by Casey White
She wasn’t slowing down to let him ask, and so he hurried on, still scanning the line of scholars.
A creak echoed back from the front of the line. Owl craned his head, bouncing up to his tiptoes, and saw Crow slip into the entryway.
One after another, they filed in. There were enough of them to fill the room, bunching together in an uncomfortable mass. Crow stood by the exit, her shoulders slumped.
“I’m sorry, again,” she said, turning and raising her voice. “I know this is unplanned.
“If you’re so sorry,” one began, but she turned her black-feather mask toward him with a snap. He shut up.
“Your library cards have already been amended,” Crow continued, still glaring at the man. “Once the doors have reopened, I encourage each of you to return for the remainder of your study.”
Her foot kicked out, impacting the door behind her. It groaned open, filling the room with light, and she stepped out of the entryway.
The visitors stood frozen, pinned in place by the fierce glow. No one seemed willing to take the first step.
Owl shifted from foot to foot, a bead of moisture rolling down the small of his back. Go, he willed, screaming in the silence of his mind. Just go, and-
Crow cleared her throat. Pointedly.
The man out front glowered, muttering something dark and foul under his breath - but took a step forward, trudging into the doorway.
As though spurred by his movement, the others stumbled forward. One after another, they passed through the doorway, blurring out into the blinding light.
Marv lingered, glancing back, and his eyes connected with Owl’s. The man smiled faintly, and inclined his head.
And then he too was gone, and Crow stepped forward.
The door shut behind them, blocking out the light. She dropped her hand into her pocket, pulling out a familiar key from within.
Just like before, the sound of a heavy, final clunk echoed through the chamber.
They were alone. Again.
Owl stood transfixed, lingering by the entrance still. Crow turned, pulling her hood loose from her head and starting to undo the straps holding her mask on. He perked up, leaping to follow her lead. Freedom from the heavy, hot clay? He didn’t need to be told twice.
He worked the mask free, cradling it against his chest with a happy sigh - and stopped.
“There,” Jean said, taking a step forward. “That’s settled. Sorry, kid. I know that wasn’t a pleasant event.”
“Y-Yeah,” he stammered. “Will...Will they...”
Her steps slowed. “Indira won’t be happy,” she said, her voice low. “But there’s no other choice. And I’ll honor their damn stamps. They’ll get their full day here - later.”
“Okay,” Daniel whispered, his eyes still fixed to her. “Should I...I could go back to the wings and continue studying. Or maybe you could show me how to-”
His throat closed around the words as Jean looked toward him, her green eyes tired. “Yeah,” she said, smiling gently. “I’ve got another lesson. Something we need to discuss.” She lifted a hand, running her fingers through her hair as though she could shake the exhaustion loose. “Look after your own duties for a while. When you’ve finished...” Her lips hung open and parted, her eyes unreadable. Finally, she straightened herself, pinning the mask to her waistband. “Come find me, once you’ve seen to everything.”
She didn’t say where, and he didn’t need to ask. She turned without another word, striding off into the Library.
He watched her go, motionless. His eyes stayed glued to her form.
And to the silver that streaked her once-soft brown hair.
* * * * *
The arched walls loomed around him, eerily silent.
Daniel hurried onward, one final book clutched in his hand. Rooms swept past - a cave, filled with scrolls. A tent, with richly painted skins hanging from every available surface. But none of them looked right for the book he held.
He was being stupid. He knew he was being stupid, and yet...he couldn’t quite make himself stop. He’d done as Jean asked. He’d gone back to his normal duties, seeing to Alexandria’s needs as the silence fell heavier and heavier around them.
Through the months of having outsiders crawling all over their library, he’d never have expected to become used to them. He never thought he’d miss the noise, the call of familiar voices. But now, Alexandria just felt...empty.
A feeling made all the worse by Jean’s odd distance, the frailty that seemed to grow within her with every passing second.
And so he’d dragged his feet, carrying the texts to their new homes in ones and twos when he could have carried the stacks aloft with his mind. He’d scoured every last wing for a dreamer, praying for a glimpse of light, a flicker of movement from within the shelves.
Nothing. He’d found nothing at all. Biting his lip, Owl strode on, turning the next corner.
And found himself at the head of a short, narrow hallway. A single door waited before him.
He froze, his blood turning to ice. The walls seemed to press in closer around him. The candles on the walls burned brighter, seething with a warm, comforting light.
Finally, he slumped, his arms falling to his sides. “Only one way left, huh?” he whispered.
One of the candles alongside him popped, a spark falling from its wick.
Get yourself together, the Library seemed to be telling him. Stop running away from it.
He nodded, swallowing over and over again until he felt a little more...together. Steeling himself before he could run away, he snatched at the handle, pulling the door open.
Row after row of bookshelves waited within, every bit as dark and cramped as the hallway outside. Daniel tossed the book in, scarcely waiting to watch it land on a heap, and spun.
The report of his boots against the stones echoed through the silent halls as he broke into a run.
The Library stretched out before him, guiding him back. He ignored the rooms that passed, the untold mysteries contained within. He’d never see all of it, and he didn’t have time to look.
