“Trish is late, as usual,” she huffed. “What do you need?”
“Well, we were wondering if you could look up a book for us?”
“ISBN?”
“Sorry?” Lilah asked, taking a step closer.
“What’s the ISBN?” the woman asked, poising her fingers over the keyboard like snakes about to strike.
“We, uh, we don’t have the book number,” she replied. The librarian shot her a look as though she’d just admitted to a crime. “Can’t we just give you the title?”
“I suppose,” she sighed. “What is it?”
Lilah glanced down at her spiral notebook. “It’s, uh, Mysticism, Mediums & Malachite: Making the Most of a Metaphysical Existence.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Malachite? Spell it.”
“Uh, M-A-L-A—”
“Slow down, I’m not a racecar driver,” the woman said, punching in the letters with her index fingers. “M-A-L-A—?”
“—C-H-I-T-E,” Lilah finished. “I think it’s a mineral.”
The woman finished typing in the title, then frowned at the blue screen that popped up on her monitor. “I don’t have it.”
Lilah’s shoulders slumped. “Do you think you could order it for us?”
“Pfft. Not a chance,” the librarian retorted. “The publisher wants thirty-nine dollars for a single hardcover copy. Do you know what I could buy for thirty-nine dollars?”
Jace leaned into Lilah. “Didn’t the paper say it was a self-published book?”
“Good point,” she whispered, then turned back to the librarian. “Uh, ma’am, do you think you could make us a print-out of the book’s publishing information?”
“Do you have five cents?” the woman asked, narrowing her eyes. “Ink and paper aren’t free, you know.”
“Here’s a dime,” Jace said, placing the coin on the desk. “Feel free to keep the change.”
The librarian took the coin and stood up, muttering something about a “generation of delinquents” as she ambled over to the massive printer beside the desk. A moment later, she thrust a warm page in their direction. “Here,” she said. “Now keep your voices down. Folks are trying to read.”
Jace and Lilah looked around the library, which appeared to be completely empty apart from the cranky librarian. When their eyes met, they both erupted into a fit of giggles.
“Shh!”
“We’re going, we’re going!” Lilah exclaimed, and the two of them ran out the door before the librarian could admonish them further.
· · ·
Back in the safety of the truck, Lilah unfolded the piece of paper from the library while Jace leaned across the console to get a better look. His blond hair splashed across his forehead as he did, and Lilah caught a whiff of his shampoo. It was the same alluring scent that ensnared her nose every time one of them passed by each other in homeroom. From up close, it was somehow even more intoxicating. It took her a few tries to read the words on the page, partially because she was distracted by the scent, but also because her trembling hands were causing the paper to shake.
“Look,” Jace said, snapping Lilah from her trance. “The printout has the author’s full name.” He laughed suddenly. “Mike isn’t short for Michael – it’s short for Michelangelo. Do you think he knows Leonardo and Donatello?”
Lilah started, then grinned as she caught on. “Maybe. But either way, it just got a whole lot easier to find Shaman Mike.” She pulled out the phonebook page she had stuffed in the front of her bag. There, several listings down from “Hastings, Michael,” was “Hastings, Michelangelo Z.”
“Found him,” she said, tracing her finger across the crumpled paper. “There’s no number listed but there’s an address – let’s go!” As soon as the words tumbled out, she winced. You’re assuming he wants to chauffeur you all over the state. Like he’s got nothing better to do with his time than hang out with a weirdo he hardly knows.
As she busied herself with digging around for the map in her backpack, two spots of red suddenly appeared on her cheeks. “Er, not that you have to. You can totally say no, if you have better things to do,” she muttered into her bag. “I mean… all of this is kind of crazy, isn’t it? Some random girl in your class has time-altering seizures and messes up your ankle, and now she’s asking you to take her to some wacko shaman who knew her missing teenage mother…” Her voice trailed off as she was struck by the full absurdity of her own words. “Oh god,” she gasped, snapping her head from her bag. “What am I doing?”
Lilah turned to look at Jace, her eyes wide. She expected him to be staring at her in disbelief – aversion, even – but somehow, he was actually smiling. At her.
“You’re not just ‘some random girl,’” he said, a hint of sadness touching his voice. “You’re Lilah Quinn, a girl I’ve known for years. I just never had the courage to get to know you better, and I wish I had.”
Lilah tried to swallow, but the large lump in her throat prevented her from doing so.
“And, yeah,” he continued, “I won’t lie – all of this is pretty crazy. But it’s a hell of a lot better than watching my stepfather throw his remote at the dog, or feeling like my friends are only inviting me places because they feel sorry for me. Or sitting alone in my room, calculating what my father’s old baseball cards are worth since Frank already said his money is going to his own kids’ college funds, not mine.”
Lilah’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t understand. Where’s your biological father in all of this?”
“He skipped town right after I was born. Left me a tin of baseball cards and his old dog tags from the army. A few years ago, we got word that he’d died of a heart attack the month before. His wife never invited us to the funeral, but one of my uncles sent us a copy of the obituary afterwards. It didn’t mention my mom… or me.”
“Oh, Jace,” Lilah said softly. “I had no idea.”
“It’s not a big deal,” he said quickly, flashing her a tight smile. “The point is, going on some crazy adventure with you sounds a lot better than anything else I’d be doing over winter break. So, if you’re game… I am too.”
She met his wistful smile with one of her own. “I’m definitely game.”
“Excellent,” Jace replied, putting the truck in reverse. “How far are we going, anyway?”
“According to the map, about eighty miles. We’ll need to get on the highway.”
“On it.”
As they pulled out of the parking lot and drove past the fire station, Lilah sank further into her seat to minimize her chances of being seen by Stanley. As a wave of fresh guilt settled into her stomach, she jotted down “beef, potatoes, carrots, peas” into her journal, just beside the real Mike Hastings’ address. And maybe some double-fudge brownie mix, for good measure.
She peered at Jace out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he liked brownies. She’d have to figure out a way to invite him to dinner without making him feel like the invitation had been made out of pity – which couldn’t have been farther from the truth – while also making sure he didn’t accidentally reveal their unsanctioned road trip over dinner. But if she confessed to Jace that her father had, in no uncertain terms, forbidden her from going to see Mike that day, he might get spooked and turn the car around right then and there. Then she’d never find the information she needed to track down Willow and her mother. And she’d miss out on the opportunity to spend another afternoon with Jace McKinnon.