by Nikki Hyson
“No,” she said. Ruth, forever a carbon copy of Miss Havisham from Great Expectations in Lily’s silent musings, took the file with a bit more strength than usual.
Lily waited until Ruth rounded a corner before exhaling softly. Her minutes continued ticking by, unspooling in a steady stream of phone calls and conversation snippets over her shoulder.
“Time to go, Lily,” Ruth interrupted at five minutes past one. “Thank you for your help.”
“My pleasure. See you Monday.”
The old woman paused before replying. “Actually, no. Doctor McNally’s decided to downsize.” They stared at one another for a long moment. “We have to lay you off.”
Lily’s question rose slowly to the surface. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, not at all. Jill has a letter of reference for you and your last check.” Ruth’s lips pursed, as if trying to force the next words past her frown. “With holiday pay. Feel free to have any potential employer call. They’ll have to ask for me. Your recommendation will be glowing. Take care, Lily.” Ruth, sparing herself more than Lily, strode from the office.
Lily could only stare. Too many kind words uttered to make head or tails out of the past sixty seconds, Lily struggled to breathe against the following void.
The last patient of the morning gone, Jill hit the button on her answering machine. Swiveling in her chair, she laid a hand on Lily’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Lily.”
Deaf to the apology, Lily returned to the coat hooks where her jacket hung. Adding the layer, she passed by the file cabinets one last time, fingertip gliding over the dust free metal. “Well then,” she mused.
“Lily?”
The note of loss pierced her private memorial for a job she’d never loved. Still. “You knew?” She felt no anger. “You knew they were letting me go?”
“I only knew something was up this morning.” Jill pulled a thin white envelope from her desk drawer. “Ruth gave me this. Warned me to not ask any questions.”
Lily accepted it. The idea that she’d never enter this building again was sinking in with difficulty. Running her thumb over Ruth’s economical script, she swallowed. What will I do Monday? She blinked, realizing Jill had already asked the same question twice.
“Lily, will you be alright? Is there anything I can do?”
She thought for less than three seconds, mind thawing while her heart stuttered. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Jill.” Resolve strengthening, she added a brief nod to seal the promise. “Make sure to always bill Mrs. Foster’s labs under preventive. And Mr. Hotchkins has two insurances. There should never be a co-pay.” She slipped the envelope into her skirt pocket, reaching across the distance with a smile. “My love to the kids. I’ll be fine,” she repeated.
“Yes.” Tears filled Jill’s eyes, but didn’t quite fall. “I do believe you will be.”
The afternoon seemed determined to warm a bit; sky overcast just enough to filter the golden light of a winter sun without threatening rain. Stepping away from the gray office building, she paused before the flow of traffic moving along the pavement. A red double decker trundled past, the faces of eager tourists pressed to the glass. Lily’s smile didn’t diminish.
She looked to the right. Adeline Road waited just two streets up, And then on home. She glanced left. Strutton Ground stood around the corner and with it Leonida’s Belgian Chocolates. The pull to the left and the Chai spiced chocolate was tempting. I haven’t indulged in over a month. If ever a day demanded one for passage, this would be it.
Still, responsibility leaned her to the right. Amos needed a walk, and some love, before her afternoon shift at the library. But it’ll only take an extra ten minutes.
The pair watched her enter the narrow shop on the corner Strutton, one taking notes while the other only watched. A few scratched observations later and the small leather notepad slipped into an inner breast pocket.
“Third meeting averted. How did you know she would buy candy after being sacked?”
Cris, the one who watched, smiled. “Not just candy. Chocolate. Don’t you get out at all?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “What now?” Is she the one the Professor’s waiting for?
“Now?”
“She only has three jobs. What do you hope to accomplish?” Cris worked to keep a neutral tone though Rochefort’s level of utter cluelessness bordered on frustrating. “Will you have her fired from each?”
“Their paths will not cross today. That is all Hyde wanted. Time’s needed to consult the Oracle. Now we have it.”
