As a matter of fact, she did. Paranoid? Maybe. But facing down a tentacled demon that your entire upbringing says doesn't exist kind of makes you paranoid. Not to mention owning a knife that glows blue whenever anything demonic approaches. The knife was strapped against her hip, the bulge of the hilt hidden under the length of the sweater. And it had never, ever done this before.

"Hi there.” He had a nice voice, an even tenor, but those teeth were too white. “I'm looking for a copy of Delmonico's Demons and Hellspawn."

Her heart started to pound, her palms were getting slippery. “Really? Well, is it fiction or nonfiction?” It's nonfiction, and I don't think I'm going to take you down into the basement, sir. Who the hell are you?

He didn't seem to expect that. He blinked, and he didn't lean forward to rest his elbows on the counter. The rare person that didn't lean against Chess's counter was usually too short to reach it. Kids went to the checkout counter in the children's section unless they were lost or precocious.

Silence ticked through the library. Someone coughed over in Biography. Chess tried her best to look interested, disingenuous, and innocent all at once. She could almost feel her cheeks freeze in what Charlie called the Dealing-With-Idiots-Smile. It almost hurt. “Fiction, or nonfiction?” she asked again.

A thin trickle of sweat slid down her back. Please don't let me be sweating on my forehead, he can see that. I should have practiced this in front of the mirror. Having a mother who could almost freeze boiling water with a raised eyebrow was far from the worst training for something like this, but how could anyone have found out so soon? She should have practiced more.

Don't be an idiot, Chess. You're dealing with sorcery here. It stands to reason opening the door in the basement, making your tools, learning a few spells, and going out to kill demons is going to get you some damn attention. You screwed up somewhere. Or he's just fishing.