Page 5 of Defined and Defiled (Ghostlight Falls)

To-do List

Set up a vet appointment for Melon- remind them she bites!

In my humble opinion, Melon has never done anything wrong in her life.

Unfortunately, several throw pillows, a handful of thrifted rugs, and one unfortunate mailman may think differently.

It's not Melon's fault that she greets the world with teeth first, or occasionally, bladder first.

You would be amazed how often my dog eats my student's homework.

She is quite fluent in irony.

Melon almost tackles me when I open the door, jumping up to try to lay her paws on my shoulder and sniff the skin off me.

At one point in her lineage, Melon was a bulldog, but a lifetime of mutt behavior has made her into something a bit less identifiable.

I have to raise the dictionary high above my head to keep him from her wandering paws.

I set him down on my highest shelf, the only one Melon has yet to reach, next to my emergency chocolate and Twyla's dying mint plant.

To put it mildly, the house is a mess.

The island is covered in ungraded papers and old coffee mugs.

I still have a few decorations left up from Halloween last year that I never got around to taking down.

Twyla's been off visiting family, and I haven't had anyone over in quite some time, as evidenced by the pile of dirty laundry spilling onto the floor.

“So, this is my place. Make yourself at home, I guess,”

I say.

“I'm going to let Ms. Melon out, and then we can figure out where to go from there.”

I grab Melon's leash from the key holder by the door, along with my headphones.

I feel bad about leaving the book alone, but I'd feel worse if Melon decided to pee on him.

I attach her leash to her collar and lock my door behind me.

Melon has her walk down to a science.

She stops at the same three trees every time, so I can turn my brain off.

I put my headphones in and resume the audiobook running into that tree had so rudely interrupted.

The walk back is brief.

I am too busy focusing on what the Prince was about to do to his little human to come up with a plan for the dictionary.

He doesn't want to go back into the basement, and who could blame him? Mildew does not mix well with the lingering spice of clove cigarettes.

It's amazing he's still in such good shape and not molded over already.

There would be no harm in letting him stay here temporarily.

Twyla is home even less than I am, so I'm sure she wouldn't notice.

Melon could be a problem, though.

I'm pretty sure he would not like to wake up covered in dog slobber and teeth marks.

I could try to bring him to For The Plot like I told Mike I would.

On to the to-do list it goes.

The dictionary is not where I left him when Melon and I return to the apartment.

He's also not on the ground.

“Dic? Dictionary? Where are you?”

I pat my thighs.

It does not escape my notice that I'm calling out for the book the same way I call for Melon when she’s wandered off too far.

I am one second away from adding a 'come here, boy'.

“Look up!” He yells.

The 'S' on his cover glows as he hovers near my head.

“You didn't think it was prudent to mention that you could fly?”

I shout. There is a smug uptick to his mouth as I stare at him.

“Me, I'm Supa Fly,”

He sings off-key as he floats around my head. Melon barks at him, her tail knocking into my legs as she eyes his ascent.

“So you didn't need me to carry you around?”

I ask as he lands on my windowsill. I get the feeling he would have shrugged if he had shoulders from the way he tilts his head at me.

"You did rip me and then crash your car. I think you deserve a little lifting. Besides, I didn’t even know I could do this."

“Which I have apologized for!”

I mean. I'm fairly certain I apologized. I recall feeling apologetic.

“Why don't we go over how,”

I paused, trying to figure out what to say next.

“this all works.”

“You mean you don't meet a lot of cursed books?”

“You’re cursed?”

I squeal. That should have been my first guess, but to be fair, it had been a long day. I was already on thrifting probation from bringing in a questionable lamp. Twyla would kill me if she found out I had brought another cursed item into our home.

“One has to surmise. I wasn't born this way. I remember walking into the basement after hearing some shouting. A couple of kids were sitting there in this weird circle. I remember seeing one of my students turn to me. His mouth opened, and suddenly I was on the floor.”

“You're why the basement was condemned!”

I shout, pointing at him. It’s not exactly Murder She Wrote, but I’m still proud of my deduction. I sit down on the couch Twyla had saved from the side of the road to settle in.

“I suppose. Although, to be honest with you, I don't know what happened after that. I felt my body change. Suddenly I was shorter-”

“How much shorter?”

I feel like it's important to know if I'm talking to a previous six-two book.

“Extremely. Anyway, I felt this heavy pressure and then, nothing. Not until you came and grabbed me.”

He looks at me, his eyebrows scrunched as he scans my face.

“I have one question.”

He laughs, it's a rich timbre that I feel in my bones.

“All of that and you just have one question?”

“I thought it was a group of girls who cursed you.”

“Only girls can be witches?”

He raises an eyebrow at me. Leave it to me to find the one non-sexist man from the nineties and offend him with my backwards view on covens.

“Point taken. Do you remember anything else from before you were cursed? Where did you live? Did you have a family or a partner who might have been looking for you?”

His forehead scrunches as he contemplates my questions.

“Or even something simpler. What was your name?”

“Richard.”

I can not help but laugh,

“What, it's a very normal name!”

I continue with my laughter.

“It's just normally you get Dick from Richard, but we got a Dictionary instead.”

“Very funny - not.”

He deadpans.

“And you’re Shirley, if I heard the paramedics right.”

“You did. So, Richard I'm assuming- or hoping- that you worked at the school. So we can work from there.”

His forehead glows again, and he floats down to me.

“While you were walking your-”

He pauses to look down at Melon, who has busied herself with chewing on my blanket while we talk.

“dog. I realized I could float, but I have a feeling I can do more than that. Would you mind flipping me open?”

He floats down to rest in my lap. He's a sturdy book, as evidenced by the weight of him on my thighs.

“Where will your head go when I open you?”

“I will either be smashed against your leg, or, if my suspicions are correct, my face will move to the page you open up.”

I run my fingers up and down his pages, trying to decide where to start, and he shivers.

“Can you please stop that?”

The cover turns a slight pink, and I move my fingers away.

“I'm sorry.”

I take a deep breath and open him up.

What did I expect to find in a dictionary other than definitions? The inside of Richard is standard for the first couple of pages. His suspicions were not correct, and his face remains mushed against my leg as I move through his pages. I can feel his hot breath through my skirt. Nothing happens until I reach Adore. (Verb 1. To worship 2. To love with one's entire heart and soul; regard with deep respect and affection.)

Next to the word, there's a little heart with the letters ‘ZB + CH EVA’ glowing gold.

Richard ruffles his pages.

“What's that? I feel something!”

“I don't know. There's a doodle here and it's glowing.”

“Booyah!”

The drawing starts to brighten more, the glow hurting my eyes.

“Let's try it.”

“I'm not so sure that's a good idea.”

I start to protest, but lose the will to argue halfway through.