“The Oracle won’t see anything when she looks at him. She never has.”
“Yes. She never has.” Rochefort’s brows drew close at that admission. “She can’t read him. I wonder why Hyde decided to keep him.”
“Maybe it wasn’t his call to make. Either way, he’s a favorite among the clients.”
Rochefort shot Cris a look. “No need to sound pleased. He should mean nothing to you.”
“No. Of course not. I’m only a handler.”
They waited a few moments longer, but Lily didn’t reappear immediately. Time grew short. “I need to get this back to the Guild. Keep an eye on her.”
Cris nodded. “How long?”
“Until you are told otherwise.”
Trying not to shiver, Cris pulled his overcoat a little tighter. The damnable cold in this life was barely tolerable. “Very well.”
Rochefort hesitated. “Your faithfulness will be rewarded one day, Cris. Don’t waver now.”
“I’ve been here for nigh on fifty years. You’ve been here for scarce ten.” The black depths of Cris’ eyes kindled dangerously. “Don’t question my loyalty, Rochefort.”
The former musketeer held the glare for a long moment. Too easily, Cris read the retort sharpening his superior’s features. Fifty years and yet who’s his right hand?
Roquefort didn’t have to speak the words. They each knew the truth of them.
All the servants of the Guild were bound by different shackles. Some, like James, obeyed for fear of their own demise. Others obeyed out of loyalty, gratitude to the man who’d set them free. Roquefort fell in with that elite group. And a very few were held to unwavering obedience for fear of harm befalling one they loved.
Haydee. Her name whispered across Cris’ heart, reminder of all that this world had stolen. Gaze still locked with the Musketeer, his soul cursed all writers and their ilk. If not for them…
A chime chittered between them, breaking the moment. Rochefort glanced down at the text. “I have to go.”
Cris watched him move into the traffic. “Yes. Go,” he growled under his breath. “Faithful cur.”
A flicker of color caught his eye, shifting focus from rival to target. The splash of lavender and teal from the scarf played nicely against the strawberry blonde of tumbled down hair. He allowed himself a few moments to admire it. Knowing their destination made following her infinitely easier.
As if she felt him watching, Lily’s gaze swept his way. He stood perfectly still, absorbing the impact of a glance and noting her tear rimmed eyes. She continued on, past the office building and on to Adeline. For not the first time, he was thankful guilt hadn’t visited him in a long while. Waiting another moment, he followed at a leisurely pace.
Within the Guild, assignment in hand, James wound his way through the labyrinth of turns. Left. Left again. Then right. He’d memorized the straightest path months ago, knowing the inevitable questions and lost time if he strayed; though sometimes the house seemed determined to turn him around.
Slipping a watch from his pocket, he clicked it open. Nearly six. Perhaps Sophie had secured that book of Rilke he’d been asking for. Better hurry, if you want to spend any time in the library at all.
James took another left, muscle memory allowing his thoughts to wander. Lily? What to make of you? Despite a fitful sleep, she hadn’t left his thoughts all day.
The last right and…
James pulled up short. This
wasn’t the way out. It was the way to Her chamber. The Oracle. The one all new recruits were sent to for scrying. God, how I hate the memory.
But not the woman.
Nearly to the door, James flinched. Why would I think that? He didn’t know her other than in that room. Do I? Hesitation froze him where he stood. Why had his feet even brought him here?
A noise, her step on the other side of the impossibly solid door, returned reality with ice water clarity. If they found him here, there’d be questions he didn’t know the answers to.
Jerking back the way he’d come, James’ stride ate the carpet. Determination reigned even when he heard her door open behind him. She said nothing. He fled without looking.
6
Shrugging out of her heavy coat, Lily draped it across one of the two chairs in the librarian’s office. She left her gray NaNoWriMo pullover on, advertising the write-in she’d be hosting after closing.
“Hey, Lily. How’s it going?”
