The Library (The Librarian of Alexandria Book 1)

by Casey White

  You heard the woman, he whispered to Alexandria instead. Somewhere we can go for a quick lesson. Somewhere quiet. But not the place Leon and them are hiding, okay? He shouldn’t have to say it, and yet, Alexandria seemed to have next-level awful judgement at times. On top of the fact she was spiteful as hell and held a grudge. This isn’t a time to play around, he thought, more gently. Do what you like when they’re gone, but until then-

  A blast of wind hit him in the back, hard enough to send him stumbling forward but focused enough the candles on the walls didn’t even flicker. He bit back a yelp, catching himself roughly.

  Olivia’s head whipped around. “Owl! Are you-”

  “I-I’m fine,” he said, smiling through gritted teeth. “Tripped.”

  “Be more careful next time,” Olivia said. She’d already turned back to the passage around them. “Oh, I was sure she’d have-”

  Her words were cut off in a triumphant hiss as she paused. Owl lifted his head - and saw the narrow alcove set into the wall ahead. It wasn’t a room, as such. More like a cut-away from the stone, set far enough into the wall to boast a fireplace along one side and a wooden bar at the other. Windows rose on the other side of the hall, letting in the first glimmers of warm morning light.

  “That’ll do,” Olivia said, and he felt her grip on his hand tighten.

  It’ll do, Owl whispered. Thanks. Sorry for not, uh. Not trusting you to handle it. He had damn good reasons for not trusting her completely, mind - but, he couldn’t see any of his friends hiding around the edges of the scene, so he had to assume she’d listened to him this time.

  Okay, then. Owl gave one last nervous glance around, just to reassure himself, and found no sign of a brassy-haired, blue-eyed man grinning back at him. They were good. He just had to keep it that way.

  Letting out the breath he’d been holding in, Owl let Olivia tow him over to the alcove.

  Olivia threw herself down at the alcove’s bar, patting the stool next to her. “Here, c’mon. Plop down.”

  “I am,” Owl said, his voice rippling with amusement. She’d committed to the morning’s event with all of her usual enthusiasm, it seemed. How fitting. “Don’t hurry me.”

  “You’re the one that asked.”

  Fair. Owl acknowledged the point with a nod, easing himself down onto the hard wooden seat. The fireplace behind them burned brightly, casting shadows onto the wall ahead and warming his back even through the leather. Olivia had to be burning.

  She didn’t show even an ounce of discomfort as she ripped her bag from her shoulder, plunking it onto the table. The zippers came open in an instant. “I’ve got a spare pad in here somewhere,” she said, the words muffled behind her efforts. “Right...about...here.”

  Owl had no time to react as she whipped a neatly-bound stack of paper free, slapping it onto the bar before him. “Take this,” she said.

  He nodded, grateful for the facade that hid his smile. “Okay.” The paper caught against his gloved fingers. He slid one under a page, letting the notepad flop open.

  His damn overcoat had about a thousand pockets on it, containing anything from personal notes to books he’d forgotten he’d even picked up. He reached his other hand into one, grabbing the pencil within.

  “You have a pencil?” he heard Olivia say. “Good. Sweet. Then-”

  “Yep,” he said, staring down at the page. Drawing in gloves wasn’t easy. The damn things weren’t useful for much, when it came right down to it - but they were sturdy, and they kept him hidden. He’d learned to function despite their clumsiness.

  “Then...I’ll find something for us to practice with.” Another zipper came open. “I was practicing on some paintings earlier. Maybe I can find one that-”

  Owl leaned forward, letting the pencil settle into the couch of his finger and thumb. The tip touched the paper - and started to move.

  The sounds of Olivia continuing to rifle through her possessions filled his ears. Owl only pursed his lips, eyeing the lines of graphite that flowed across the page.

  Something to draw, right? It’d been a long time since he did anything art-related. And with everything going on, his mind was too busy. A thousand different images flashed through his vision, none of them worth a damn.

  One kept coming back to him - a single image that wouldn’t let go, that radiated a soothing calm to settle his nerves.

  He rolled his eyes. Fine. Have it your way. His pencil turned, pressing into the paper with more purpose. You’re a little vain, you know that?

