The Library (The Librarian of Alexandria Book 1)

by Casey White

  The floorboards grumbled under his feet - a no if ever he’d heard one. His brow furrowed. Alex...usually wasn’t this ostentatious. Okay, well, she was excessive. She’d be more than happy to dazzle and display her magical freedoms as she pleased. But normally she had more appreciation for presentation than this.

  If this wasn’t Alexandria trying to show off for their guest, then...He picked his way through the packed-in paintings, craning his head from side to side.

  “Olivia?” he called, raising his voice just a little as he passed an oil painting of a man and a dog. “You in here?”

  A set of velvet curtains waggled at the wind of his passage, dust marring their deep crimson. He frowned, pausing. Silence. Nothing. Swallowing a curse, he plunged in deeper.

  The next room was occupied by a massive fresco that stretched from wall to wall. He paused for a split second, smiling despite himself at the soothing, inviting waves of grass and grain and flowers. I’m okay, Alex. I’m not upset.

  “Hey,” he called again, tearing his eyes off the mural. “Olivia. Come out. It’s late. Get your ass up and-”

  “Shit,” someone muttered, low and soft and terse. He stopped - and leaned through the nearest doorway.

  Olivia offered him a smile from her seat on the floor. He was pretty sure it was a smile, anyway. It looked as much like a grimace as anything. “H-Hey.”

  “Hey,” Owl said, arching an eyebrow. He leaned against the frame. “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Didn’t you hear me respond?” she retorted.

  “No. Just you swearing.”

  Her nose wrinkled - but she looked away. Oh, she knew she’d been caught, then. Owl rested his head against the wood, fighting the urge to tap his foot. “You good? I know I said Alex isn’t a dangerous place, but-”

  “But you don’t want us wandering around by ourselves. I get it.”

  He shrugged. “The last lot of you tipped a whole set of shelves over onto themselves. Can you blame me?”

  “Bunch of idiots,” she muttered.

  “Not arguing that.”

  Olivia snorted. “Okay. Fine. You’ve got me. Just one more minute, and I’ll come back. Promise.”

  Owl glanced around the room, taking in the paintings on the walls - and then back down to her. She had her sketchbook open on her lap. The oil and color of the finished piece was different enough from black-and-white pencil that it was hard to be sure, but it looked like she was sketching the paintings.

  Is it for her? he whispered. All these pictures. Did she want to see?

  The night-light glow of the braziers brightened for a moment, then dimmed again.

  Owl made a face, kicking at the tiled floor. Yes, then. Olivia was working - so far as Olivia seemed to ever work. Judging from the half-finished piece on her lap, she wasn’t quite done yet, either. Which meant that if he walked away, she’d probably ‘forget’ that she was supposed to come back, and spend another few hours out here.

  Olivia looked up as he dropped to the tile alongside her. “O-Owl? I don’t need a babysitter, I can-”

  “Like hell,” he retorted, looking at her askance. “You’ll be out here forever. Come on.” He elbowed her, then nodded toward the finished painting. “Hurry up and draw your thing.”

  “I...I’ll be fine, Owl, so-”

  “Just do it, would you?” he muttered.

  She made an exasperated noise, but lifted the sketch pad again. Her pencil flew across the sheet.

  Owl watched her for a moment, letting the silence fall. “Can’t leave you alone for a second,” he said under his breath, chuckling.

  “Bite me.”

  His chuckle grew. Leaning back against the wall, he let his hands rest in his lap. It...wasn’t bad, when it came right down to it. Sitting there, with the lights starting to dim and the world filled with colors around him. “Nice spot you found,” he said, once the quiet had had time to simmer.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her smile. “Isn’t it?” she murmured. Her eyes never left the page, following her pencil as it darted this way and that. “Out here, with no one else around, I swear I can hear her breathe sometimes.”

  “Alexandria, you mean.”

  “Yeah,” Olivia said. Her legs flexed, sprawling out in front of her. “It’s nice, that’s all. Comforting.”

  “Sitting inside a magical, breathing building.”

  Her elbow jabbed into his side. “You know what I mean.”

