after that sip of water? Why did he ask that question when I was obviously upset by it?
"I've never understood it," he began. "When people do it, we glorify them, and yet when an animal does it, or a creature even more insignificant, like a fly, we either laugh at their stupidity or feel pity because we believe their sacrifice to be pointless."
"Do what?" I asked with a hoarse voice.
"A man kil ing himself in the pursuit of his dreams is no different than a moth flying into a flame. Like Kurt Cobain, El iott Smith, or..." he picked up a complete volume of Keats' letters beside his seat, "insert-your-favorite-Romantic-poet-here."
"Keats is one of my favorites," I said absently.
"Mine too." He looked down. His voice sounded distant then, as if a mil ennium of sorrow were contained in those two words--just as a Romantic poet can transcribe years of tragedy in a single phrase or stanza. Then he continued: "It's inconsistent, don't you think? We should either reduce humanity to the level of the insect when it comes to heroic or romantic yearnings, or ennoble the fly."
He glanced up from the candle, back at me. I couldn't read his expression. His eyes were guarded, or at least they seemed so behind his dark hair. They captured the image of the fire like a mirror--a reflection of a gold and red dancing on the surface of a green pool.
His finger slid over his bottom lip. I couldn't tear my gaze from the fluid movement. There was something conspiratorial about it, as if he were about to impart a secret of great importance.
"Do you want to get something to eat?" He asked.
My heartbeat hammered in my neck. My limbs froze. The kitty noticed the change in my demeanor immediately. She stood and started rubbing her head against my stomach with a vengeance. "What?" I croaked, suddenly tongue-tied as the cat's tail tickled my chin.
"I wouldn't feel right letting you stumble home after my merchandise caused you to col apse on my doorstep. I need to make sure you're safe."
Oh, that was it. He thought I might sue him or the place--he wasn't asking me out or anything. I leaned back. "Don't worry about it. It's not actual y your doorstep."
"Yes it is. I own the place."
I raised one of my brows. This pierced, tattooed guy with ripped jeans and a tight black t-shirt was the owner of a store where the average customer's age was at least 55? "How old are you?"
"Not too old, in this incarnation anyway." He smiled again. "I recently inherited it."
"Lucky you," I said, and resumed petting the impatient cat. "I love this place, and am glad it went to someone who wants to keep it open instead of sel ing it to a developer."
"You real y think I should keep it open? I've heard most people don't read anymore, and those that do prefer ebooks. I could probably sel it for a good price and settle down--"
"You can't seriously be thinking of sel ing!" I felt my cheeks get hot. I took a deep breath, swal owed "I mean, Morrison's has been here forever, and..."
"And?" He repeated when I didn't finish.
I sighed. "And I just realized you were teasing me."
"So why don't you tel me more about how happy you are that this ancient, crumbling building is stil in place? We can head over to Dixie's next door." He stood and parted the long strings of glow-in-the-dark beads that hung over the door with a dramatic flick of the wrist. "I'l pay."
"That offer is tempting, but I have homework." The words were out before I could stop them. I almost hit myself in the head. No, that wasn't what I'd meant to say. I mean, I did have homework, but I could do it later. Or just forget about it.
I bit my lip. Maybe I hesitated because stuff like this never happened to girls like me who wore secondhand clothes every day.
"What subject? I'l help you."
I looked at my lap to hide my smile. I couldn't believe he'd actual y offered to help me with homework. I told myself he probably didn't mean it, but I couldn't stop that giddy, warm feeling in my stomach.
"History," I told him.
"Good, I know a lot about history."
I shook my head. "Alright."
He grinned. "You're easy, I like that."
I didn't real y have a response. I guess I was easy.
Then he was on his knees in front of me. "Come here Princess," he cooed.
My pulse spiked. I wondered if I should I slap him or "come here." Then I realized he was talking to the cat.
He cradled her in his arms as she squirmed and hissed, then set her down on a lavish purple pil ow accented with golden tassels. "See what I said about temperamental women? You aren't going to give me that much trouble, are you?"
"I don't intend to," I replied.
"Yeah," he said wearily and looked away as we made our way through the maze-like rows of bookshelves to the front of the store.
"I just realized I don't know your name," I said.
"It's Oz," he responded without turning around.
I couldn't help but smile. "As in The Wizard of...?"
This time he did turn and nodded with a smile.
"No need to make that face with me. My name is Devi," I explained. "I don't real y look it, but my grandmother was from India."
"It's a beautiful name," he said, and leaned against the door.
The last light of day peeked through the space between his body and the door frame. Lovely, I thought. It was my last coherent thought.
Pain. It pierced my skul , pumped through my veins, burned like acid as if it were liquidating my body. I couldn't see. Couldn't think. I barely even felt the sting as my knees hit the tile floor.
"Stop. Stop," I screamed, and tried to wiggle through the doorway. Tried to get away. My arms twisted and convulsed like they had popped out of the ground in front of a tombstone in a B-horror movie.
"Hey." The voice sounded distant, like it was a memory of mine from long ago. The only thing that felt real was the pounding, the nausea, the blood as my teeth sank through my tongue. I whimpered. Even my throat was on fire.
And then something touched my shoulder, and it stopped.
I felt nothing but the chil from the white tiles beneath my palms, the cold bite of autumn wind on my cheeks, and something warm gently rubbing my back. Even the taste of blood in my mouth was gone.
"Easy," Oz said, and pul ed me to my feet with those same strong hands that had so sweetly petted that cat and given me water. He held my shoulders as I gained my balance. "Are you okay?"
No, this couldn't be real. This had never happened before. Nothing ever made the pain stop but running as if the devil himself was on my heels.
"What did you do?" My voice wavered. Fear, I realized. It crawled through my limbs, made any movement other than shaking impossible.
He swal owed. For a split second the smile on his face faltered, and he looked down. "What do you mean?" He asked evenly.
My breath came in short, rapid bursts. He was hiding something. Every cel in my body knew it. And yet the very instinct that recognized it prevented me from cal ing him on it.
His grip on me tightened. I shut my eyes and asked that same question again with different words: "How did you stop the pain?"
End of sample. AFTER EDEN by Katherine Pine is available now on Kindle and in al ebook stores.
Jayde Scott, A Job From Hell
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