A Cold Wind Blows

[Zero67]

Rain pattered down on the sidewalks, dripping down the grim, brick facades of the buildings as though they were weeping for losses unknown. Nothing seemed to stir, and little could be heard other than the sound of droplets on pavement—except for the echoing tap of Sebastian's shoes as he strode down the empty street. His gray suit jacket matched the sky in all it's melancholia and austerity, the button down underneath it as pale blue as ice. Water trickled through his snowy hair and caused it to loose it's combed-back neatness, unraveling a bit at the tips, and the man tightened his jaw with forced composure as he endeavored to ignore this occurrence. Straightening his jacket and rolling the tension from his angular shoulders, he didn't waste his time glancing about, the simple reason being that he already knew where he was going, and that certainty, that resolve, reduced everything else around him to mere trivial distractions. Instead, his eyes, a dark auburn color in the surrounding gloom, fixated on the space ahead of him with the steadfast accuracy and will of an expertly shot arrow. Then, in front of a black building, he slowed his pace and halted. The words "Black Cat Books" were written in golden letters above a large stained-glass window, opaque enough that you could see vague shapes beyond it's crackled surface, though you couldn't discern just what those shapes might be.

Perhaps from the outside, it didn't look like much. Then again, Sebastian knew better than to judge a book by it's cover.


Pushing open the heavy wooden door, he stepped inside and inhaled the comforting smells of dust and worn paper. The lighting was dim, dimmer than he recalled it ever being, and perhaps he would have wondered whether the store was actually closed—if, of course, he had been unaware that it was approximately five-thirty in the afternoon, and that the bookstore didn't close until ten in the evening, or eleven on Fridays and Saturdays. He reckoned that it was the dismal, gray light that seeped in through the store's front and upper windows that lent the space this dark atmosphere, like the library of a madman. The space was narrow but tall—and long, like a hallway—and a curvaceous grand staircase, steps a sinful color of red, stood at the store's center, leading up to the small upper loft.


And the books. The books were everywhere: in piles, on shelves, atop desks. They colored the room in blue and green and red and gold, tinting the air like a kaleidoscope of knowledge yet to be known. All you had to do was pry open one of the covers, and, even if just for a few hours, the world was yours.


Sebastian ran a hand slowly through his hair, cracking his neck while momentarily allowing his eyelids to fall. When he opened them once more, they scanned the walls with the unwavering intensity of a predator, and, hands folded behind his back, he slowly began to make his way around the store where all the unthinkable laid in wait.

 

[Dammit Max]

Charlie let out a small huff as he set a tall and bit unsteady stack of books on the front desk, grinning as these were the last from the wave of donations that had recently received. The owner of the store had given him the task of going through them all, cataloging and shelving the ones that were in good enough condition to be sold. When ever they received donations there were always a few books that were too old and battered to even last that long on the shelf, they were usually packed up and put in storage.
Picking up the first of the stack he looked it over, it had a bright teal cover and a dark green spine, while it looked old it was also very well kept. In faded gold lettering on the front it read 'The Doll Maker', he opened it carefully and flicked through the pages, a musty smell being wafted into his face. A couple pages were a bit crinkled but none of the pages seemed to be missing, passing his inspection he set it aside, preparing to grab another. He paused when he heard the bell at the front door chime, alerting him a customer had come in. Raising his head he turned his gaze towards the front of the store, eyeing the man who had just entered. Charlie recognized him, while he didn't know the man's name he had seen him in the store before, he seemed to be one of the regulars. There was an air about that man that had always intrigued Charlie, he could tell by his face and how he moved he was a bit different. Different had always excited Charlie.
Walking out from behind the desk, the young employee strode over to the customer, a welcoming grin on his face. "Good evening," he greeted "is there anything I can help you find today?"