Paper Children (Phoebe Harkness Book 3)

by James Fahy

  “Whoever it was pointing me here said this was a good place to come to bone up on angel knowledge,” I told Lucy, looking up and around thoughtfully at the distinctive gold-yellow walls of the courtyard rising up on all four sides around us, muted to soft grey in the stormy light.

  “Angel-boning. Got it. Aren’t there like a gazzilion books here though?” Lucy hugged her own arms for warmth. From the brooding skies above, I felt the first few tentative drops of rain, soft kisses on the hushed gravel of the quad around us. “Wouldn’t it be like looking for a needle in a big old stack of needles?”

  “This courtyard is called the quadrangle,” I explained to Lucy, who didn’t really bother with history. “You know that the library was a school right, back in Bodley’s time?” I pointed to the statue.

  “This is Oxford, Doc,” Lucy narrowed her eyes at me. “Every bloody building is a school for something or other. Schools are what we do.”

  “My point is, it helps to know where in this vast library we’re supposed to be looking.”

  We walked across the courtyard towards the large bronze statue before the main doors. It peered over our heads, gazing out at our new world from ancient eyes at a world all but destroyed.

  “By the time Thomas Bodley died, which was sixteen-hundred-and-something,” I said. “I don’t know the exact date, even I’m not that much of a history geek, Luce.” I gave her stern side eye. “The expansion of the library was only just starting. This courtyard we’re standing in right now was added shortly after his death. Three new wings were added to this part, the proscholium and arts end, that’s how this inner square came to be.” I looked around at the library towering above us on all sides, its tall sheltering walls blocking out the wind. “Each wing has three floors… above ground anyway. Except for the Divinity School, which is right inside these main doors here,” I pointed to where the gaggle of Helsings had rushed inside. “It’s where I first met the lovely Oscar Scott, shortly before us both being tazed at his dear old dad’s swanky soiree way back when.”

  “Happy memories,” Lucy sighed, teasing.

  “The ground and upper floors were originally used as lecture theatres and an art gallery.” I glanced inside the main doors. “Well, most of them; Duke Humfrey’s library, up above, was books, books, books. Of course as the library grew, book space took nearly everything else over. All of the art was mainly moved across town into the Ashmolean museum. The lectures moved to different, purpose-built buildings, each of the actual schools you see the entrances to in the four corners of this courtyard were moved out of the library entirely.”

  “That’s progress, I guess,” Lucy said. “More books and knowledge arrive, kick the students out, they’re in the way.”

  I smirked. “That’s not what I meant. I’m just explaining that it helps to know what’s where here, if we’re going to find anything. The different school rooms in the library these days are admin buildings for the staff, a few meeting rooms, one is a gift shop. A lot of treasures of the library used to be displayed here, but they’ve all been moved over to the Weston library now, those that aren’t important enough to be ‘rehoused’ in Cabal HQ that is anyway.”

  “Why is your head full of irrelevant knowledge, Doc?” Lucy asked. “You can’t name five current bands anyone normal has actually heard of, but you know how dead librarians from the seventeenth century used to arrange their furniture.”

  “Because, my dear bobblehead, some of it actually comes in useful.” I swiped at her woolly hat, but she ducked out of my way. “The text message said ‘Corinthian’.”

  “Even I know that’s a bible reference, right,” Lucy nodded, clearly pleased with herself.

  “I don’t think that’s what it meant.” I shook my head, feeling bad for disappointing her. “Not in this context anyway. There’s another possible interpretation. Something else it could be referring to.” Standing with our backs to the main doors into the library, I pointed back across the quad, at the opposite wing, soaring above the gatehouse. “You see this tower?”

  This whole wing of the courtyard facing us, by far the most impressive in my opinion of the four, was highly decorated stonework, rising up in sculpted glory, pillars, columns and pediments, all elaborately and skilfully carved, until the central section of the wing soared above the main roof and pierced the dark, cloud-rolling skies.

