Chapter 11 - Glitter

With one minute to spare before Jonathan was due to arrive at Sera's apartment, a loud buzzing came from the little box next to the front door. The woman who now occupied Sera's body—Seraphina—walked over and pressed the appropriate button, just as Molly had instructed her.

Jonathan's voice crackled through the speaker. "Hey, it's Jonathan. I'm downstairs."

She pushed the other button, releasing the lock, and heard the faint sound of the building's door clicking open. So different from the guarded gates she was used to in her own world.

As she stared at the door, it dawned on her that she and Molly had never finalized a plan to gain access to Jonathan's home in order to search for the crystal. No matter. This was her plan, her mission, and she would proceed as she saw fit. She would get those keys tonight if it was the last thing she did.

A few minutes later, a knock sounded at the door. She drew in a breath, steadying herself. This "date," as Molly had called it, carried high stakes. Seraphina couldn't rely on her usual strengths or strategies. She had to impersonate meek little Sera while navigating the uncertainty of Jonathan's true identity. If he was faking, she risked exposing herself. If he wasn't, then any misstep could unravel the entire evening.

Once composed, she opened the door. Jonathan stood there, his boyish grin and easygoing expression already grating on her nerves. Still, she offered a warm smile and stepped aside.

"I'm so glad you came tonight," she said, her voice light.

Jonathan stepped into the living room, his gaze moving across the space until it landed on the coffee table, which Molly had transformed into what she called an Art Station—complete with large squares of poster paper, writing utensils, and tiny decorative bits known as glitter.

"Wow, this looks great," he said. "Hope you didn't go to too much trouble."

"Not at all," she replied truthfully. Molly had done everything.

"Well, your place is cute." He squinted at her. "Didn't realize I'd be the first one here."

She wasn't sure what he meant by that, but remembered Molly's warning: don't ask too many questions. Instead, she sat cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table and patted the spot beside her.

"Shall we get started?" she said with a polite smile, willing herself into the role. This was just another tactical operation—albeit a very different kind.

"I guess . . . yeah." Jonathan hesitated before settling beside her, close but not quite touching.

As they began organizing materials, a subtle scent rose from him—spice and wood—something foreign, yet strangely pleasant. She wondered briefly if he'd spent time in the woods.

They worked in silence, but Seraphina knew that wouldn't help her mission. She needed information, and now was the time to draw some out.

"So," she began casually, "how long has book mongering been your calling?"

Jonathan's mouth twisted into a smile.

"What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "Why are you smiling?"

"You've got an interesting way with words, Sera" he said, still grinning.

She winced inwardly at the name but played along. "I'm an excellent reader."

Jonathan chuckled. "I will take that as a compliment . . . as a book monger. But to answer your question, the store's been in the family for a few generations."

"Oh?" she asked, setting down a piece of paper to give him her full attention.

"Yeah. My great-grandfather and his family used to live on the west coast, but after the war and the internment, they wanted a fresh start. They moved to New York and opened the bookstore." He uncapped a thick black marker. "They believed in the power of stories. A bookstore just made sense."

He paused to draw a few letters on his poster, and Seraphina thought that was the end of it. But then he continued.

"There was a time when I questioned it—whether I should follow the family path or strike out on my own." He shrugged. "Guess I chose the former. And here I am."

Seraphina considered his words. Was he truly content, or was this life a result of obligation? Had his ancestors faced war as well? Was there still a knight buried inside him, waiting to awaken?

Or perhaps she should just assassinate him now and eliminate the risk altogether...

Jonathan shifted beside her, seeming uncomfortable. He kept his eyes on his poster, which was surprisingly neat and artistic. Still, he didn't look her way.

After a moment, he broke the silence. "What about you?"

She tensed. "What about me?"

He gestured to the red-and-gold banner hanging on the wall. "I see you celebrated Chinese New Year. Decided to keep the decorations up?"

She nodded vaguely.

Turning toward her, Jonathan asked, "I'm the year of the Tiger. What about you?"

