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For a moment, Briar couldn’t see him, and she pushed herself up in her seat to search the pavement by Charlie’s truck. Then, with a bang, he leapt onto the hood of her car. 

Her heart was racing with excitement laced with fear. He was so big, so powerful, with his compact body perched majestically just above her. His changeable eyes looked down at her, and Briar was pinned beneath his gaze. Would he pounce on her? Overwhelm her? 

Then he was gone, bounding off into the night, and Briar was alone with her desire.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Charlie

Tuesday morning was Charlie’s favorite time to be at the library. Hester Malone, the head librarian, had the day off, and Betsy, the volunteer from the elementary school, wouldn’t be in until the afternoon. It was typically the slowest day of the week, and unless a stray patron came in Charlie could spend a few happy hours in his favorite place, all by himself.

Charlie sat, perched on a stool, in the middle of alphabetizing a cart. Actually, he had stopped alphabetizing ten minutes ago, and had instead been re-reading his favorite passages from the paperback edition of
Walden
that had turned up between Dale Carnegie and Molière. 

He had thought he knew all the library’s copies of
Walden
—one shelved in nature, one in philosophy, and another in biography—but this was a copy he had never seen before. He wondered where Hester would shelve this one.

Hester had been the head librarian since the days of Mamie Watkins herself. She had the books organized by a mysterious logic that seemed to rely as much on intuition as the Dewey Decimal System. She would place it so some unsuspecting patron would come across it while they searched for books on gardening or religion.

Hester still worked full time, although she was well into her eighties. The town budget didn’t stretch to two full-time positions, so Charlie had to settle for a few hours a week. Though the pay was miserable, Charlie loved working at the library because it allowed him to make literary discoveries like this. 

This particular edition of
Walden
had a hard green cover with intricate gold and red flowers on the front. The pages were crisp with water damage. Charlie wondered if some long-ago reader had read those same words sitting by Lake Perseverance on a sunny day, or perhaps spilled tea while reading by the fire on a winter night. He checked the card; the book hadn’t been borrowed for almost ten years. It might be another ten years until someone checked it out again. He smoothed the pages with the tips of his fingers and wondered who had touched it before, who would touch it again. 

“‘I find it wholesome to be alone the greater part of the time,’” Charlie read aloud, listening to his words echoing in the silence. “‘To be in company, even with the best, is soon wearisome and dissipating. I love to be alone. I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.’” 

The image rose in his mind of sitting in Briar’s warm, dark car while the rain spattered across the windshield. Maybe Thoreau was right. Being with Briar was exciting, and challenging, and arousing, but it wasn’t companionable. The feelings raging inside him were anything but comfortable. She had surprised him, challenged him, and given him new perspective on the world. And she had done it all while dressed like a showgirl. 

He had given up trying not to think about her. That kiss … she’d been soft and hot and welcoming. He’d put his needs away since the accident, since Angela. But now that he had touched Briar, all that passion had rolled back into his life. 

It had been days since he touched her, but his thumbs still tingled where they had brushed her breasts. Would they be heavy in his hands? Or perky and responsive? Would her nipples be as pink and soft as her lips?

Charlie glanced up at the portrait of an elderly Mamie Watkins that hung against the back wall. She had built the library to house her personal collection of books, which was taking up too much valuable space in her thriving brothel. She was depicted with a book in her hand, a cat in her lap, and a surprisingly luscious bosom for a woman in her seventies. 

“I want to trust her,” he said to the portrait. “I want to believe she’ll keep my secret. But do I want that just because I want her?”

“Um, are you talking to me?”

Charlie jumped as if he’d been shot. Lucy Roberts was hesitating in the doorway, a stack of books under her arm. She had gone to school with Charlie, and up until a few weeks ago she had been engaged to John Carmichael, who was on Charlie’s high school baseball team. Still, Charlie and Lucy had never been close. Lately she had been coming in to the library a lot. She would disappear into one of the cushy seating areas and spend the afternoon quiet as a mouse. 

