The Untold Fairytale, Enchanted Realms, Part 9

Chapter 9 = The Sweetest Afternoon

Jack’s POV

The latch holding the pub door open threatened to tear the door away several times as the wind picked up. If we were in the countryside, I’d have thought that wolves were circling their prey, for the howling wind mimicked their cries. Since I knew we didn’t have wolves in the city, I wasn't too worried about that unless Eloise wrote a werewolf into existence.

Teasing Eloise, I suggested, “I think you should write about an invasion of werewolves in the city. What if they were forced to expose their existence to protect their clan from going extinct? Wouldn't that make for a great story?"

Eloise wrinkled her nose, rolled her eyes, and said, “Ewe! No! I’m not writing such nonsense. Not gonna happen.”

”There’s nothing wrong with a good werewolf tale of debauchery, conniving, and mayhem.”

Shaking her head, she replied, "This is why you are not the author, and I am. You have the weirdest ideas!"

Placing my beer on the table, I gave a mock look of astonishment and said, “Oh, really! Let me tell you, Missy, romance readers love werewolf tropes. You could be missing out on the next best-selling shifter series. Tsk, tsk. What a pity.”

Nudging me in the ribs, she sighed before saying, “OMG! What rock have you been living under? I love shifter books but don’t want to write that genre. I want to tell fairytales!”

Waving my hand, pretending to dismiss the differences, I said, “Shifters, vampires, fairytales. They’re all the same.”

Picking up her fork, Eloise pointed it at me and said, “Take that back, you big meany!”

She looked adorable, waving the fork at me and pretending to be mad. I knew the fire in her eyes was fake, but I played along. “No! Not the dreaded fork. I say, for the win, it’s Eloise, in the pub, with a fork, killing off Jack for dismissing her fantastic storylines.”

Sitting back on the bench, she smiled at me and said, “All right, enough of Clue and your emotional drama. I mean, honestly, I’m the author! I should have all the drama llamas for my stories—not you!”

”Fine, you win! I won’t opine, but you should tell me your next story.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I have a couple of plot options, but I’m not sure where I should take it.”

Picking up my beer, I finished my pint before saying, “Well, if we’re not braving sideways rain this afternoon, then I guess you have plenty of time to review several plots.”

Sitting back against the wall, she said, “Fine, but I want your honest opinion. Don’t just try to placate me, or I won’t hesitate to use that fork. Yep! Right there, right between the ribs.” Giggling, she poked me in the ribs to ensure I fully understood her intentions.

Holding my hands up, I said. “I surrender to your terms.”

Nodding her head, she unbuckled her backpack and pulled out her leather journal. I could see the twinkle in her eyes as she ran her fingers across the binding before she opened the book. Closing her eyes, she said, “Oh, Jack. There’s a thousand plots running through my mind. However, will I capture the one that’s meant to be told upon these pages?”

I leaned toward her and whispered, “Perhaps it’s a magical journal, and it will write the story for you.”

She looked at me like I was a maudlin fool, but I never in a lifetime would have expected her response.

She traced a word on the first page with her index finger, then held her finger before her and replied, “If the shopkeeper knew the magic within this book, he would never have sold it to me. We must keep this our little secret.”

I thought she was joking until she picked up my hand, placed it gently on the page, and asked, “Do you feel it?”There are