Page 21 of If Books Could Kill
I can’t believe I was so sure of this plan an hour ago. It was pure luck that I found the Gifter a second time. If they canchange how they look and grant wishes, who’s to say they can’t teleport, too? They could be anywhere now—France or Japan or Worcester. Maybe they’re floating around some alternate dimension while Grant and I are bound to the physical realm, watching our plan disintegrate like cotton candy in a downpour.
Worse, I’m about to lose my only ally. Without the Gifter, I’m trapped in this story until Anna Matthews writesTHE END. I can hardly expect Grant to opt into an entire novel’s worth of crime and danger. Any minute now, he’s going to stop that anxious leg bouncing, stand up, and say,Bye.It was terrible to meet you.
I rub my temples, trying to think up a new plan. All I can come up with is a yawn.
Grant gets to his feet, stretching his long arms overhead, then checks his watch—a simple round face with a brown leather band. It gives him an erudite look, like he should be off snapping open a newspaper somewhere instead of drowning in mayhem with me.
“We need caffeine,” he says.
I look up in surprise. “Really?”
“Really, we need a full day of sleep and months of therapy at this point. But caffeine is a start.”
I hop up with more vigor than I should be capable of right now. “Caffeine it is,” I say, digging my credit card out of my pocket. “My treat.”
He stares flatly at me. “You’re goddamn right, your treat.”
• • •
AFTER THE EVENTSof the past ten hours, it almost feels wrong setting foot in the café down the street—a cozy place where people sip from round mugs while acoustic covers of pop songs drift through the air. But since it’s also a place with food, I’m not complaining.
“Do you want to split a bagel?” I call over to Grant, surveyingthe offerings. He mumbles something. “They’ve got plain, poppy seed, asiago … I’m more of a cinnamon raisin girl myself. Maybe they have some in the back.”
“Roxie …”
“Fine. I can settle for plain. That good with you? Toasted? Cream cheese?”
“Roxie.”
“What?” Exasperated, I turn to see Grant rooted to the spot at the cash register, looking like he just made eyes at Medusa. I follow his gaze to the barista and feel immediately like I’ve been flash-frozen.
Round face with a hint of stubble.
Buzzed black hair.
And eyeliner-smudged, angular, unmistakable white-blue eyes.
When I can move again, I storm over.“You.”
Their face lights up in recognition as they glance between me and Grant with a wide-mouthed, playfully scandalized face.
“Oh my God,” they breathe, holding up a flat hand to block Grant while pointing to him, mouthing,Is this the guy?
“No, this is notthe guy,” I say through gritted teeth. “This is the guy I accidentally kidnapped afterthe guytried to put a fucking knife in my chest!”
“Maybe lower your voice a little,” coughs Grant.
I ignore him. “Our friend Anna is writing a crime novel.”
The Gifter emits a stage-worthy gasp with a splayed hand to their chest. “Oh, wow. Plot twist.” They swan around behind the counter, filling two paper cups and adding pumps of various flavor syrups I’m pretty sure Grant didn’t ask for. “Honestly, can we take a sec to appreciate how brave she is for trying a new genre? She really said, ‘No oneis gonna put me in a box.’ Empowering. Outstanding. Brava.”
“I’ll have to congratulate her later,” I snipe.
The Gifter blows out a harsh breath, shaking their head. “Rough for you, though, girl. I hate to saybe careful what you wish forbecause it’s so cliché, but, like …do, you know?”
“Sure,” I say. “So, obviously you have to undo my wish immediately.”
They hold up a warning finger. “Okay, the first thing about me is I do what I want. Second: I can’t. I don’t ungrant wishes; I grant them. And today I don’t even do that.” They slap lids on the cups without breaking eye contact. “Anyway, that’ll be nine dollars. Or ninety? I don’t really know how this works. I just thought it’d be cute to be a barista for a day.” They jab haphazardly at the screen in front of them, barely looking at it.