  Owl drew back, chuckling again. “Ow. Yeah. I do.”

  “And...all of this.” She looked up at last, and her smile darkened. Tempered, like a bit of the mirth had left it. “It’s lovely.”

  He lifted a judgemental eye to the myriad paintings. “It’s...It’s something, all right. I might use the term ‘garish’ more than lovely, though. Personally.”

  “I mean...yeah,” Olivia said, her expression twisting into a crooked grin. “It is kind of a lot. But I asked her to pack it in.”

  “Oh? You asked?”

  “Just like you showed me.” Her voice teemed with smug satisfaction. “She listened, didn’t she?”

  “You’re a guest,” Owl said. “She’s going to listen.” He looked back to the gallery. “Next time, ask for something less obnoxious, okay?”

  “Oh, stop that,” Olivia said. The scratching of her pencil resumed, faster than ever.

  That sketchbook...she’d carried it with her everywhere. And she seemed very into drawing. Owl eyed it, chewing on the question. “You’re transcribing them?”

  She looked up, her dark eyes round. “What?”

  He nodded toward the sketchbook. “The paintings. You’re drawing the paintings, aren’t you?”

  Olivia blinked, looking down - and then back up to Owl. “Oh. These? Um...” She stroked the page, pressing her fingers into the paper. “Yeah. I just...I wanted to learn them. To remember them, for when I leave.”

  “It’s that important to you?”

  Olivia nodded. “It’s...” She sighed, rolling her head back until it touched the wall. “These paintings...most of them are gone. They-”

  “Don’t exist,” Owl said dryly. “You know, this conversation feels really, really familiar.”

  She lifted her head again, glancing at him. “Will?”

  He nodded. “Will. He already gave me the spiel. About how stuff had been destroyed over the years, and-”

  “Oh, that’s only half the battle,” Olivia said, waving a hand. “For his stuff, maybe. But art?” She gestured toward the paintings around them. “Half of this stuff never saw the light of day, Owl. It stayed stuck in the artist’s attic, or got pawned off to a nobody who didn’t know what they had. They wound up lost in estate sales, or, hell.” She shook her head. “Most of these artists’ best pieces never got finished at all. It’s a whole messy business, but...”

  “You want to try and preserve what you can.”

  Her eyes gleamed, lit from within by an odd light. “I can do it,” she said. “Somehow. If I can learn from these, I can become more. Pieces no one has ever seen. I can be better. I can-”

  “Woah, there, tiger,” Owl mumbled.

  Olivia froze, then subsided. “Ah. Hah. Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

  He paused another moment, watching her face return to carefully-practiced neutrality. For a moment, as she clutched her sketchpad and looked out at the amassed accomplishments of a field, she’d looked entirely different. Driven. There’d been an ambition there he hadn’t seen before.

  He watched her as she started to sketch again, mulling over what he’d seen - and the questions it brought up. A lot of questions, about a lot of things, but one in particular kept rising to the top.

  “Hey,” he said at last.

  Her lips curled down. She didn’t look up at him. “What?”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course,” she said, with what looked like a sneer.

  “You want to be the guildmaster, don’t you?”

  Her eyes snapped
wide open - and her hand jerked, leaving a streak of graphite across the sheet. She didn’t seem to notice. Her head whipped around, leaving her scowling visage a few inches in front of his. “What? What the hell are you-”

  “It’s just a thought,” Owl said weakly, scooching a little farther away. “If you don’t want to answer, then-”

  “I don’t understand what would’ve given you that idea,” Olivia muttered. “And I don’t see how it relates to anything.”

  “You just...don’t seem like the kind of woman satisfied to stay in anyone else’s shadow,” Owl said. “How many of the paintings in the Library have you already redrawn?”

  “Only a few doze- I mean, that doesn’t matter,” Olivia said, cutting herself off hard. Owl grinned from behind his mask. A point for me. She glared at him from the corner of her eye, before returning to her drawing. Her eraser flew over the damage, wiping it clean.

  “Of course it doesn’t,” Owl said, his voice carefully soothing. “It’s totally meaningless, I’m sure. Anyway. I’m just curious how someone like you winds up playing the role of assistant.” He sighed dramatically. “I guess you just like paperwork.”