Charlie was embarrassed to be caught talking to Mamie—something he did a little too often—and it made his voice peevish. “No. I was just talking.”

Lucy hesitated for another long moment. “Okay,” she said finally, and brought her books up to the desk. “I’d like to return these.”

Lucy seemed to be a fan of the sort of swoony romances that had pink covers and script so swirly the titles were nearly illegible. Charlie had never understood the appeal of those sorts of books. They were like cotton candy—all fluff, no substance.

Still, Hester had been getting on his case lately about customer service. He could almost hear her admonishing him for not being friendly. Grudgingly, he asked Lucy, “So, how did you like your books?”

Lucy shot him a surprised look. “They were fine. Actually, some of them were really good. I liked this one a lot,” she said, plucking a book from the pile as she warmed to her subject. “Do you have any more Georgette Heyer?”

“I’m sure we do,” he said dourly. He hated seeing a reader waste their time on this sort of frippery. “You know, if you like that kind of thing, you might like Emily Brönte.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t that poetry?”

“You’re thinking of Charlotte. Emily wrote
Wuthering Heights
.”

“Oh.” She looked embarrassed. “I don’t read a lot of classics. Have you read Mary Stewart?”

“No.”

“Oh, she’s wonderful. You really should.”

Charlie scoffed. “I’ve got plenty of real books to read, thanks.”

The smile disappeared from Lucy’s face. “Sorry, I just thought … never mind.”

Charlie instantly felt guilty, but he didn’t know how to apologize. “I can check these back in. You don’t need to wait.”

“Okay,” Lucy said. Her voice was small. “I’ll just go find something else, then.”

Charlie watched her go, irritated with himself. Hester might be justified in her complaints about his customer service. He never meant to be offensive, but it just happened. Why did people get so disgruntled when he said how he felt? 

He resolved to be nicer to Lucy when she came back to check out her selections, even if it meant pretending she had good taste in books.

The steady process of sorting and alphabetizing eased away his tension. Since it was warm outside, Charlie had the windows cranked open so sunshine spilled over the wide-planked wood floors and maze of bookshelves. The scent of flowers drifted in from the square.

Although the plants had all been destroyed during the fight on the Fourth of July, Ivan Sokolov had used his power to bring them back to life. Charlie had watched from the library’s front steps as Ivan knelt, closed his eyes, and brought a garden into bloom.

Charlie had been exhilarated, watching Ivan use his power so easily and to such great effect. Ivan’s power allowed him to create beauty in the world, to do something useful and helpful. And still, a few people in town muttered that he was a Communist, that he was a traitor, that he had somehow been responsible for the fog that had swept over the town. 

What would they say about Charlie, if they knew he was half animal?

The soft silence was suddenly filled with shrieking giggles. Charlie sighed. The public library would be so much better if it wasn’t actually open to the public. 

Norine Staples walked in, followed by Mitzi and Rhonda. Their ponytails were so similar they could have been mirror images. Norine elbowed one of them in the ribs, and the girl pressed her lips together but couldn’t keep the merriment from her eyes. 

“Oh, hi, Charlie,” Norine said. She blinked repeatedly at him. He probably wouldn’t have noticed, except for that a few flakes of her thick mascara fluttered off her lashes and landed on her cheek. “I didn’t know you would be here.” 

“Every Tuesday,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here.”

 “Oh, my mother prefers to buy our books. You never know where these things have been,” she said. The copy of
Walden
was still on the counter, and she looked at it with distaste. 

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Charlie said. 

“Norine, we’re going to look at the magazines,” said one of the girls. There was something weirdly deliberate about her voice, and the other girl was going red in the face with restrained giggles.

“Okay,” Norine said, approaching the counter where Charlie sat. Her high heels clicked on the wood floor. She blinked at him again, her eyelashes fluttering. Had she developed a tic? “I like my books to be clean, you know? Sometimes I don’t even read them. They look so much better that way.”

“I’m sure the authors would be thrilled to know you’ve kept their books pristine.”

