Shadow and Stars

Twenty-One

"Are you out of your mind?" Julian asks, almost spilling his cappuccino all over the café table outside Eureka Springs' only coffee shop.

I cross my arms and sit forward in my seat. "No. I'm desperate. We need to stop this before it gets even more out of control. She was at my house last night."

Julian matches my posture, and our faces are inches apart. "You will not seek her out and ask her what the hell she's doing. That has to be the dumbest idea in the history of dumb ideas."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Are you calling me dumb?"

"Absolutely not. You're very intelligent, which is why I am assuming you've gone and lost your damn mind. You don't know what she's capable of. I don't mean any offense by that, Cam, but she's over a hundred years old and holds all the power of the moon. I don't know that it would be an even match."

With a sigh, I sit back and look up at the cloudless blue sky, the opposite of the emotions swirling inside me. I know he's right. "Fine. Do you have a better idea?"

"What about the book your dad gave you?"

I lean over, pull it out of my backpack, and push it across the table. "It's written almost entirely in Mandinka, isn't on Google Translate, and the only online 'dictionary' I've found only includes very basic words. Not helpful at all. But I know it has to have the answers."

He furrows his brows and chews the inside of his cheek, then stands and holds out his hand. "Come on."

I take it, noticing how perfectly our fingers intertwine. The thoughts I'd been having about Julian hadn't tapered off; in fact, they'd only gotten more frequent. "Where are we going?"

"The library."

All the hopes I'd had for the grand library plan are dashed within sixty seconds. Mrs. Haverty, the elderly but moderately knowledgeable librarian, informs us that Mandinka is not a language she is familiar with, nor is it in any of the reference books.

"Our library is limited, as you can probably tell," she says, pushing her glasses up on her pointed nose. "If you want information on a language like this one that isn't spoken as often here in the states, you're going to have to visit the public library in Little Rock. They have an entire foreign language lab, with hundreds of books and online resources that can only be accessed inside the building. That's the closest place that will have what you need."

Julian and I glance at each other as she excuses herself to shelve the recently returned books.

"Little Rock?" we say at the same time.

"That's three and a half hours from here. My dad will never let me drive that far without him."

"My aunt works Saturday; she'd never even know if I left. What if you tell your dad it's for the project?"

"I don't want to lie to him anymore," I say. "I don't like it."

"Well, we could do some work on the project while we're there, then it won't be a lie."

I cock my head to the side, considering. "I could try. But I can't guarantee he'll say yes. Especially since..."

He wiggles his brows. "Especially since what?"

"Especially since you're a bad boy with a red Mustang," I tease, turning and jogging out of the library before he can protest.

When we get to the sidewalk, he catches up with me and grasps my wrist, spinning me around to face him. A little gasp escapes my lips as he brushes his mouth across mine and whispers, "And just what makes you think I'm a bad boy, Camryn?"

I am at a loss for words for a moment, but I regain my faculties enough to reply, "You're hanging out with a girl who at the very least has some dark magic flowing through her veins. Doesn't that at least make you bad by association?"

His touch is tender as he releases my wrist and pushes a rogue curl out of my face, brushing my lip with his thumb. "Camryn, you don't have a bad bone in your body. I've known bad people; you don't even come close."

I purse my lips against his skin, lifting my gaze to his. "I think I may have misspoken. What I meant to say was, 'a hot boy with a red Mustang.'"

He chews the inside of his lip and seems to have some internal debate. When I give him an almost imperceptible nod, he releases a breath laced with spearmint and closes the distance between us.

When his lips close over mine, it's every cliché feeling in every YA romance I've ever read—fireworks exploding in a summer night sky, butterflies beating their wings against my abdomen, sparks flying from a live wire—the works. It's soft, tentative—the kind of kiss I could get lost in for hours.

After a moment that is definitely not long enough, he pulls back, and his eyes dance with the light that only comes after a mind-blowing kiss.

"Wow," he says, running a hand through his hair, his skin flushing a deep pink. "I feel like there's no way that could have felt as good for you as it did for—"

"It did. Trust me," I say with a wink. "Let's go convince my dad to let me go to Little Rock with you. But whatever you do," I add with mock seriousness, "do not mention that kiss."

He runs his thumb and index finger over his lips and turns an imaginary key. "I'll leave the talking to you."