Kissing Midnight

by Rede, Laura Bradley

  Dev laughs, a little too loudly for a library. “First off, it’s a work study schedule, not classified information. Second—” he looks around the deserted room “—it doesn’t look like there’s a whole lot of work to be done.”

  He has a point, but I’m not about to admit it. I cross to the clean-up cart and start arranging the books to make them easier to reshelf. “It’s just that the head librarian is very uptight.”

  He grins at me teasingly. “I hate uptight people.”

  “I’m not uptight.”

  “Certainly not.” He sets his book aside and gets lightly to his feet.

  I scoop up the book and add it to my cart. “I have to behave because I need this job. It’s a condition of my scholarship.” Maybe Dev is one of those trust fund kids who don’t have to worry about things like that. “You do know what it’s like to have a job, don’t you? I mean, you have had one?”

  “Several,” he says, “But at the moment, my job—self-assigned—is to get you to relax a little.” He turns a puppy dog expression on me. “You’re not really mad at me, are you?”

  I sigh and smile back. He’s right, of course. I shouldn’t be so uptight. “No, I’m not mad.”

  “Good! And now look.” He spreads his arms wide. “We have the whole place to ourselves.”

  “You’re talking too loud.”

  “Oh. Right.” He drops his voice to a stage whisper. “We have the whole place to ourselves.”

  I fight the urge to smile. “Well, it’s December twenty-third. People are doing Christmas stuff. Besides, people don’t usually come in here.”

  “I have no idea why not.” His voice is back at too loud. “This place is perfect.” He smiles around at the books with a genuine affection that makes me like him more. “Gorgeous room.”

  “It is nice, isn’t it?” I admit. “It was the first building on campus, built back around 1900.” I run one finger appreciatively down the edge of a built-in shelf. “They made things better back then.”

  “They certainly did,” he agrees. “Stronger. With more class.”

  I tuck a Beatrix Potter book back onto the shelf. “You said you’re a history buff, right?”

  He shrugs. “It’s what I’ve had the most of.” He pulls out a pop-up book and opens it quickly at random, like he’s trying to take it by surprise, and smiles when a complicated monster lunges out “I’m a bit more interested in hearing your history at the moment. Are you from around here?”

  I nod. “Just outside of Boston.”

  “Then I’m curious, if you don’t mind me asking, why aren’t you going home for the holidays?”

  I busy myself with another book. “No home to go back to at the moment. My mother is from Mexico. She moved back there recently.”

  He looks surprised. “Just like that?”

  “She needed to be with family.”

  Dev shuts the pop-up book, letting a pirate ship sink back into the sea. I can see the unasked question in his eyes. Aren’t you family? I can’t tell him I was part of the reason my mother needed to get away, one of the stressful problems she’s avoiding.

  But Dev must have heard it in my voice. “You seem like a girl who could use a little happily ever after.” He saunters over to the fairy and folk tale section, which takes up one whole wall, half of it ordinary shelves of books, the other half glass cabinets where the older manuscripts are displayed, the ones fragile enough to be kept under lock and key.

  Dev rattles the door of a cabinet. “In case of fairy tale emergency, break glass.” He laughs at my horrified expression. “I’m just kidding! I’ll take…” he scans the open shelf, “this one.” He picks a book like he’s plucking a rose and hands it to me. “What’s your favorite fairy tale?”

  “Beauty and the Beast,” I say without hesitation, and then, by way of explanation, “He gives her a library.”

  “Obviously.”

  “And yours?”

  Dev scans the shelves. “Little Red Riding Hood. No, Peter Pan. Cinderella.” He shrugs. “I like them all. What do you plan to dress as for the dance?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.” I thumb through the book he gave me. It’s a beautiful old volume with an embossed cover and gilt-edged pages. “They’ll probably assign us volunteers to be something. Maybe a page? A castle guard? A playing card?”

  Dev rolls his eyes. “You’ll have to do better than that! But I guess it depends what your date is going as. Is he the Charming to your princess or the wolf to your Little Red?” His raises one eyebrow, his smile playfully suggestive. Is Dev flirting with me?

