had such a place, a place he kept buried and safe, afraid he would never find what it was in the world that made his soul answer.
He wondered if their mother would smother that place in him before the boy ever had a chance to even look.
Amelia tried to contain her nervousness, but she was afraid she wasn’t doing a very good job. She tried to give them the benefit of the doubt, but her idealism couldn’t quite stretch to the idea that these new friends of David’s were here to pick up some summer reading.
Especially given the way they strolled around the store not looking at any of the books, but just her. Especially given the way the one in the cargo pants with all the pockets flipped that knife around. A butterfly knife, the kind where the handle flipped closed around the blade, then reopened with a flick of the wrist, becoming deadly once more. She’d read about them when researching martial arts before deciding on kickboxing.
Open and closed, he flicked it back and forth, with the appearance of idle habit and a smoothness that spoke of long experience. And if she confronted him, she was sure he would smile innocently and tell her it was just that, a habit, that it didn’t mean anything, and why was she so nervous?
She gathered her nerve and tried to think. God, she hated being such a coward. The boy was back near the children’s section now, while the others were at various places, almost as if taking up stations. Almost as if they had a plan…
She glanced at the phone. She could pretend to be making a call and dial 911 instead. But they really hadn’t done anything yet, although she was sure waving that knife around was against some kind of law. But it wasn’t like he’d threatened her or anything, she told herself; it was only because she was so spineless that it seemed threatening.
Besides, they were David’s friends, even if she didn’t care for them, and he might never speak to her again if she called the police on them.
The one with the knife turned and headed back, flipping that blade as if it were a part of him.
It struck her then that perhaps she should try to treat these boys like she did all kids who came into her store. She could find the courage to simply do that, surely?
She drew a deep breath. She picked up the cordless telephone, thinking she would pretend to be calling a customer about a book if she had to, just so she wouldn’t seem so alone. She walked out from behind the counter, trying not to look at the boy who had taken up a position there. She glanced at the boy with the knife. Braced herself. And spoke.
“Did you know your knife is a Balisong?”
The boy looked startled; he must have thought she was too afraid to speak. She prayed he didn’t know how close he was to being right.
“You talkin’ to me?”
“Your knife. It’s called a Balisong. And that move you’re doing is sometimes called the ricochet.”
He looked down at the blade in his hand as if he’d never seen it before. Amelia walked past him to a book bay a couple of rows back. She hoped she could find it; she thought she’d seen it the last time she’d straightened this shelf…. And then she had it, the book on ancient weapons used in the various martial arts. She was sure this was it; it covered even the most obscure practices.
She found it quickly, held the page with the photo out for him to see. “Isn’t that beautiful? Look at the dragon design etched into the handle. This guy’s collection is worth a lot of money.”
The boy’s eyes flicked from the photo to the simple stainless steel model he held, then to her face.
“Nobody seems to be sure if they originated there, but it was in the Philippines that they were first incorporated into martial arts. That’s where it got the name.”
His expression was unreadable, and she wasn’t sure if she’d made things better or worse. Nor was she sure encouraging this was a good idea, but he already had the blade, and she doubted he would give it up because she—or anybody else—said so.
“There are several Web sites on the Internet about them. Even more photos of some really beautiful ones.”
Something like curiosity flickered in his shuttered eyes, as if she had done something unexpected.
Suddenly he turned on his heel and walked out. Without a word, the others followed, only one of them glancing back over his shoulder at her.
Amelia closed the book. Her hands were shaking. So were her knees. She sank down on the footstool she used for shelving books.
She hated being afraid.
But she was very much afraid she hadn’t seen the last of them.
Moments later the door opened again. God, they were back. They’d decided to come back and…who knows what. She glanced at her office, with the safety-promising lock on the door, but knew there wasn’t time. She reached for the phone she’d set on the shelf. The book slipped off her knees and fell to the floor with a thud.
“Amelia? Are you here? Are you okay?”
The phone followed the book; it was Luke. She recognized his deep voice, although there was a different note in it now. A touch of anxiety, she realized with a little jolt of shock. As if he were worried.
“Back here,” she managed to say, using the shelves as a prop to stand up, until she was sure she was steady enough to do it on her own; she would hate for him to realize what a coward she was, that five young boys had managed to terrorize her without doing a thing.
He came at a fast trot, only slowing to a walk when he saw her upright. “I saw those kids coming out from up the block,” he said as he came to a stop. “I just ran into them with David a while ago, and they weren’t my idea of kids with nothing on their minds but playing on a summer day.”
“One of them…had a knife.” She managed to suppress a shiver; in front of this man, apparently her pride outweighed her fear.
“The one with all the pockets?”
She nodded.
“Snake, David called him.”
“How…appropriate,” she said faintly.
“Too many movies,” Luke retorted.
She smiled, hoping it wasn’t as shaky as she felt. Her toe hit the book she had dropped, but before she could pick it up Luke was reaching for it. He glanced at the title, then at her, brows raised.
“I…was trying to divert him. Showed him pictures of knives like his, only fancier ones, worth a lot.”
“You deflected a hotheaded, knife-wielding teenager with a book?”
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
“How about calling the cops?”
The notorious Luke McGuire, suggesting she call the police? “They weren’t really doing anything.”
“How about waving around a weapon I’m pretty sure is illegal in this state?”
She didn’t understand this;