  “It’s kind of hard to miss,” Lucy answered. “It looks like a castle boinked a church and had a building baby.”

  I ignored her description of what I considered one of the prettiest facades in the city. “Its name is the Tower of Five Orders,” I told her. “Do you notice how the style of architecture changes from level to level? Each ascending layer, as you go up the building, the styling of the columns is slightly different in detail, each from a different period in sculpture and architectural history.”

  “I’ve never noticed that before,” Lucy peered across the space with genuine interest for the first time all day. It had begun to rain properly now. Lightly for now, but still threatening to downpour.

  “This was a school as well as a library, remember,” I said. “Teaching ancient classics, as all schools did back then. Including sculpture and architecture. How better to teach than to show? The ornamentation displayed on each level of the columns of that tower, quite deliberately, are the five orders of classical architecture.” I pointed with my finger, counting them off as I gestured upwards at the decoration on the impressive façade. “Tuscan, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, and Composite.”

  On the level with the Corinthian columns, amongst the many dark windows which dotted the walls, one in particular glowed, a welcoming yellow in the darkness of the rainy day.

  “Corinthian,” Lucy nodded. “What’s up there these days?”

  “Private reading rooms,” I told her. “It was all repurposed after the war, once the wall went up. That whole wing is used for all kinds of functions, private corporate meetings etc these days. You can rent the rooms out. And it looks like something is in session up there by the Corinthians, don’t you agree?”

  I moved towards the main doors. “Let’s go angel hunting, Lucy, before the heavens open completely.”

  As we made our way inside, and out of the towering quadrangle, the first low peal of thunder shuddered out over my city. A threatening grumble between the stones and the skies.

  There were a few students milling around in the dim silence of the library within. By the time we had made our way around the interior to the correct wing of the Tower of Five Orders, the deluge had come. Rain was thundering against the ancient leaded windows, making the light outside even dimmer and lending a constant muffled background roar to the hushed interior. The unmistakable smell of old books hung in the air between softly lit stacks and small study areas, incredibly cosy in the gloom, each area illuminated with muted desk lamps over which were hunched industrious first years. You could always tell university freshmen by the extremeness of the hunch. University life threw you deep into the Olympic pool of studying, and you didn’t really get your armbands until second or third year. Surrounded by high piles of books on all sides and with furrowed frowns, these poor kids were trying not to drown.

  No one really noticed me or Lucy passing through, our tread soft on the old boards, a silent flash of lightning throwing spiky window shadows momentarily across the floors.

  Atmospheric as it was, I wondered if this storm was set in for the day. Honestly… who thinks to organise outdoor movie festivals and street parades in England in October? More fool you, vamps. I wanted to shrug it off, but as we approached the Tower of Five Orders from within, my eyes strayed to the windows again, and I crossed my fingers in hope that despite Coldwater’s enthusiasm, she would be too tied up with the missing children case to organise any GO liaison work for me tonight.

  I didn’t want to go and schmooze vampires in the rain. An image of Dove flashed in my mind, entirely unbidden, tied to my bed. I shook it off guiltily. Even pretty ones, thanks, I add
ed sternly to myself.

  We passed out of the reading rooms, into a wide stairwell and began to climb. It was quiet here, our feet echoing on the marble steps, the wooden handrail of the staircase worn smooth and polished under my fingers by centuries of previous hands.

  “What are you thinking?” Lucy asked me in a low whisper. If you’re British, it is genetically inbuilt to whisper when in any kind of library building, even in the stairwells where there’s no one else around. It’s a primal instinct only matched by our impulse to form orderly queues and pass judgement on each other’s tea-making abilities.

  I looked at her guiltily. ‘Whether Allesandro or Dove would look more impressive in a wet white shirt in this rainstorm’ seemed to be a very inappropriate answer to give out loud. And hardly professional with the task in hand. I shook off my mental wanderings of a vampiric Mr Darcy emerging from the lake, flicking my eyes away from the stormy windows.

  “About what?” I said, in a tighter voice than I’d planned.