  He was playing with fire, he knew. Like it or not, she was the guildmaster’s assistant. Poking at the bear to try and provoke a response was probably less than recommended. And he couldn’t really think of what he stood to gain.

  At the sight of her expression flickering, starting to splinter away entirely, he couldn’t regret his choice to push things. She was Indira’s assistant, and she was here. He wanted to understand her, more than anything. He needed the insight. Hell, Indira was older than him. For all he knew, she’d keel over and die, and he’d be left dealing with Olivia for the rest of his internment as Librarian.

  So he told himself.

  Olivia pursed her lips, starting to go white. “It’s- I would never dream of unseating Indira,” she said. “Not ever. I respect her. She’s been a wonderful guildmaster, and-”

  “That’s not what I asked,” Owl said mildly. “You can respect her and still want to be guildmaster yourself, someday.”

  She stared at him, tight-lipped. She took a deep breath, opening her mouth - and shut it again.

  Low and soft, he started to laugh.

  “Oh, stop it,” Olivia mumbled, deflating.

  “Sorry,” Owl said. He didn’t need to hear it from her lips, not when her face said it all. “Just curious. I’ll leave it alone.”

  “Jerk.” Her eyes dropped to the picture she’d been sketching. Her shoulders drooped, and she heard him sigh.

  He jumped when he felt her sag, her head brushing against his shoulder. His face heated in an instant.

  “Things are simpler in here, you know?” Olivia said, her voice muffled but plaintive. He couldn’t see her face. He didn’t really need to.

  He nodded. “Sometimes, yeah. It’s not always, though.”

  “Even still.” Her hands wrapped about the sketchbook more tightly, her knuckles showing white through the skin. “I’m kinda jealous.”

  “It’s not that great.”

  “Whatever,” she mumbled. “It’s still sweet. No fighting. No cheating. Just...Just knowledge. I could deal with that for a while.”

  Owl just stared straight ahead, his cheeks burning. He wasn’t a damn kid, his thoughts shrieked. But he was the Librarian, and she was a guest, and...he wasn’t a damn counselor. Whatever buttons he’d pushed, it was as if he’d pulled away a mask he didn’t know was there.

  For the first time, he was seeing Olivia.

  In the blink of an eye, the moment broke. Olivia jumped. Her head lifted, flying free of her shoulder as she stiffened. “O-Oh,” she said, pressing a hand to her face. “Sorry. Must be- sleepy. Yeah. Must have dozed off a little.”

  “I did tell you it was late,” Owl said. Behind the smoked glass of his lenses, he watched her, unconvinced. “So let’s-”

  “Right,” she said, springing to her feet. “I should- I should get back. Will’s probably beside himself. And I should get some sleep, clearly.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  No sooner had she taken a single step toward the exit, though, when she looked back over her shoulder at him - and grinned.

  “Maybe I will be guildmaster someday,” she said, her eyes bright. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “I’m sure you’ll-”

  “Shh,” she said, pressing a finger to her lips. “Our secret, okay?” Her hand fell away, though, leaving her grin shining through. “Just watch me.”

  Owl nodded, a matching smile on his face and his head spinning. This woman really was like a hurricane - and he was going to get whiplash. “Ambitious doesn’t half describe you,” he muttered.

  “What’s that?” she called - from ahead, he saw as she skittered out the door.

  “Slow down,” he mumbled, hurrying after her. She laughed, but waited.

  Side by side, they walked back to the study - and this time, neither said a word.

  - Chapter Thirty-Six -

  Quiet.

  Perfect, blissful quiet.

  Owl stretched his arms out over his head, interlacing his fingers and stretching until each joint popped one after another. Absolute perfection.

  Granted, it’d be more perfect if he could take off his mask and wander the halls in something less oppressive than his uniform. But, he’d take what he could get.

  If he was timing things right, he should still have a brief window of solitude before his two guests started leaving their rooms and roaming the halls. It’d been long enough since he had some time to himself and Alexandria.

