Could've been worse. Could've been Twilight.
It was hard to adjust to the human world at first, Maeve thought, leaning against a crate alone with her book. It was like walking from a quiet, dark room into a loud, bright one—startling, at first, but you adapt.
Except imagine that in the loud, bright room, everyone mostly speaks your language but has a bunch of names you’ve never heard before for objects you don’t recognize. That part’s been the hard part.
Fortunately the bright room is full of books! You silent windows into the human world! You give so much and ask nothing in return. Sure, you don’t explain what chainsaws or cupholders or ceiling fans are, but that’s what Wikipedia on Veronica’s phone is for.
Right now I love noir crime novels. Nothing explores how people feel like a crime novel, even when what they feel is awful. Especially when it’s awful!
Veronica leaned her cloaked head into the shipping car, the sunset light dimming behind her. “Hi, sweetie, I’m back!”
“Already?”
“Yeah, it’s 7:30! Did you even notice I was gone?”
“…Yes?” Maeve said. She hadn’t.
“Nice,” Veronica said, crouching and unslinging her shoulder bag. “Hey, pack up the library, okay? I need your help picking up the groceries—so put on your hoodie so we don’t get noticed—and then we’ll check in to the hotel.”
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