Page 11 of Bewitched by the Fruit Bat King (The Bewitching Hour #3)

The Library Gossip

Willow

H aven's Cross Supernatural Library should really warn people about their ghost librarians' tendency to materialize through the card catalog.

"Oh!" I clutch my chest as Mrs. Haversham floats through the ancient wooden drawers, her translucent glasses perched on her equally translucent nose. "A little warning would be nice."

"Dear, I've been dead since 1762. Warning people about my comings and goings rather defeats the purpose of being a ghost." She peers at me over those spectral spectacles. "Now, what could be so important that you're here at opening? Usually you're elbow-deep in fertilizer at this hour."

I glance around the cavernous reading room, taking in the towering bookshelves that stretch up into shadows, their iron spiral staircases coiling between floors like elegant serpents.

Morning light streams through stained glass windows, painting rainbows across marble floors and leather-bound spines.

The whole place smells like old paper and secrets, with just a hint of ghostly ozone.

"I need information about..." I hesitate. Admitting I'm here because of Kane feels like surrendering something. "Stamps."

"Stamps." Mrs. Haversham's eyebrow arches so high it disappears into her hairline. Literally. Ghost physics are weird.

"Yes. Particularly any connection to soul binding or reaper magic or..." I wave my hand vaguely, trying to look scholarly instead of desperately curious about my vampire nemesis's cryptic comments.

"Mmhmm." She doesn't even try to hide her skepticism. "Would this have anything to do with the rather spectacular scene at Brews & Hexes yesterday? The one involving a certain vampire king and a were-fox?"

I groan. "Does everyone know about that?"

"Dear, I may be dead, but I still get the supernatural gossip network.

That young witch's crystal ball recording has over ten thousand views.

" She glides toward the occult history section, her Victorian dress rustling silently.

"Though I must say, threatening to turn his car into a pumpkin carriage was inspired.

Much more creative than the usual death threats he gets. "

"I wasn't actually going to—wait, he gets regular death threats?"

"He's a vampire king who runs a Fortune 500 company. I imagine death threats are like spam email at this point." She stops in front of a towering bookshelf, gesturing to the highest row. Because of course. "Try 'Metaphysical Philately Through the Ages.' Third from the left."

I eye the spiral staircase dubiously. "Any chance of ghostly assistance with reaching that?"

"Part of the library experience is building character through precarious climbing on our handy ladders," she says primly. "Besides, I can't actually touch things. Ghost, remember?"

Right. I hitch up my skirt (note to self: pencil skirts and library ladders don't mix) and start the ascent. The iron steps are cool under my hands, worn smooth by centuries of knowledge seekers. About halfway up, I make the mistake of looking down.

"You know," I call down to Mrs. Haversham, who's watching with entirely too much amusement, "for a community full of supernatural beings who can fly, float, or teleport, we sure do love our impractically tall bookshelves."

"Aesthetic, dear. It's all about the aesthetic."

I reach for the book she indicated, my fingers just barely brushing the spine. "Little more... almost..." The ladder shifts slightly and I grab the railing. "This would be a really embarrassing way to die. 'Here lies Willow: She fell for a book about stamps.'"

"Oh, I don't know. There are worse things to fall for."

Something in her tone makes me glance down. She's looking past me, toward the entrance, with a distinctly smug expression. No. He wouldn't.

But of course he would.

"Need a hand?" Kane's voice carries easily through the hushed library air, rich with amusement. The bond gives a happy little pulse that I firmly ignore.

I twist around carefully, still clinging to the ladder. He stands below in another perfect suit (does he own anything casual?), looking unfairly put together for this early in the morning. "Shouldn't you be terrorizing board members or something?"

"And miss this charming display of stubbornness?" His smile shows just a hint of fang. "Never."

I grip the ladder tighter, determined not to give him the satisfaction of watching me struggle. "I'm perfectly fine up here, thank you."

"Of course you are." He moves closer, and I swear the bond purrs. "Though I have to wonder why you're pursuing such... elevated literature. Developing a sudden interest in philately?"

"Maybe I'm broadening my horizons." I stretch for the book again, fingertips just grazing its spine. "Some of us enjoy learning new things."

"Indeed." His voice is closer now. Through the bond, I feel his amusement mixed with something warmer, more dangerous. "Though usually people start with something more accessible. 'Metaphysical Philately Through the Ages' is rather advanced reading."

