Familiar

4. | Ace of Cups

AT THE TOP of the landing a few of the lamps around the reading area and study nooks were lit, giving a soft amber glow about the upper room.

Just as Fiona said there were four boxes chalk full of books sitting atop one of the tables pushed under a window. I set my bag down and shifted the box to the edge of the table and hefted it into my arms. It was a little heavier than anticipated and I grunted as I accepted the weight. I could feel the front corners slipping even though the coffee table in the center of the room was at least half a yard away.

Right when I thought I'd drop the entire box, a pair of hands shifted the load and until my arms were void of the books. I looked up to thank the patron when my breath stilled in my throat.

In front of me was the man I'd run into the day of my summoning and just then the look of recognition and shock was clear on his face as it was on mine. His nostrils flared and he turned, asking in a baritone, "Where's this going?"

For a moment I had forgotten how to string together words until he looked back at me with brows raised in question.

"Uh, the coffee table by the um, the red chair."

He set the box down with a dull thud and made to go back to wherever it was he had come from. He didn't make it two steps as I blurted, "Hey!"

Slowly, the man turned, his wide shoulders bunched with tension and he looked apprehensive, as if he expected me to yell at him the same way my mother had.

I could feel my cheeks burn and knew that they probably were the shade of overripe raspberries. "I need to apologize," the man looked at me quizzically so I added, "for what my mother said to you. She had no right to threaten you or say those awful things and I'm so sorry I put you in a position to be treated as such."

As I waited for him to say something, anything, my stomach was doing odd little flips as he stood there, staring at me with an unchanging expression of curiosity and puzzlement.

Finally, after what felt like eons he spoke, his voice deep and soft and rather lovely. He had a voice made for speaking, for telling stories. "It wasn't your fault what happened. I should've minded where I was going and didn't, and there's no need for your apologies. You said nothing wrong, did nothing wrong."

"But my mother shouldn't have said such nasty things to you, it wasn't right-" I held my tongue when he held up his hand to stop me.

"It's exactly that- your mother's words, not yours. So there's nothing to apologize for, nothing to forgive."

"But I-" He cut me off before I could finish.

"But nothing. Please just drop the issue and say no more. We really shouldn't be speaking to one another, if someone catches us..." He rubbed his palms over face almost wearily, "Well, I'd be trussed like a wild boar and fed to the gators, and I'd quite like for my body to remain as is."

"Fiona would never say anything, she doesn't care about the status laws in here." A shred of hope unfurled in my chest, maybe he'd know this and still talk to me regardless.

But the hope shriveled when his face became shuttered and a hard edge crept into his voice. "Fiona may not say a word, but other patrons here will. I have more than just myself to worry about and I won't jeopardize any of it getting caught talking to you. As kind as you are, and as empathetic as you seem, you aren't worth that kind of risk. Good day." He bowed his head then turned on his heel and strode to the back of the room to where an alcove was hidden behind towering shelves of books.

When he was out of sight I sank into the crimson wingback chair and felt sick, downright queasy. I wasn't sure why his words of my unworthiness bothered me so much only that it did. Trying to ebb the terrible feeling that had taken root in my body, I slid the box of novels closer to me and reached in to grab a random stack.