  The fire popped behind him, like Alexandria was sticking out her tongue at him. He chuckled.

  “Don’t laugh at me,” he heard Olivia mutter. “I’m- One of these notepads should have that damn picture. I’m sure I brought it when I-”

  Feet, poised right at the edge of a sheer cutoff. Her toes had curled over the edge, clinging to the stone like a diver about to leap in. They rose in smooth, elegantly-worked planes into a pair of legs that...he chuckled to himself. Well, she’d been the definition of statuesque.

  There’d been a tension about her, he remembered that much. A pain, perhaps, something that pulled her muscles tight and her ankles together. If not pain...Owl furrowed his brow, trying to place it. Fear, then? Or worry?

  His hand slowed, spinning out the details of her as he mulled it over. He wanted to at least do this image justice. Maybe if he-

  “W-What the hell?” Olivia said, just a hair shy of a yelp. Owl flinched. Unlike Olivia in the gallery, he kept his composure enough to not ruin the drawing - but turned, coming face to face with her wide-eyed stare.

  “What?” he said weakly.

  “You ass, you don’t need me to teach you,” she said, shooting him an irritated look.

  Nervous laughter bubbled from his gut. He started drawing again, albeit more slowly - and without the precise movements he’d had before. “N-Nonsense. I’m still learning. But-”

  “Did you ask me here just so you can make fun of me?” A wry smile appeared on her lips, but there was real hurt in her eyes. “Because if that’s all you wanted, there are faster ways to-”

  “It’s nothing like that,” Owl said, letting his pencil drop to the wooden tabletop. “Olivia, I just-”

  “You’d probably have let me make an fool of myself, too,” she mumbled.

  He let off an exasperated sigh. “Look, I meant it, okay? Yeah, I’ve dabbled, but-”

  She cast a sidelong glance down at the emerging drawing of Alexandria’s statue, and Owl shut up. Even he had to admit that it wasn’t exactly the work of a rank beginner.

  “I have a lot of time here alone, okay?” he said, when she finally looked away and he could stop squirming. “I like to practice a lot of different things. A lot of different skills. Anything that could help me kill a few weeks when there’s no one else around.”

  “But-”

  “And when I can,” he said, pinning her in place with a subtle but firm inclining of his head, “I like to learn from the people who have a clue what they’re doing. I taught myself.” He chuckled sourly. “I might be the Librarian, but that doesn’t mean I taught myself the right way.”

  Olivia opened her mouth, her eyes narrowed, but stopped. She sighed, rolling her eyes once - and nodded, slowly but surely. “Okay,” she said, her voice soft. “I...I guess.”

  Progress. “You’re a teacher,” Owl said, picking up his pencil again. With her eyes still burning holes in his overcoat, he started to draw again - but with a hesitant, short hand.

  “I teach history.”

  “You still teach,” Owl countered. “That’s better than I usually get. You remember Lenny, right?”

  Olivia snorted, looking away a moment later.

  “Was I supposed to ask him?” Owl said. He was winning, he knew - a fact confirmed when she let out a tiny huff and looked at his sheet askance.

  “You’re gripping that thing way too tight,” she muttered under her breath.

  Victory. Owl looked to the page, then back to
her. “What? What do you-”

  “You’re not supposed to strangle the damn thing,” Olivia snapped, and snatched the pencil from his hand. “Here. Like this. Stop putting so much pressure on it. And take longer strokes.”

  Owl examined her demonstration with an appropriate level of interest, burying his laughter lest she hear. Something told him he wouldn’t regain her goodwill so easily. And sharing the Library with an angry, slighted Olivia just sounded like an awful time.

  “Oh,” he said, letting his eyes fall to the paper. He took the pencil back, settling it into place. “Like this?”

  “Longer. Smoother. It’ll take practice, but-”

  “Got it,” Owl said, the image of the statue again swimming before his eyes. Olivia fell quiet again, letting him work.