His legs burned, protesting the run. His lungs ached. He ran anyway, flying past gardens and laboratories gleaming with glasswork.
Until at last, the stone underfoot turned to carpet, and he skidded to a stop.
Jean looked up. The familiar overstuffed chair she favored...all but swallowed her up. Her skin hung from her bones, etched with wrinkles and lines.
The gleam of silver he’d seen before had changed, transforming to a river that washed away all the color she had left. Her hair hung about her face in thinning, limp strands.
Daniel stared, his eyes wide and terrified.
She smiled. More than any of the rest of it, that stood out to him. She smiled, and it was so familiar it hurt. The rest of her had changed, but that smile...
That smile told him this wasn’t a dream, that this wasn’t a stranger.
“Sit down, Daniel,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
He wanted to move. His limbs twitched, right on the verge of running to her, but he just...couldn’t.
Her smile didn’t change, but a sadness slipped onto her face, turning the expression wistful.
“We have a lot to discuss.”
- Chapter Nine -
Daniel stood frozen in place, staring. The fire crackled away happily, the only noise in the room.
Jean. She was...
“Jean?” he whispered. She’d explain, if he gave her a moment. Surely. She could explain what was happening, what’d happened to her.
Any second now, she’d open her mouth, and explain everything.
But she only sat there, her eyes dark and sad and her limbs steadily vanishing into the voluminous cushions.
“Sit, Daniel,” she said at last, her expression softening. “You look exhausted. And...this might take a moment.”
He looked exhausted? She was the one who seemed ready to keel over, who had transformed before his eyes
from the woman he knew into...into this wraith.
But the words ran away every time he reached for them, and her eyes never left his. Slowly, hardly trusting himself to walk, Daniel crept toward the chairs.
The cushions groaned under him as he sat, still gaping at her.
“We have a lot we should talk about,” she said, her voice whisper-thin. “Like I said.”
“L-Like what?” Daniel said, confusion still seething ice-cold in his mind. “Jean, what’s wrong? Why do you look so-”
He stopped, his cheeks flushing. Something in his mind rebelled at the thought, at the question. An image swam up behind his eyelids - a shadowed figure, a silhouette leaning over him.
Now, Daniel, he heard it say, one finger held out admonishingly. You should never ask a woman her age.
Her voice...it screamed at the edge of his senses, so familiar it hurt and yet completely unknown. Tears burned, welling up in the corners of his eyes. Why? Who was it? Where had their words come from?
He blinked, and the silhouette vanished. Jean waited in its place, her hands folded in her lap.
“Why are you old?” he whispered. There wasn’t a nice way to ask - but Jean had always wanted him to be direct. To be honest.
Her lips curled into a tiny, sardonic smile. “Because I am old, Daniel.”
“That’s a lie,” he said, beginning to bristle. “You’re not old. You-”
“I am not old in Alexandria because I do not wish to be old,” Jean said, never raising her voice. He faltered, his anger fading, and her smile twisted. “The Library runs on belief, Daniel. I know that, you know that. This is no different. But the body you see here?”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “This is as I am. Truly.”
A light went on in his head - a piece settling into place. “Out there. In the outside world.”
Slowly, she inclined her head. “Yes.”
Daniel only blinked, fighting desperately to keep up. Jean was...old? She looked different than he thought? Unease kindled within him at the notion. She’d been keeping secrets from him. He didn’t like that. It was just one more bit of wrongness to throw on top of the pile, though.
She leaned forward, her hands still clasped around each other like sticks held together with translucent skin. “I’d hoped to have more time. I thought...” Her lips pressed together briefly, tightening. “Well. I hadn’t planned on Adrian doing the things he did. And now, I’m afraid we’re going to have to hurry.”
Why. Daniel sat motionless, his eyes pinned to Jean as she leaned to the side. Why is there a hurry?
When she leaned back, she clutched something in her hands - a folder, plain manilla and filled with papers.
“The Library needs guests, Daniel,” she said, her voice low. “We’ve discussed this before.”
“Y-Yeah,” he managed.
She flipped the folder open, angling it toward him. Almost on instinct, he scooted forward, craning his neck until he could read the pages.
Names, he saw immediately. Names, and what looked like...biographies. Data stretched out before him, with red ink slathered across the page in notes and red X’s.
“They’ll send you candidates,” Jean whispered. He looked up. She smiled down at him. “The Booklenders. They’ll have their ears to the ground, looking for people whose research...could benefit, from a place like ours.”
“And that’s these people?” Daniel said, turning his eyes back to the page. A woman smiled up from the sheet at him, her picture pinned to the corner of the bio.
“Precisely.” Jean’s fingers brushed across the page, smoothing a wrinkle out. “You must watch them, Daniel. They’ll want to pick candidates that benefit them. Look carefully. Choose those who best deserve it, and no one else.” She chuckled. “And not too many at once. I’ve been the Librarian for decades, and I’m comfortable with more, but you shouldn’t rush into things. Two, perhaps three, for a while. No more than five at any time.”
“And no mages,” he said flashing her a grin. Something in him screamed to lighten the mood, to bring everything down just a little bit from the worrisome point it’d reached.