Panic stirred in her chest. What if she guessed wrong and said something that made no sense? Just as she was about to redirect with a vague answer, he smiled.

"Or is this your year? Are you a Dragon?"

"Yes. Of course. Yes, I'm the year of the Dragon," she said too quickly. Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears. She silently cursed herself.

Desperate to change the subject, she focused on her poster and traced over the word she'd written—Revolution—running a finger along the bold red lines. But Jonathan kept looking at her.

"What about your family?" he asked. "How long have they been in the States?"

Another difficult question. She couldn't speak for Sera's family, so she drew from her own story.

"It feels like we've been here forever," she said, keeping her tone low. "But . . . my parents are both gone now."

Jonathan's tone softened. "I'm so sorry. I know what it's like to be left alone."

His sincerity struck her. There was something real in the way he said it—a flicker of connection she hadn't anticipated. She felt it like a tug on an invisible rope between them and instinctively pulled away from the sensation.

"We should probably get back to these posters," she said quickly.

He blinked, caught off guard by her sudden retreat. Then he nodded. "Yeah, let's do that"

Trying to recapture the mood, Jonathan grabbed a bottle from the table. "I'm going to add glitter to mine."

With a mischievous grin, he twisted the lid—only for a burst of glitter to explode between them, coating them both in sparkles.

His eyes widened. "Oh, shit! Sorry!" He looked down, now glitter-covered, and without hesitation, pulled his shirt off.

As if acting on their own accord, Seraphina's eyes locked on Jonathan's shirtless torso, taking in every inch of exposed skin. A warning bell rang in her mind, signaling something wasn't right. In her own world, it made sense that Jonathan would possess such a magnificent body—but she didn't expect it in this world too.

Before she could stop herself, she blurted, "You work in a bookstore!"

Jonathan narrowed his gaze, studying her as though trying to decipher her words. Then he glanced down at his chest and quickly looked back up, his cheeks flushing a rosy pink. "Oh . . . yeah. Well, I lift a lot of books. And boxing. It's a good outlet," he mumbled while standing up, awkwardly holding his shirt to minimize the glitter cascading off him. He gestured to the window. "Can I?"

Still stunned by the sight before her, Seraphina merely nodded, watching the fluid motion of his muscled back as he walked to the window and opened it. Lifting books, she thought. Ridiculous. She cut her gaze away, refusing to acknowledge the strange feelings stirring inside her. Clearly, they were Sera's reactions, nothing to do with her. Jonathan didn't possess any of the traits she typically found attractive in a man—a real man.

Jonathan held his shirt out the window and shook it to rid it of glitter before pulling it back in. He made sure to pull it over his head and cover himself before turning around again.

The whole scene struck Seraphina as laughably juvenile. Is this a common mating ritual in this world? she wondered. It's a miracle they manage to reproduce at all. Forcing herself to meet his gaze again, she refused to let herself be unsettled by such nonsense.

At that moment, a ball of yipping white fur rushed into the room and headed straight for Jonathan. "Now I've got you," Farlow declared in her mind. The little Pomeranian lunged for Jonathan's ankles, nipping and snarling with wild glee. "I have him, Seraphina! He won't escape me this time!"

Jonathan danced in place, attempting to evade the tiny attacker. Despite the chaos, he didn't appear angry—only somewhat annoyed and amused. "Okay, okay!" he said, fumbling into his pocket. He pulled out a small packet, tore it open, and crouched. "Here, boy! Look what I've got." In his hand was a tiny brown triangle. Farlow froze mid-bark and sniffed the air. "What is this scent?" he exclaimed. "This delicious scent?! Gimme, gimme, gimme!" He lunged forward, snapping his jaws around the treat and collapsing in a heap of blissful chewing.

Jonathan grinned and glanced at Seraphina. "I figured I'd bring some treats for Farlow this time, just in case he decided to attack again."

"Great idea," she said, the words slipping out before she could think.

They ignored the Pomeranian as they stared at each other for a beat too long. Jonathan broke the silence by looking down at their pile of posters. "Wow, we actually got a lot done—even though everyone bailed on us."

