Everything seems normal, standing in line for coffee, the floor damp with melted slush. The glass case filled with neatly labeled baked goods. People sitting in corners staring at laptops.

It’s too normal. It’s disconcerting and making him dizzy and maybe once you go to wonderland you’re supposed to stay there because nothing will ever be the same in the real world, in the other world, afterward. Afterworld. He wonders if the maybe-students, maybe-writers typing on their computers would believe him if he told them there was an underground trove of books and stories beneath their feet. They wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. He’s not sure he does. The only thing keeping him from writing the whole thing off as an extraordinary hallucination is the pink-haired lady next to him. He stares at the back of Mirabel’s head as she investigates a shelf full of travel mugs. Her ears are pierced multiple times with silver hoops. There’s a scar behind her ear, a line maybe an inch long. Her roots are starting to show near her scalp, a dark brown probably close to the color of the wig she wore at the party and he wonders if she went dressed as herself. He tries to remember if he saw her talk to anyone else. If she interacted with anyone but him.

He couldn’t have made up this much detail on a person. Imaginary ladies can’t order coffee at Starbucks, probably.

It is a relief when the girl behind the register looks directly at Mirabel and asks what she would like.

“A grande honey stardust, no whip,” Mirabel says and though Zachary thinks maybe he heard her wrong the cashier girl punches the order onto her screen without question. “And a tall skim milk matcha green tea latte.”

“Name?”

“Zelda,” Mirabel says.

The girl gives her a total and Mirabel pays in cash, dropping her change into the tip jar. Zachary follows her to the other end of the counter.

“What was that you ordered?” he asks.

“Information,” Mirabel responds but does not elaborate. “Not enough people take advantage of the secret menu, have you ever noticed that?”

“I go to independent coffee shops that write self-deprecating menus on chalkboards.”

“Yet you had a very specific Starbucks order at the ready.”

“Zelda,” the barista calls out, placing two cups on the counter.

“Is that Zelda for Princess or Fitzgerald?” Zachary asks as Mirabel picks them up.

“Little bit of both,” she says, handing him the smaller cup. “C’mon, let’s brave the poetry again.”

Outside the light is dwindling, the air colder. Zachary clings to his cup and takes a sip of too-hot green foam.

“What did you really order?” he asks as Mirabel starts walking.

“It’s basically an Earl Grey tea with soy milk and honey and vanilla,” Mirabel says, holding up her cup. “But this is why I ordered it.” She lifts it higher so Zachary can see the six-digit number written in Sharpie on the bottom of the cup: 721909.

“What does that mean?” he asks.

“You’ll see.”

The light is fading by the time they reach the next block, leaving a sunset glow.

“How do you know Dorian?” Zachary asks, trying to sort through his questions and thinking maybe he should get a notebook or something to keep them in, they fly in and out of his head so fast. He takes another sip of his quickly cooling latte.

“He tried to kill me once,” Mirabel says.

“He what?” Zachary asks, as Mirabel stops in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Here we go,” she says.

Zachary hadn’t even recognized the tree-lined street. The building with its C

ollector’s Club sign looks normal and friendly and maybe a little ominous but that’s more to do with the lack of people on this particular block.

“Are you done with that?” Mirabel asks, gesturing at his cup. Zachary takes a last sip and hands it to her. She nestles both empty cups into a pile of snow by the stairs.

“There’s another place that’s also called the Collector’s Club not far from here,” she remarks as they approach the door.

“There is?” Zachary asks, regretting not asking if Mirabel has a plan of some sort.

Tags: Erin Morgenstern Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net