Bookish and the Beast (Once Upon a Con #3)(4)

Annie grabs my wrist tightly, and squeezes. I know—I know.

It’s her.

The camera pans with her as she makes her way toward the throne, from her fluttering Federation coat to the golden stars on her shoulders, to her face. You can tell she’s different. That she isn’t the same princess who sacrificed herself to the Black Nebula. She’s new, and unpredictable, and impossible.

My heart kicks in my chest, seeing her again, returned from some improbable universe, and my eyes well with tears.

Because for once death isn’t final.

For once, for once, love is enough.

And the left side of Amara’s mouth twitches up.

The screen snaps to black—and then the triumphant orchestra of the Starfield theme swells into our ears, and the title appears:

STARFIELD: RESONANCE

And then it ends.

We stare at the blank screen for a moment longer. My heart hammers in my chest. It’s real. It’s happening. And Amara is back—our Amara.

Finally, Annie whispers. “I…I think I just popped a lady-boner—”

“A-hem.”

Annie and I whirl around toward the sound of our manager, Mr. Jason. He’s red-faced and standing with his arms crossed over his chest in the middle of our respective cash registers. She quickly yanks the earbud out of my ear, rolls up the wires, and shoves the cell phone into her apron.

“If I see you two with cell phones out one more time tonight…” he warns, wagging his finger at us, “then I’ll—I’ll…”

Uh-oh, he’s so flustered he doesn’t have words.

“We won’t, sorry, sir,” Annie says, and Mr. Jason nods, not quite believing her, and turns on his heel back to his office.

I let out a sigh of relief.

Annie mouths, Yikes.

I agree. He’s really not in the best mood tonight. We shouldn’t push our luck. Mr. Jason is known to have two modes: absent and dickweed. At the moment, he’s in full dickweed mode.

After I ring up the waiting customers, I straighten my aisle and leave to wrangle the shopping carts from the parking lot. There’s a toy dispenser outside that is calling my name, and I’ve got just the quarter that feels lucky enough for me to test it.

“Going to go try it again?” Annie calls to me as I wander toward the automatic doors.

“After that trailer, I’m feeling lucky,” I reply, flipping the quarter with my thumb, and step outside in the warm September evening.

There is a Starfield toy dispenser by the grocery cart lane, featuring the old characters from the TV series, though the Amara really looks nothing like Natalia Ford. She’s in this skimpy bodysuit with a pistol, and honestly Princess Amara would burn the entire dispenser if she saw that. Carmindor and the other six collectibles look somewhat like themselves, at least, though I’ve gotten so many Carmindors I could melt them all down and make a life-sized Carmindor to use for target practice whenever I decide to take up axe-throwing.

Maybe today, though, I’ll finally snag a Sond.

I pop the quarter into the Starfield toy machine. A toy rolls out, and I fish it out of the metal mouth and shake it. It doesn’t sound like another Carmindor. Maybe Amara? Euci?

Ugh, I have enough Eucis, too.

The outside of the shell reads, LOOK TO THE STARS AND CHASE YOUR DESTINY!

Dare I disturb the universe, crack open the egg, and find out what my future holds?

I’m about to twist the sucker open when someone calls my name. Like, not just calls from across the parking or anything, but like…megaphone calls my name.

I glance up.

And pale.

Oh, no.

Garrett Taylor is standing in the bed of his Ford truck with a karaoke machine. On the window of his muddy black truck, he dramatically unfurls a banner that says, HOMECOMING?

What the…

Oh.

Oh Jesus Mother Mary Aziraphale Crowley.

The realization of what’s happening hits me like the Prospero fresh out of hyperdrive. And I don’t have time to escape.

“Rosie Thorne,” Garrett begins valiantly, turning his snap-back around. Tufts of his chocolate-brown hair stick out the hole in the back of his cap, shaggy around his ears. A silver stud glints in his left ear. “You and I are a tale as old as time,” he says into the microphone, trying to be smart and funny.

He’s none of the above, and this is one hundred and ten percent mortifying.

Forget the carts in the parking lot. I try to make it back into the store before he can do something I will regret.

“Rosie!” he calls after me, vaulting off the flatbed, and races to cut me off. He succeeds. Barely. “What do you think?” he asks, motioning to the large HOMECOMING? banner. His posse follows him with their expensive GoPros, and I can feel their tiny bulbous camera eyes slowly leeching my soul.

Ever since he went viral on YouTube, I can’t stand him. He was fine before, but now he’s just insufferable. Everything has to be video’d and monetized.

“Garrett,” I say, putting my hand up so the GoPros can’t capture my face, “I’m flattered, but—”

He grabs me by the hand I was using to block the cameras and squeezes it tightly. “Don’t say it! Just think on it, okay?”

“I did think—”

“Rosie, you know as well as I do that we’re a team! Remember back in elementary school? We were the best Red Rover pair.”