  He let the silence press in around them again, soaking in the warmth of the fire against his back and Olivia’s leg against his. As far as mornings went, it was pretty good. Whatever shampoo Alexandria had magicked up for her, it smelled enough like mint ice cream to hover right at the edge of tantalizing. He wrinkled his nose. Draw, damn you. You’re supposed to be distracting her, not getting distracted yourself. He furrowed his brow, looking back to-

  To the drawing of Alexandria. The real Alexandria, the truth she kept hidden in her underbelly, surrounded by blood, books, and a well of what certainly looked like magic water.

  His hand jerked, leaving an ugly gash marring the otherwise-perfect curves of the statue’s thighs.

  “See?” Olivia said. “I told you to loosen up. Idiot.”

  “Y-Yeah,” he managed, chuckling nervously. “Oops.”

  A swipe of the eraser and the black mark faded.

  Okay. He had half a statue - that was all. There’d be no way for anyone to know what it was without having been down to Alexandria’s heart themselves. But he didn’t want to draw her face. Something like that belonged to him and the other Librarians. He wasn’t sure why he felt so strongly about that, but oddly, he found he did.

  A new idea flashed through his mind. He blinked - and then relaxed.

  Well, he’d wanted to distract Olivia, hadn’t he?

  “Told you you could help,” he said, coaxing his hand back into motion. “Just yell when you see anything to critique.”

  “Mmhm,” was all she said in response.

  It ached, but he forced the divine-worthy silhouette of the statue from his mind. Another time, Alex.

  He could almost feel Olivia’s frustration simmering down as the morning calm settled back in. Her fidgeting slowed, stopping entirely, and with a final exhalation, her shoulder pressed against his.

  “Not bad,” she said at last, still barely louder than a whisper.

  “Thanks.”

  “You weren’t kidding about having time to kill.” Her elbow tapped against his side.

  “I was not.” A bead of sweat dripped down his spine. It was harder than he’d expected to sandbag. There was a definite difference between being bad at art and being intentionally, plausibly bad at art.

  “Well, don’t be afraid of the damn thing, now,” Olivia muttered.

  He chuckled, drawing out another line.

  Again, the quiet fell, and again, he let it. It was easier, when they didn’t have to talk. When he could focus on the gentle grinding of the pencil’s tip against-

  “I can see it,” Olivia murmured, shifting against his side.

  He sighed, but didn’t stop drawing. “What can you see?”

  “The Library. Alexandria.”

  “Well, I’m glad. She’s kind of a big place. If you couldn’t see her, I’d say-”

  “The appeal of it, you idiot,” Olivia said, kicking the leg of his stool. “It’s quiet here, y’know? It’s nice. Peaceful. I can see how you’d get a lot of personal projects done somewhere like this.” She leaned forward, bracing her elbows against the bar. “Again. A little jealous.”

  “Peaceful is what she wants you to call her,” Owl said.

  “Oh? What would you say instead?”

  “Desolate,” he mumbled, before he could stop himself. He chuckled. “Lonely. It’s a ghost town around here most days. Hope you’re not afraid of ghosts.”

  Olivia made a face, her eyes darkening. “I guess,” she said at last. “That does sound...eerie, in a way.”

  “A little.”

  “I did wonder, though.”

  Was she planning on trying to talk the whole time? Owl bit back a sigh. “About what?”

  He was still looking at the drawing, first and foremost, but he saw her eyes flick up to his mask. “About you,” she said, more quietly. “About Alexandria. About what you do, when there are no guests. I didn’t...I didn’t think about you still winding up here, even when we’re not around.”

  Owl kept sketching, not gratifying her with a look. “She likes to be tended to. Guests or no.”

  “Yeah. I get that.” She nodded, her hair falling in a mess about her face. “I can see how you’d end up having a lot of time for stuff like this. Shouldn’t have been surprised. But...that sucks. It’s like you’re-”

  With a noise halfway between an exasperated hiss and a strangled, muttered curse, Owl turned - and before she could pull back, got two fingers on the far side of her chin. “Let me see for a minute,” he said over her protests, turning her face so that it caught the glimmers of firelight without her hair in the way.

  Olivia subsided into a quivering heap right on the edge of explosion, her eyes fixed on the lenses of his mask. He grinned behind its clay. Figure it out, did she?