I freeze. "How did you—"

"Vampire eyesight, little witch. I can read the titles from here." There's definitely laughter in his voice now. "Would you like to know what actually happened with the reaper stamps?"

"No." Yes. Damn it. "Maybe." I risk a glance down at him. Bad idea. He's directly below me now, close enough that if I fell... "What are you even doing here?"

"Supporting the local library system, of course." His smile widens at my skeptical look. "I'm a major benefactor. These books don't buy themselves."

Of course he is. Because the universe hates me.

The ladder chooses that moment to shift again, and I lose my precarious grip on both my dignity and the railing. For one heart-stopping moment, I'm falling through air that smells like old books and expensive cologne.

Then strong arms catch me, and the bond explodes with triumph and relief and something that feels dangerously like rightness. Kane holds me against his chest like I weigh nothing, and I'm suddenly, acutely aware of every point where our bodies connect.

"Falling for me already?" he murmurs, and I can feel his voice rumble through his chest.

I shove against his shoulders, ignoring how the bond protests. "Put me down."

"As my lady commands." But he takes his time about it, setting me on my feet with deliberate care. His hands linger at my waist longer than strictly necessary.

"I had that under control," I say, smoothing down my skirt and trying to regain some composure.

"Clearly." He reaches past me, plucking the book I'd been struggling for from its shelf with insulting ease. "Though I have to admit, I'm flattered by your dedication to research."

"I'm not researching you." The lie tastes like copper on my tongue. "I just... have a professional interest in..." I grab for the book but he holds it just out of reach, because apparently we're twelve.

"In metaphysical philately?" His eyes dance with mischief. "Fascinating subject. Did you know the Mortemer collection actually contains examples of failed binding attempts? The results were... unexpected."

Despite myself, I feel curiosity stir. "What kind of unexpected?"

He taps the book's spine thoughtfully. "Have dinner with me and I'll tell you."

"That's emotional blackmail."

"That's negotiation." He steps closer, and the bond hums with approval. "One dinner, one explanation of supernatural stamp collecting disasters. Seems fair."

I narrow my eyes at him. "This is about Brad's auction, isn't it? You're trying to stop me from helping him."

That had never been my intention, but he doesn’t need to know that.

"Please." He actually looks offended. "If I wanted to stop him from acquiring those stamps, I wouldn't need to resort to dinner invitations. I'd simply buy the entire collection."

"You're impossible."

"I prefer determined." He holds out the book. "One dinner. No strings attached."

I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. We’ve already had one date and as fated mates it’s literally impossible to have no strings attached. But... "No crashing any more of my dates?"

"I make no promises about accidental encounters." His smile is pure sin. "Though I doubt there will be more dates to crash."

"Really?" I grab the book before he can change his mind. "And why's that?"

He leans in close enough that I can smell his cologne, something woodsy and expensive that makes the bond purr. "Because once you have dinner with me again, you won't want to date anyone else."

The sheer arrogance of that statement should be appalling. Instead, I feel heat curl in my stomach. "That's a bold claim."

"I'm a bold man." His fingers brush mine as I clutch the book to my chest. "Tonight? Eight o'clock?"

I should say no. I should definitely say no. But... "Fine. One dinner. But I want the whole story about the stamps. No mysterious trailing off to try to get a second date."

"Deal." His satisfaction rolls through the bond like warm honey. "I'll send a car."

"I can drive myself."

"After threatening to turn my vehicles into various squash varieties?" He tsks. "I think not. Consider it insurance against botanical vandalism."

Before I can argue, Mrs. Haversham materializes through a nearby shelf. "If you two are quite finished with your courtship ritual, some of us have actual library work to do."

I jump, nearly dropping the book. Kane, naturally, doesn't even flinch. "Mrs. Haversham. Lovely as ever."

"Save the charm for someone corporeal, Mr. Drake." But she's smiling as she floats away. "And do try not to break any more of my ladders."

I wait until she's disappeared through another shelf before turning back to Kane. "I should get back to my shop."

"Of course." He steps back, but his eyes never leave mine. "Eight o'clock."

"This isn't a date," I feel compelled to point out. "It's a business dinner. About stamps."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, little witch." He starts toward the door, then pauses. "Oh, and Willow?"

"What?"