  The shelves passed by. He slipped into a lonely wing - a chapel, stone columns rising to meet a high ceiling. Stained glass lined the walls, letting in the morning light through sheets of red and blue. Narrow desks lurked here and there, tucked away outside row after row of pews.

  And...his breath caught in his chest. His steps slowed.

  Books were stacked high on every desk - and a low, whistling breeze echoed through the gaps in the walls. She wasn’t angry at him, exactly, but...she wasn’t happy, either.

  “I’ve been letting things slip, haven’t I?” Owl said, taking another step forward. He reached out, letting his fingers stroke across the smooth wood of the nearest desk. “Olivia has been doing her chores, though.” He swallowed, no longer quite so sure. “Hasn’t she?”

  The breeze turned to a wind, howling through the empty spaces in the chapel and rattling the windows. Owl laughed softly, dropping his chin to his chest. “Fair enough. I get it. She’s handy, but she’s not the Librarian.”

  As though his words had broken a spell, the wind died away. He nodded, leaning back against a pew. “I guess I’ve been a little busy, lately,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”

  He wrinkled his nose, scowling down at the floor. He’d had guests before. He’d had guests far more problematic than these two, in fact. So why was he letting himself get so carried away with the guild’s finest?

  “Sorry,” he said again, and took a book from the stack. He didn’t grab the whole lot, didn’t try and shove them away into their new homes as fast as he could. He took his time, walking the chapel until he found a space just big enough to fit the tome.

  There was something cathartic about it, too. He let himself fall into the rhythm of the moment, savoring the texture of each cover under his gloved fingertips as he shelved. Another slot, another book, and...Owl paused.

  A thick layer of dust coated the top of each stack, spreading across the desks. He sighed. “Let me guess. You want me to dust you, too.”

  She didn’t reply, as such, but the faint clatter of wood on wood echoed out behind him. Owl turned - and groaned at the sight of a feather duster lying on a desk farther down. “What are you, some kind of needy kid?” he muttered. He couldn’t quite contain his smile, though, as he reached out and-

  He froze. Something glimmered beyond the stained glass. A glow, human-shaped. And moving. It lingered for a moment, tu
rning gently as though looking at him - and then slipped away, vanishing into the murk.

  “A dreamer,” Owl said, straightening. “Sorry, Alex. Dusting will have to wait.” That too was like fingernails on a chalkboard in his head - the sight of the dreamer, of it wandering the halls balefully. He should’ve been spending more time patrolling. He should be keeping a better eye out for the lost souls.

  Abandoning the duster, he turned for the door. “I’ll handle it,” he murmured. “It looked like that one was outside. The fresh air will do me good. I guess.” As fresh as air in Alexandria could get, anyway. And for all he knew, the dreamer wasn’t even outside. It wouldn’t be the first time Alexandria twisted in on herself, bending reality itself to her whims.

  Wherever the dreamer was, he’d find it. He swept from the room with one last wry smile at the books. “Sorry. I’ll be back.”

  Into the hallway he went. His eyes scanned the stone-and-lumber walls, looking for a nook, a passage to let him get a little closer to the dreamer. He’d been close, he was sure of it. All he needed was a door, and-

  “We’ll just have to-”

  “I know, I know.”

  Owl froze, skidding to a stop. He blinked - and glanced toward one of the hallways that lay farther down.

  The words faded out, but he was sure he’d heard them. Voices. Familiar. voices.

  His heart sank. Really, Alex? Had she really...

  He crept forward far enough to lean out past the edge of the wall - and groaned. She had. You know, when we’ve got the fucking guildmaster’s favorite and her partner here in the Library, could you maybe play things a little smart?

  All of his earlier goodwill towards his architectural captor was evaporating, simmering away by the second.

  Because there, waltzing down the hallway like they owned the place, were Leon and his companions.

  Owl could have sworn he heard birdsong from outside, in this place that had no birds. “Don’t act so damn cheery,” he muttered under his breath, standing. Leon hadn’t seen him yet. Not that it mattered, when push came to shove, but he wasn’t about to give up their game of surprises so easily. Not when he’d lost the last go-around.