  “Sorry,” he said, turning back to the drawing and starting to work. “You did say you’d help me.”

  “That’s not what you asked for,” she mumbled, her face going red. He chuckled, but kept drawing, his hand moving faster and more surely.

  If he couldn’t draw Alexandria, then he needed someone else to draw. How convenient for him that a suitable model was sitting right beside him.

  It was rough - it was just a sketch, after all - but her profile started to take shape under his pencil. The statue’s pose was out, even besides for her face. Something generic, then. He did smile, though, his expression softening as the sheets of her hair started to take shape in shades of grey and black.

  Olivia was silent, at last - but he could feel her watching. Waiting.

  Finally, she couldn’t keep it in anymore. “Your perspective is off,” she muttered, just a breath of noise barely audible over the fire.

  Owl arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  “The angle.” She jabbed a finger toward the drawing’s collarbone. “It’s a little off. If you give me the pencil, I can-”

  “It’s not off.”

  She sat back on her haunches, eyes flashing. With humor, he hoped. “Well, if you want to be wrong, that’s on you.”

  Owl opened his mouth, ready to fire back and start the game in full - and stopped dead in his tracks.

  Footsteps echoed across the stone-lined walls of Alexandria, breaking the quiet.

  Someone else was here. Ice raced through his veins. Was it Leon and the others? He’d told them to go find another room. Maybe they’d gotten bored. Maybe they’d wandered off.

  He needed a new way to distract her - no, to get her out of here entirely. But how? He could see her face. She’d looked up at the sound, too. Unlike the mask of horror his face had begun, she looked curious more than anything. Before Owl could stop her, she spun.

  Will walked from around the corner, his steps brisk and measured. He stopped at the sight of them, relief washing across his face.

  “Oh,” he said. “Good.” His eyes flicked to Olivia - and to Owl. Something akin to tolerant amusement slipped into his expression. “I found you.”

  “Was there something you needed?” Olivia said, working her way around until she sat facing him. “I was just-”

  “You said you’d help me,” Will said, shifting from foot to foot. He had books with him, Owl saw at last - a narrow, leatherbound journal
, along with a few of the Library’s customary doorstops.

  Olivia only blinked at him. “Uh. Will, what-”

  He did roll his eyes, then. “Good Lord,” Owl heard the normally-quiet man mutter under his breath. “You said you’d help me copy it out. The village records? From-”

  “Wait, really?” Olivia said, her expression brightening. “You found it?”

  The look Will gave her could have cut glass - but there was a certain pride underneath the raw smug of it. “Yeah. I did. So would you come on and-”

  “Right. Right!” Olivia hopped to the ground, stumbling once before catching herself. “I remember. I just- You were fast about that. Nice.”

  Will chuckled, shrinking a little lower. “S-Stop.”

  “You’ve got something to keep you busy?” Owl said, rising with a little more care.

  “Yeah,” Will said, nodding. He shifted from foot to foot, drawing his books up closer to his chest.

  “He’ll have me stuck copying lines for the rest of the morning, if I know where this is going,” Olivia said with a sigh, turning back to Owl. She smiled, and he was pretty sure that she actually meant the expression, this time. “Thanks. For hanging out with me. You don’t have to make excuses next time, you know.”

  “I wasn’t-”

  “And next time I come? Even if it’s just to the front door?” She took a wobbling step backward, toward the rapidly-receding form of her companion. “Show me your art again. Your real art.” She grinned. “Or whatever hobby you’re working on this century.”

  Not waiting for a response, she spun on her heel, darting after Will.

  Owl watched her go, holding his seat until the sound of their shoes against the stone and tiles faded out entirely. And then he turned back to the bar, starting to gather up the pad and pencil.

  Well. That had been...something. But at least he’d-

  Right. Leon. He shook his head, straightening. Are they still hanging around here? Are they waiting for me to-

  The fireplace alongside him dimmed, going sad and dark.

  No, then. A muted frustration washed through him. He was glad to have seen his friends for even a short while - and logically, he knew that they should never have come in the first place - but it irked him to have his brief window of seeing them wiped out by...by the damn Booklenders.