Allowing herself a moment before exhaling, Lily rifled through the bag as if she wanted something else, fingers closing around the lanyard she actually did need. “Good.” Chocolate, you failed me. “Good.” Smiling brightly she faced Sophie, the head librarian. “Are we expecting a big crowd tonight?” The lanyard slipped easily over her head, under the long ponytail, and dropped to her chest. “Did you get the biscuits?” Lily drew another breath and held it, waiting for Sophie to look away. The old woman always saw too much.
Sophie squinted, cocking her head slightly before opening both arms wide. “Come here, Honey,” she said. Lily didn’t hesitate. She stepped into the squashy embrace, letting the older woman’s love surround and fill her. “What’s wrong?” Sophie asked across the top of her head.
Lily inhaled the vanilla and citrus cloud Sophie always wore and knew peace. She shook her head, clearing it of the self-doubt and pity. She’d done nothing wrong at the doctor’s office. She’d worked hard and honestly. Let it go. You didn’t even like it there.
“Nothing,” she said, regret still lingering on her beagle. Distracted thoughts had left her less than sympathetic to his sniffing needs. I’ll surprise him with another walk before supper.
“Are you sure?” Sophie pulled back to study her better. Catching sight of something, she nodded. “Yes. I think you are.”
“Thanks, Sophie.”
Moving with her customary briskness, Sophie crossed to a tattered box in the corner of her office. “It’s November and I still have kids claiming prizes from the summer reading program. Do we have any astronaut ice cream left?”
“Only strawberry. Are they in the Young Writers Program? The time’s changed on Tuesday’s write-in.”
Sophie straightened, joints creaking with an audible pop. “Yes, they are.” She held one of the last packs of strawberry as if it might be pirate treasure. “I’ll tell them.” Her gaze made a final searching pass over Lily’s face before arching a brow. “Five o’clock, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Want me to bring out the new books to process?”
“Sure. I haven’t had time. Oh, wait.” Pulling keys from her pocket, a two inch folded knife among the jangling mess, she cut into the box with one motion. “Swiss Family Robinson is probably in there.” Rifling through before the flaps fully parted, luckily the one she sought rested near the top. “There you are! Back at last.” Sophie held the book up at several different angles, flipping open the cover, and then thumbing through the pages. “Hmm. Good condition. Abby will be thrilled. It should last a few years.”
“Let’s hope so. She’s read the backs off of it twice now.”
“Everyone has a favorite.” Ice cream and book tucked close, Sophie left the office. Lily wrestled the box up into her arms. Fifty pounds if it weighed an ounce, but she’d grown used to such lifting. Books weren’t made of feathers and they’d always been her greatest joy. With a harumph she wrangled it out of the room.
“Excuse me. Do you work here?”
Lily, behind the front desk with the box still hugged to her chest, suppressed a smile. Surely someone couldn’t be asking her. Such questions zinged against her irony-loving funny bone, but no one could be so absurdly silly. Could they?
Surely they weren’t. The little old lady stood a scant two yards away, gazing up at someone else. He didn’t work at the library, but had kindly paused his own search, expressing a mix of surprise and confusion. Lily knew that face.
“James?”
He blinked, wonderment with the previous question visibly magnified at the sight of Lily. He leaned forward on his cane, lightly clearing his throat. “Lily,” he said without question. He’d recognized her instantly.
She smiled to welcome him, rescuing him the next instant. “Helen, may I help you with something?”
Relief flooded the silver haired woman’s face. “There you are. Why are you so late?” She latched onto Lily’s arm as if it were a buoy on storm-tossed seas. “And where is my Count of Monte Cristo? You know I always read it in November.”
One arm captive, Lily left the box on the checkout counter. “That’s my fault. Sophie asked us to pick our favorites for a special display. I moved him.” Completing a strange little shuffle to reach the swinging doors, she patted the blue-veined hand. “Edmond Dantes is one of my heroes.” She glanced up into James’ eyes. Again he carried a quirk in the corner of his mouth. Trying not to think, to wonder, Lily offered a brief “I’ll be right back,” and guided her patron to the employee picks display.