Seraphina simply nodded, not understanding what he meant but letting it pass. Her eyes scanned over the completed posters with indifference. She didn't see the point. Signs and slogans didn't win wars. Only action produced results. Deliberate. Forceful. Strategic.

Jonathan continued, undeterred by her silence. "I think it's awesome. But I guess that means I should probably get out of here."

Her head snapped up. "Really? So soon?" She jumped to her feet, suddenly realizing she'd nearly missed her opportunity to get the key. 

Jonathan moved to the door, grabbed his coat, slipped on his shoes, and lifted his bag. Seraphina stared, brain racing to come up with something—anything—to stall him.

"Hey, thanks for organizing this," He said. "I can't wait to hold these up at the rally."

"Yes, I can't wait to hold a sign and chant . . ." she replied dryly. For no tangible result whatsoever.

He smiled and raised his hand, palm open toward her. She frowned. Was he expecting something? A treat? A gift? His blank, hopeful expression remained unchanged.

In a last-ditch effort, Seraphina wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing in and slipping her hands into his coat pockets. As she hugged him, she searched.

Jonathan made a startled sound. "Oh . . ." he said, awkwardly patting her back.

Pulling away, he cleared his throat. "Well, thanks again, Sera."

"You are welcome, Jon," she replied, formal and curt.

Once the door closed behind him, a grin spread across her face. She looked down at her palm where a shiny metal key now rested.

****

The following morning, Seraphina lounged on an absurdly luxurious couch in the center of a room filled with frilly white dresses, cascading floral displays, and sparkling accessories. She sipped champagne from a flute offered by the overly cheerful attendant who hovered a bit too close for comfort.

Reclining against the soft cushions, she sighed. Perhaps this is what's missing her world. she wouldn't mind a bit of pampering now and then to celebrate her victories.

The curtain slid open, and Molly strode out wearing a monstrous white gown that puffed like Farlow's fur. She frowned even before looking in the mirror.

Seraphina couldn't help but smirk at the absurdity of it. In this world, women paraded around in ridiculous costumes in order to secure husbands. Unbelievable.

"Ugh, this is not it. Definitely not the one," Molly moaned. "Why do they look so good on the rack and so terrible on me? I look like a cupcake."

"I think a cupcake is far more appealing, wouldn't you say?"

Molly groaned, grabbed the second glass of champagne, and took a long sip. "Okay, so tell me again: Jonathan said he was surprised people bailed?"

Seraphina nodded.

Molly sighed and planted a hand on her hip. "That means he didn't think it was a date."

Seraphina tilted her head. "Then what was it?"

"He must've thought other people were coming—like me, maybe. So much for your seduction abilities." She snorted, raising her glass in mock salute.

Seraphina glared. "Pardon me, but I do believe it's less a failure of my technique and more the man's idiocy."

Molly raised a skeptical brow.

"Let's be honest. The man's a fool." Despite her words, something about the criticism didn't sit right. A warmth crept into her cheeks, and she quickly turned away, handing her empty glass to the attendant, who refilled it without question. Seraphina fixed her with a pointed glare until she backed off.

Turning back to Molly, she said, "Besides, the evening was a success." A sly grin spread across her face. "I got his key." She lifted her glass in triumph. "Now all I need is to execute the rest of my plan."

Molly stepped closer, her expression unreadable. Was it from concern—or the swishing noise her gown made?

She stopped and said, "I know what the plan is. It just seems a little risky."

"Maybe. But the stakes are high. Wouldn't you agree?"

Molly nodded. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get Sera back. In fact . . . I did some recon."

"You waited until now to tell me?" Seraphina leaned forward, her interest piqued.

Molly gestured to her gown. "I've been a little busy. Anyway—every Saturday, four to eight, is the official book drop. He has to be at the store during that time. The perfect window to search his apartment."

Seraphina's grin mirrored Molly's as their glasses clinked in silent agreement.

"Excellent."