Ben had been having no more luck, and had started mumbling titles under his breath as he read potentially promising ones — he did not often talk to himself but apparently when he was frustrated enough he did. He'd just reached for another possibility (Breaking, by Phyllis T. Hadley) when a crash sounded nearby, startling him and causing him to look over to where a few books had tumbled into the space between the aisles. Ben couldn't see where it had come from, but assumed whoever had dropped them would probably appreciate the help. It wasn't like he was accomplishing much, anyway.

Moving to pick up a few of the fallen books, Ben glanced over to see — Angie Swan again. He had gone years without seeing her, and now here she was thrice in what felt like as many weeks. Was this a bad omen? The previous two occasions hadn't been fortuitous, though neither had anything to do with Angie per ce. The first had lead to him getting written up in Witch Weekly (he had a suspicion she was the nameless working girl in the article, but couldn't be sure), the second had put his wife in the hospital. Angie hadn't been at fault for either, but he was a little nervous about her being here all the same, as though she was a harbinger of some marital stress to come.

Of course, it wasn't as though things with Melody could really get much worse than sending each other coded messages through passive-aggressive book titles.

"Oh, hey," he said brightly as he handed her the book he'd picked up. "Starting a library?"