It took her less than a minute to retrieve the book and interest Helen in two others, but it took three more to find the director of the senior center. Moments later the old woman found herself folded back into the herd. “Thanks, Lily,” Melanie mouthed over the heads of her charges while two assistants did a head count.
Retreating, Lily returned the smile. Winding her way through Young Adult and past the magazine corner, a couple dozen tasks unspooled through her thoughts. Only one pushed itself to the forefront before she rounded the last corner, stopping in front of the return cart. Disappointment panged. James was gone; a quick glance verifying the truth.
“Where’d Mr. Crawford go?”
Lily glanced at Sophie. “Who?”
“Mr. Crawford, my Thursday evenings reader. He has a cane. I wondered where he could be yesterday.”
“What does he read?”
“English poets mostly. He asked me once if I could get some more Keats. Oh, he was looking for Rilke. I need to check on that.” Sophie opened the box anew. “You’ve never met him? He’s been coming for at least a year.”
“I’m never here on Thursdays.” Lily frowned, thoughts tumbling into random, interconnected queries. Three times in twenty-four hours? I write too many coincidences to believe in them. What had she started by bumping into James? Who did he remind her of? Everyone reminded her of someone. Sophie reminded her of Sarah’s Aunt Mattie in Skylark. Who are you, Mr. Crawford?
“Lily, what is it?”
Snapped back to reality, Lily inhaled sharply. “Nothing at all.” Regaining focus, shoulders straightening, she offered a little smile. “Just thinking about something.”
“Wrote yourself into a corner last night?” A smile indulged where the next words did not. “Well then, Kylie went home early and the cart is overflowing. Think these back onto the shelves while you unravel your plot holes.”
Already alphabetizing a stack of juvenile fiction, Lily glanced up before lifting the stack along the length of one arm. “She okay?”
“I think she broke up with Scott again.”
“That girl. I wish she’d stay broke up this time.”
Sophie grazed the top of her half-moon glasses, look expressing her thoughts more eloquently than any words. “Hmm,” she grunted.
Lily fled before a smile became a laugh, spelling disaster for the books wedged between chin and hand. Looking down at the cover of the first, she walked towards a group of giggling tweens with only her peripherals for guidance.
&n
bsp; James watched her whittle down the stack of books with remarkable swiftness. She not only seemed to know where they lived with startling certainty, he felt certain she knew quite a few intimately. The lass is a reader. More than half the books brought a smile when she grazed the title. And Edmond Dantes is one of her favorites. Curious.
She returned to the silver cart frequently over the next hour, pausing often to chat with patrons both familiar and lost. Her journeys took her all over the library, but never up to the computer loft overlooking the main floor. He remained grateful for it. Seeing her a third time had been more jarring than he cared to admit. “Who are you, Lily?” he wondered, just loud enough to touch his own ear.
Or perhaps a bit louder than that. To the right and left, a dozen fellow patrons tapped out beats impossible to count across their keyboards. Miles of information streaming between fingertips and the glowing screens before their eyes. All were absorbed in the dwindling time allotted and various projects only half finished. All except one.
A man at the end of the row wasn’t absorbed in his computer at all. Chair half turned, dark brown eyes fixed on James, he carried neither kindness nor curiosity in his gaze. Open suspicion flinted on the air.
Sophie’s voice filtered up to him. “Lily, would you set up the tables while I make coffee?”
James pulled his eyes from Lily’s guardian, dropping his gaze over the rail to the old Jewish woman. He’d met Sophie on his first day out. Two years in the making, with the entire city to explore, and he’d found his way to the library. Cris still chuckled over it.
James looked back and frowned. The young man was gone. Yet no one had passed him by.
A bang diverted his attention back to the lower level. Lily seemed to be setting up four folding tables, each six feet long and a bit heavier than one woman should probably handle. Why wasn’t her dark-haired guardian helping her with them?
