How to Find a Folded Bookstore

HOW TO FIND A FOLDED BOOKSTORE

by Devin Miller

How to Find a Folded Bookstore can be found in Tales & Feathers Issue 1.

I run Blue Heron Books, although it folded in 1993. 

When the real world stops supporting them, Seattle’s bookstores shift out of mundane reality and into a fold of space-time. Puss & Books, Globe, Ibis Books—don’t worry, they still exist. They’ve just relocated slightly.

I heard the bell ring late in the afternoon on a Tuesday, while I was absorbed in pricing a set of Dorothy Sayers and some biographies. When I looked up, the person who’d come in instantly had my attention.

Their short, asymmetrical hair was the colour of Homer’s wine-dark sea. They wore squarish glasses, triangular silver earrings, and skinny jeans. A formal grey button-down shirt contrasted with bright orange pump heels I couldn’t have walked ten feet in.

They were standing, head tilted sideways, in front of a shelf of recent fantasy novels I’d read and liked. I watched surreptitiously as they wandered around the store. They drifted along, reading spines, occasionally pulling something out to read the blurb. They caught my eye when they turned a corner, smiled, and gave me one of those little chin-lift nods popular with queers who recognize each other. I returned it, internally shouting, and hoped Blue Heron wasn’t going to make a nuisance of itself.

Sometimes it’s obvious why Blue Heron lets certain people find it: people who linger in the back with the mystery paperbacks, or those who start a conversation with me about Nancy Pearl’s book recommendations and find an hour gone. Reality is rough, and Blue Heron knows that sometimes you need to escape into the silence of a bookstore and smell the books.

But this customer wasn’t looking for escape. They glanced around to make sure they hadn’t missed anything, then shuffled through a handful of books, trying to decide on their purchases, and nearly dropped a paperback. The store helpfully pointed a goose-neck lamp a little more directly at the orange armchair in the back; they sat in it. Maybe if I stopped staring, the store might not make such a big deal out of things, so I went back to pricing biographies. And I even succeeded in focusing on it, too, which is why I was startled when a stack of books landed on the counter. I looked up.

“That orange chair is stupid comfortable,” my customer said.

My eyes dropped to their lips: they were wearing purple lipstick. I opened my mouth to reply, but my brain took a moment to process what they’d said. “Is it?” I asked, surprised. The last time I sat in that old armchair, it was not comfortable.

“I didn’t want to leave.”

I could practically hear the bookstore purring. “You’re welcome to sit and read if you want to.” 

“Most bookstores prefer it if you buy the books before you read them,” they said, head tilted like they were reading the title on my spine.

“This is kind of an unusual bookstore,” I said. 

“I’m getting that,” they said. “I walked past last week, and I swear there wasn’t a building between the Korean restaurant and the hair salon. Also, that shelf wasn’t there before.” The shelf with the foreign-language books had sidled over, blocking the view of the front door.

It’s funny to watch the store try to prevent people from leaving. You’ll hear the exclamation of delight as the store reveals a book it’s been holding back, just the thing to tempt the customer into sitting down right in an aisle to flip through the pages. Or you’ll see the looks on people’s faces when they turn a corner and find themselves looking at a new shelf instead of the front door. This one was taking it pretty well.

“Yeah,” I said. “We have the same address as the hair salon; they get all our mail. You’re not dreaming or anything, it’s quite real, just a different layer of reality.” Usually, I wasn’t this forthcoming about the store. Most customers never realized there was anything unusual going on.

They brushed their hair back behind one ear and grinned. “I’m glad you’re real.”

It could have been a “you” the way people talk to anyone who works in a store as if they’re the avatar of the store. Like: “How late are you open?” But I was pretty sure it wasn’t. This unbelievably attractive person was glad I was real. I blushed.

They grinned and stuck out a hand. Their short, purple nails matched their lipstick. “I’m Blair.”

“I’m Europa.” I shook their hand.

“Does it do this to everyone? Hide the front door and make the chairs comfy?”

“No, not everyone,” I said. “Only people who want an excuse to stay. Or, uh, people it thinks I want to stay.”

“Which am I?” they asked.

“You look like you’re trying to buy your books and leave, so...”

Blair didn’t miss a beat. “So your bookstore is trying to set us up?”

I froze. 

Early on, I didn’t know why the bookstore tried to prevent certain people from leaving. Eventually, I noticed the bookstore had a preference for women my age, with the occasional man or nonbinary person. Blue Heron knew before I did that I was very bisexual, which would be a funny story to tell on dates—if saying I worked for an intelligent bookstore inside a fold in reality didn’t sound like a red flag.

Nobody else the store had tried to set me up with had been quite this intimidatingly attractive. I looked down at their books. One sci-fi, one fantasy, both stories I loved fiercely, and a history about women war correspondents—choices that were even more attractive to me than the purple lipstick or the dangerous heels.