The sarcasm went right over her head. She leaned on the counter, exposing enough of her cleavage to rival Mamie Watkins’ portrait. “I never thought of it that way. You’re so clever, Charlie. What do you like to read?”

“A little bit of everything,” he said. After his misstep with Lucy, he was working hard not to be rude. Norine was just the sort of person who would complain to Hester.

“Maybe you could recommend something to me. You’re so smart, I’m sure you’ll know just the right thing.”

For the first time, it occurred to Charlie that Norine might be flirting with him. But that didn’t make sense. Briar was her cousin, and they were close. The two girls had been best friends since the day Briar came to Independence Falls. Wouldn’t Briar have told her about the other night?

Unless, of course, she wasn’t as affected as he was. Maybe that kiss hadn’t meant a thing to her.

Norine was still talking. He tuned back in to hear her say, “You’re too serious, Charlie. You need to get out more.”

If only she knew. “I get out enough.”

“
Magnificent Obsession
is playing tomorrow night at the theater, and I just love Rock Hudson. But I hate going to movies alone,” she pouted. 

“Why don’t you go with Briar?”

Norine tsked and tossed her hair. “Not on your life.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” Norine said, drawing out the word. “You can keep a secret, can’t you, Charlie?”

He nodded. When she continued in a whisper, Charlie leaned in. “Briar keeps telling me that she has a power.”

He thought about what Briar had said the night before. If this was a new lie, Briar was certainly committing to it. “So what?” 

Norine made an airy motion with her hand. “Briar’s always been a little creative with the truth. But this is too far.”

“You think she’s lying?”

“Of course.” She laid a hand on his arm. “She wasn’t even in town for the Firelight Festival. And if she’s not lying, that’s even worse! That means I’m related to one of those people.”

Charlie slid his arm out from Norine’s touch and tried to keep his voice even. “Would that be so terrible?”

She shuddered. “Don’t get me wrong, I feel for them, I really do. We were all in that fog. It could have happened to any of us. But they should have the sense not to do something so unnatural. They shouldn’t flaunt their … their disease.”

Charlie felt angry heat rising inside him. “We still don’t know what caused it. We shouldn’t rush to judgment.”

“Well, somebody has to decide what we’re going to do about it,” she huffed. Her bright red mouth went from pouty to mulish. “The whole town is in danger. The poor things can’t control themselves. I mean, just look at Betty Carroll. Her power killed her. And some of these powers are scary. Did you see that Butch Murphy can control minds? I’m staying far away from him.”

When it came to Butch, Charlie reflected, that was probably a good idea. “Butch is in jail.”

“For now. And what about the rest of them? In the paper, it said that Meg Fields has ‘Explosive Energy.’ What does that mean? It sounds like she’s a human bomb.”

“Meg Fields wouldn’t hurt anyone. She may have powers, but she’s still the same person underneath.”

“How do we know? Maybe the powers are messing with their minds, too. That’s the only explanation for Clayton Briggs marrying that Murphy trash.”

“Clayton Briggs is one of my best friends,” Charlie said coldly.

Norine looked at him sympathetically. “Poor thing. I know he can’t help it. But Briar doesn’t have to associate herself with those people. She’s saying she’s one of them. And she’s so self-righteous, calling me out for every little thing I say. And she says she has to, because she has to tell the truth.” Norine rolled her eyes dramatically. “Apparently her superpower is just being a stick-in-the-mud.”

“Why would she lie?” He had been asking himself the same question for days. Briar had clearly been upset about her power on Friday night. Why would she make up something that made her miserable?

“Because that’s what Briar does,” Norine said, exasperated. “She makes things up. She’s a pathological liar. Have you heard that term? It’s Froodian.”

“I think you mean Freudian.”

“Either way. She lies about everything. She’s lying about this.”

“Why would she lie about something that makes her own cousin call her a freak?”

“Well, I never!” Norine said. “There’s no need to be so rude. Girls!” she said sharply, and Mitzi and Rhonda came so quickly Charlie knew they had been listening to their conversation. Pert ponytails flanked Norine on either side as the three of them stalked out the door.