Jean chuckled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “No mages.”
He laughed too, but the mention of their hunters sent his mind spinning off down a new, ominous road. “The people...” he began, then stopped.
Jean waited, tilting her head to one side, but he only made a face. “Spit it out,” she said.
“That’s...a lot of people,” he said, his eyes dropping. He wriggled lower in his chair, glancing to the stack of candidates. “Aren’t we supposed to be...secret? Isn’t...” Again, he trailed off, cringing under the look she gave him.
But she laughed again, beginning to nod. “Ah, it’s a good question, kid. Don’t worry. I said this place worked a little differently from out there, right? That we’re sleeping, in a way?”
She had said that. He bobbed his head in a nod, perking up.
“This is a sort of dream, then,” Jean said, leaning back. “And most people don’t remember their dreams when they wake up. Those who do?” She shrugged. “It’ll be a little blurry. Fogged. They’ll have their notes, Daniel, and their hazy memories, and the knowledge that something inside them...changed. Their horizons were opened.”
“O-Oh,” Daniel said.
“But that’s all,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his knee. “Besides. Even if they piece it all together, who could they tell?” Her smile twisted, turning sly. “Running around telling stories about magic libraries and people wearing bird masks would get them sent straight to the looney bin.”
“The...The l-looney bin?” Daniel squeaked, shaping his lips around the unfamiliar words. “What’s...uh. What’s that?”
The humor beginning to paint her face crumpled and faded, leaving her blank and cold again. “Ah,” she said. “Don’t...Don’t worry about it, Daniel.” Her eyelids drooped lower. “You’ll see it all soon. It’ll make more sense. Soon.”
“...Okay,” he said, shifting in his seat. It didn’t make sense. He wanted her to explain - but she didn’t like it when he argued or pushed for an answer. And he didn’t want to make her angry. Not when she looked like a strong wind might blow her over.
“It’ll be fine,” she said, forcing her smile back into face. “That’s the important part. The Library will look after you.”
“Y-Yeah,” he said, but squeaked as she stood in a rush, abandoning her chair and crossing to him. Her hand latched about his shoulder.
“Remember that much,” she said, her eyes intense. “Alexandria will look after you. She’ll protect you. You’re hers, as much as she belongs to you now.”
“I know,” he whispered.
Her fingers clenched against his jacket. “Trust her. Even when it’s hard.”
“I will.” This was wrong. This was all wrong. Her words...there was a finality to them he didn’t like, a difference between this lesson and all her others.
She seemed to realize it, too, coming back to herself in the blink of an eye. She stood, turning to the table between them, and crouched. A wire rack lay underneath it - one Daniel had never given a second look. The Library was full of trinkets and artifacts, relics from a distant age.
But Jean stood, cradling a box in her hand. Glancing up to make sure he was watching, she held it up - and then wrapped her skeletal fingers about the lid, cracking it open.
A stamp lay within, neatly tucked on top of a varnished case. She put it down on the table, then, reaching inside and pulling both free.
“It’s simple,” she said, raising the stamp for it to see. He recognized the symbol on it - he’d seen it scattered about Alexandria, from engravings on the mantleplace to paintings in the hallways.
And he’d seen it hanging around his neck. Slowly, hardly daring to move, he lifted a hand, pressing against the front of his jacket. The metallic weight of his pendant waited there - his pendant, and Jean’s.
She chuckled. He looked up - and foun
d her looking back at him. “Keep that hidden,” she said, her voice low. “You don’t have to show it at all, if you don’t want. I wouldn’t, if I was you.” Her eyes lidded again, and she shook her head sadly. “Ahh, well. That was to be a trick for another day. Hide it - that’s all you need to know, kid.”
Hide it? Could...could he do something like that? Daniel bit his lip, closing his eyes. Jean said he could - and she’d never lied to him before. If she said so, then-
The pressure against his chest vibrated faintly - and then vanished. His hand pushed in, meeting only smooth leather and skin. He jumped, eyes going round, and started to smile nervously.
“See? It’s easy,” Jean said, then waved the stamp again. “You guessed it, though. This is connected to the Library too. It’s real straightforward.”
She teetered on her heels, as though about to fall over at any moment, but reached back toward the folder and snagged a page.
“You’ll review the candidates,” she said, hanging the page in front of his eyes. “Carefully. And when you’ve decided?”
Raising the stamp in her other hand, she waggled it meaningfully.
“I...I stamp it,” Daniel said.
“You stamp it. And then?” She jabbed with the hand still clutching the wood-and-rubber shape - toward the fire. “You burn it.”
That seemed...doable. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Jean said. The stamp dropped back into the wooden chest. She closed the lid again, and dropped to perch on the edge of her seat.
And she sat.
Daniel waited, with the firelight casting flickering shadows across the sitting room. At any moment, he expected her to begin again. But she only sat there, staring down at the floor.
“Is...Is that all?” he ventured, cringing back from the biting retort he knew was coming.
She laughed instead, a low, breathy sound. “Lord, no. No, child, there’s...there’s too much.” Her hands lifted to her face, her palms pressed to her eyes. “There’s...far too much.”