  “About who sent you the message? Think it was the kidnapper? Or maybe someone inside Cabal, with more information that us?”

  I frowned as we turned at the next level and continued upwards further. Thunder rattled the windows again. “Neither feels right,” I answered. “That playful tone, I don’t know.” I shrugged. “It seemed familiar to me. But we don’t have much else to go on, so-”

  Lucy had grabbed my sleeve and shushed me. I followed her gaze. At the turn of the next level of the stairs, which by my reckoning would indeed bring us to the Corinthian level, a man on the empty landing stood guarding a door like a bouncer. Smart suit, military-boring hair, hands clasped neatly in front of him. Built like a brick shithouse. Bored expression. It was a Cabal Ghost. There was no mistaking it. I wondered briefly if there was a printing press somewhere at HQ that just churned them out.

  “Shit bugger bollocks and fuck,” I whispered irritably. We were still just out of sight of him, crouched as we were on the turn of the stairs. “Wait here, let me deal with this,” I whispered to Lucy, who nodded and held back.

  He stirred as I reached the top of the stairs, stiffening slightly and straightening his back. I gave him my most casual just-passing-through smile. I didn’t see any flicker of recognition in his face. Good. He didn’t know who I was, it seemed.

  “Bloody awful day,” I said in polite small talk, indicating the rain hammering the windows. “Sorry, if I can just-”

  He held out an arm to politely bar my way as I made to move around him through the door, feigning complete ignorance that he was clearly guarding it. Why would it be guarded anyway, it was a public library.

  “Sorry miss, this part of the library is closed right now.”

  I blinked at him, doing my best to look politely surprised. “Oh? How do you mean?”

  “The rooms are booked for a private meeting,” he replied flatly, his hooded eyes meeting mine.

  “Oh! Oh, I see.” I smiled my best smile. “I just need to pick up something for my research. I have a lecture to give this afternoon and I completely forgot to copy it up for my students. I’ll be two minutes, tops. I won’t disturb anyone.”

  His stony face didn’t flicker.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to come back later.”

  I stepped back, resting my weight on one hip. Damn. I’d thought I could maybe breeze through in the cunning disguise of a forgetful university lecturer. “This is a public library you know.”

  He nodded. “It is. However, these rooms are temporarily private.” His eyes didn’t leave mine for a second. He wasn’t wearing any ID. No Cabal badge. Nothing to indicate where he was from or who he worked for. Whatever ‘private meeting’ was going on was obviously extremely off the books.

  “Who holds a private meeting in a public place?” I asked.

  “Private people, miss.” he replied, allowing me a polite and entirely insincere smile. His mouth said ‘friendly chap’, but his eyes said ‘go away right now’.

  “Perhaps I should have a word with the head librarian?” I said, clearly frustrated. A treacherous part of my mind wondered if that was a thing. Was there a head librarian? Like a king? Or were they more of a hive mind? I didn’t know much about librarians, other than that they had scared me often when I’d been a med student.

  “The main desk back at the entrance is where you can find administrative staff,” he said in helpful and completely flat tones.

  I sighed, nodding. It was clear he wasn’t letting me through.

  “Well…” I said. “I’ll just have to explain to my students why their lecture is going to be cancelled then, won’t I?” I turned and huffed back to the stairs, dragging Lucy down a few more once I was out of sight, in case the Ghost agent was listening for the sounds of my footsteps receding.

  “We’re not getting past the incredible bulk,” I sneered. “The asshat pretty much fills the doorway, and I sadly left my Taser at home. He didn’t buy my ‘just needing to grab one book’ cunning plan. There’s definitely something going on back there.”

  Lucy looked thoughtful for a moment. “The stairs continue up past this level right? There’s another floor above the Corinthian level?”

  I nodded, not seeing what she was driving at. “Yes… and?”

  “Wait here, Doc” she said, patting my arm. “Go for it when the door is clear, get in there like a whippet when you get the chance.”

  “Luce, he’s really not going to let us past-” I began to insist in a hushed whisper, but she was already climbing the stairs before I could grab and stop her.

