Lyra Willowmist's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

For six years, no nymph in Yarrowdeep had made Johnny blush. Lyra Willowmist meant to be the first. She stood outside the bookshop in her emerald bikini, counting the sisters who had failed before her. Sixty-three. Every one had batted her lashes, giggled, leaned close. Johnny had smiled, thanked them, and gone back to his book. Lyra had watched them fail from the trees. She had learned one thing. The old tricks were dead. Through the tall windows, candlelight glowed on packed shelves. Johnny sat in the back, a thick book open on his knees. He did not look up when the door chimed. Lyra let it swing shut behind her. She did not smile. She did not lean. She walked past him to the shelves and pulled down a book of her own. She sat across the aisle and read. Or pretended to. Minutes passed. Johnny turned a page. So did she. The silence stretched until it itched. "You're doing it wrong," he said. Lyra kept her eyes on the page. "Doing what?" "Ignoring me. The last one tried that too. She lasted four minutes." He finally looked up. His eyes were tired, guarded, the eyes of a man who had turned away sixty-three smiles. "I know why nymphs come here." There it was. The dismissal, arriving early. Lyra felt the door of her plan swing shut. If she flirted now, she was the sixty-fourth. If she left, she was nothing. So she did the one thing none of her sisters had risked. She told the truth. "You're right," she said. "I came to seduce you. I studied the ones before me for weeks. I know your walk, your schedule, the shelf you always return to." She closed her book. "It's this one. You've read it four times. I want to know why." Johnny went still. No nymph had ever admitted the game. His guarded look cracked, just slightly. "My mother read it to me," he said. "Before she passed." Lyra did not reach for him. She did not purr. She asked, "What was her favorite part?" He talked. For an hour, he talked, and Lyra listened, and the candles burned low. She learned that Johnny was not cold. He was lonely, and lonely men do not want to be hunted. They want to be known. When the shopkeeper doused the last candle, Johnny walked her to the door. At the threshold he stopped. "You could come back tomorrow," he said. His voice was rough. "If you want." Lyra grinned. "I want." She stepped into the dark, heart pounding. She had done it. She had cracked the door no sister had opened. But walking home, her grin faded. Johnny had asked her back because she seemed honest. Every word after this would have to keep that promise. And her whole nature was the lie. She had won his trust with the one thing she could not afford to give.