But I’d paused too long. The silence got wrinkled and awkward, and Blair stepped in to fill it with, “Sorry, I misread, you’re working, I shouldn’t—”

I opened my mouth, hoping that what came out of it would be: “Yes, the bookstore is trying to set us up, and I want it to!” But the words that actually fell out were, “No, it’s okay, I didn’t… um, I’ll just ring these up?”

Blair nodded, biting nervously at their bottom lip; I couldn’t meet their eyes.

Why did I say that? 

“Thank you,” Blair said when I slid the books back across the counter. “Um, see you around.” They turned towards the door.

“Have a nice day,” I said automatically, and cringed. I wondered whether I could get Blue Heron to move the shelves enough to hide myself behind them.

Instead, Blue Heron dimmed the lights. Oh, shit, I thought. The bookstore hadn’t given up. No matter how useless I was at this stuff, it was still determined to play matchmaker. Blair would have a hard time finding the door in the dark.

I could only see Blair as a silhouette until the bookstore turned on a lamp and aimed it at some framed prints on the wall; they leaned in to look. I wondered which one Blue Heron had thought would catch their attention—maybe the photo of the Fremont Troll wearing a pink hat, which was my favourite.

“Come on, Blue Heron,” I whispered under my breath. “Just let this one go.”

I heard a rustle of paper and felt a sensation of pure stubbornness. The bookstore wasn’t stupid; it knew I was still interested. Meanwhile, the paperback romance shelf had moved, hiding Blair. Subtle.

But I could be stubborn too. I wasn’t going to be badgered into asking out a person with whom I’d already made things awkward. I picked up a pencil and, squinting, started writing prices into the flyleafs of the Sayers novels.

Footsteps, shuffling noises. I ignored this, hoping that the bookstore would give up and let Blair go. But then Blair said, “Um, Europa? Could you give me a hand?”

I looked up, annoyed with the store. The lights grew slightly warmer, more like… mood lighting? Blair was behind the Shakespeare shelf, which was not where it was supposed to be. They looked frazzled, and I felt guilty for letting Blair deal with the bookstore’s nonsense alone.

“Sorry!” I hurried out from behind the desk to help. The tail of Blair’s shirt was caught between Much Ado About Nothing and The Tempest on the shelf behind. They’d tried to pull away, but the books were holding on tight. “Geez, sorry, let me—” I pried apart the books with effort and pulled their shirt free. 

“I don’t think I’ve gotten any closer to the door,” they said. 

Our eyes met. They were a lot taller than me in their heels, gosh. 

“I’ll help you find the door,” I said. 

I’d never seen the shelves so maze-like before. After our first turn, I found myself staring at the mysteries, which were normally near the back. The next turn should have led towards the front door but didn’t.

The dim lighting made the store even more confusing to navigate. Shadows reared up in front of us like demons and resolved themselves into shelves that weren’t where they belonged. I really hoped the store would put things back into place when it got over this. Otherwise, I’d have a hell of a time in the morning, putting genres back with their logical neighbours.

“The store’s never been this dramatic before,” I said, frustrated and embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s kind of like a spooky video game,” Blair said charitably.

I paused, trying to get my bearings, and the shelf behind me punched me in the back. I stumbled forward and landed, inevitably, in Blair’s arms. They caught me around the waist and nudged me upright, saying, “Are you okay?”

“Sorry, yes! Fine! Ow.” I rubbed at the book-shaped dent in my lower back.

“So if your bookstore isn’t trying to set us up, why did it just shove you into my arms?”

“Oh, no, it’s totally playing matchmaker,” I admitted.

“Can’t you just tell it you’re not interested and get it to let me out?”

Okay Europa, time to be a little less useless at this. I took a deep breath. “I could, but it would know I was lying.” Quietly, Blue Heron started playing “She Keeps Me Warm” on the sound system. Which was a pretty fitting pick, actually.

Blair looked me over in a way that made me feel blazingly visible. Then they grinned hugely. “Okay, rewind, start over. Europa, would you like to close your bookstore a little early and let me take you out to dinner?”

“Yes!” I blurted, loudly enough to rise above the sound of another shelf scuttling over.

We grinned at each other and looked away, still grinning. 

I glanced at the labels on the shelves around us and discovered we’d made it as far as the outdoor recreation section. If Blue Heron hadn’t rearranged itself too thoroughly… I peered around some Washington trail guides and there, not so far away, was the door. 

In a fit of boldness, I took Blair’s hand. “Come on.” 

I towed them to the door and said, “Give me two minutes to lock up. And stay close to the door, just in case, I don’t know, Blue Heron decides not to be satisfied with a date and wants a full on U-Haul situation.”

Blair laughed. Our hands were still linked. They twined our fingers together and squeezed, and I just about melted into the floorboards.

That had to be the fastest I’d ever closed up the store. Blue Heron got the lights for me. Blair watched me, smiling, their stack of extremely good book choices under their arm.

“If anyone ever asks us how we met, we’ll have a story,” Blair said.

I laughed. The bookstore let us out into the cool evening, and with an air of smug satisfaction, it closed the door behind us.