  She left me crouching in the stairwell, the rain beating heavily on the windows.

  I heard her pass a polite hello as she crossed the guarded door, and then listened to her footsteps continuing above me as she headed further up to the reading rooms which lay on the top floor. After a few moments, I heard doors open and close up there, and then silence.

  Awkwardly I waited on the staircase, forcing myself not to crouch like some guilty-looking cat-burglar. Minutes passed. Libraries are quiet places anyway. Staircase corridors in libraries even more so. It was cold. I heard the guard cough a little a couple of times, and, clearly thinking he was alone, yawn loudly in boredom. I was grateful for the rain thrumming persistently on the thick glass of the stairwell window. I felt sure that both he and I would be able to hear my heartbeat otherwise. I’m not good at lurking. I’m far too self-conscious and awkward.

  Time spooled on, and Lucy did not return. Wondering what she was up to, I allowed my gaze to drift to the window. The view of the streets outside the library seemed foggy in the rain. The sky a bruise, the street glistening. From up here I could see the famous arched Bridge of Sighs arcing between two buildings, a covered walkway of stone making Oxford seem like Venice. The rainwater on the glossy road beneath it mirrored a canal, furthering the illusion. I wondered if any more vampires had been murdered today. If the drones would find us another GO ‘incident’ scene to add to our to-do list. I worried about Dove’s superstitious rumours of an avenging angel picking off his people one by one. And I worried about children I’d never met being snatched helplessly out of their homes. New Oxford seemed dark and menacing out there. Unfamiliar, even to me, when things I couldn’t explain were prowling the streets.

  Eventually, after about ten minutes according to my watch, I heard the doors on the floor above open, and I twitched my attention from the rainy city and back inside. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I don’t know Lucy well enough to recognise her just from her footfalls, but I hadn’t seen any other ‘student’ go up to the reading rooms while I’d been here waiting.

  As they neared the guard’s level, I heard them scuffle, and then a brief but frantic cacophony, followed by a shriek of alarm.

  Startled, I bolted up the stairs and peered carefully around the corner. Lucy, carrying a tottering pile of twenty or more books, was in the process of falling down the stairs, shedding books as she tripped over her own feet. They flew everywhe
re as she fell back, clattering down the last three or four marble steps on her backside and making a terrible racket about it.

  The guard, looking as startled as I had been, automatically rushed from the door to where she had landed at the foot of the stairs on his landing.

  “Ow! Jesus! My sodding ankle!” Lucy moaned loudly, sounding convincingly hurt, embarrassed and surprised.

  “Are you alright?” He had already knelt in front of her, looking concerned, his hand reaching for her ankle.

  “Such a moron!” she said, wincing convincingly. “Didn’t see the bloody step. Think my whole life just flashed before my eyes then!” She hissed dramatically as he tentatively touched her ankle with his fingertips. The large man flinching back briefly at the noise.

  “God, I’m such an idiot,” she giggled, still wincing. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I probably scared the heck out of you.” She tried to stand, grabbing his arm for support, but grimaced and sat down again, hissing convincingly like a cat and almost pulling him off balance.

  I emerged fully onto the landing. His back was to me, his entire attention, understandably, on the clumsy student sprawled on the steps above. I saw Lucy glance at me meaningfully over his shoulder, her wide eyes flicking toward the door he had left unguarded as he valiantly abandoned his post to help the ‘damsel in distress’.

  “Do you think its broken?” he said. “Try turning it in a circle.”

  “I think it’s just… sprained.” She whimpered, still seated, she reached around, trying to collect the books which lay showered all around her on the steps.

  “No, wait, let me get those,” he insisted.

  Taking my chance, I crept soundlessly along the hallway, taking care not to let me shoes make any noise on the hard floor of the landing, and put my hand on the doorknob. I wondered it if would make a noise as I turned it. I saw that Lucy, looking over the man’s shoulder, had noticed me pause, hesitant to turn the handle.