  I turn back to the cart quickly and grab the top three books, tucking them safely back into place. “I don’t have to worry about that because I don’t have a date,” I say at the same moment Dev says, “You could be Beauty.”

  I push the cart farther down the row. “I don’t think anyone would buy me as a great beauty.”

  “Why not? You said she was your favorite.” Dev tugs a few books off the shelves at random. I take them back from him and return them to their orderly slots. “It’s a great story. I know I’d kill to be the Beast.”

  My heart stutters. He isn’t hinting we should go to the dance together, is he? Saying he’d like to be the Beast, right after he said I should be Belle? No, that’s ridiculous. He’s interested in Delia, right?

  Regardless, Delia likes him. I shouldn’t flirt back.

  But in spite of that, I say, “You’re too good looking to be the beast.”

  “Damn.” He gives me a very wolfish grin. “I’ve always wanted to be a beast, just for one night.”

  We’ve reached the very end of the row, the very back corner. It’s mid afternoon, but back here it might as well be midnight, it’s so dark. I am suddenly aware there is no one else in the room. And even if there were, no one could see us back here.

  Not that we’re doing anything wrong. We’re reshelving books. But Dev is so close behind me, and when I turn around his face is only inches from mine, his blue eyes shining in the darkness. “A beast,” he says again, finally remembering to whisper in the library. “Or maybe a Wild Thing, you know, from Where the Wild Things Are? What’s their line?” He lowers his voice to a growl, “I’ll eat you up, I love you so.”

  My breath catches and my voice comes out tiny as I finish the line “And Max said—”

  “Hello?” A voice comes from the doorway of the children’s room. “Mariana are you in here?”

  “Mrs. Newman!” I duck under Dev’s arm and hurry out of the stacks, stepping out of the shadows and into the sunlight. “I’m right here!”

  The librarian is standing by the desk, her lips pursed with impatience. “There you are! I need you to pull some—”

  She stops short as Dev steps casually out from between the shelves, smiling.

  Mrs. Newman’s frown deepens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were with someone.”

  The disapproval in her voice makes a guilty blush rise in my cheeks. She thinks Dev and I are one of those couples, the ones who kiss in remote corners of the stacks. Instinctively, I reach up to pat my hair back into place, but of course it isn’t mussed. Why should it be? We were shelving books!

  “I was just helping a patron—” I say at the same time Dev says, “A friend.”

  Mrs. Newman’s tiny eyes narrow even further with suspicion. “I see.”

  No you don’t! I want to say, but her mistrust doesn’t seem to bug Dev in the least. If anything, he looks amused.

  “Listen,” he says, “I should be going. But thanks for all your help with my project.” He winks at me, and Mrs. Newman gives a disapproving sniff. “See you later.”

  He turns and heads out the door, giving me one last smile over his shoulder as he disappears into the hall.

  I turn back to Mrs. Newman, who is looking down on me, her mouth a tight little line of red lipstick, her arms crossed. “Here.” She hands me a request slip. “Dr. Hazman would like these pulled. That is, if you don’t
have anything else to do.” She glares at me.

  “No,” I mumble meekly, “I’ll do it now.”

  “Good.” She strides out of the room, and I let out my breath in a rush. It’s both a relief and a disappointment to have Dev gone. I struggle to order my scattered thoughts, like putting books back on a shelf. I should get back to work.

  But I’m not ready to quite yet. Instead I pick up the book Dev handed me, the one with the ornate cover and the gold-edged pages. I rifle through it, letting the jewel-toned illustrations flash past: Snow White with the blood red apple, Goldilocks discovered in the bed… My fingers hesitate on a painting of Beauty and the Beast. Dev was flirting with me. There’s no doubt in my mind now. The question is, do I want him to? Am I going to flirt back? The thought of it makes my breathing go shallow. There’s no denying Dev is gorgeous, and even charming in his own annoying way. But I don’t need any more complications, right? At least, that’s what I was thinking until now, until Dev looked at me with those bright blue eyes. I’ll eat you up I love you so…

  “No,” I say to myself out loud. That’s the word I didn’t get a chance to say, the line from the book: “Max said ‘no.’”

  I shut the fairy tale book and set it on the desk. It doesn’t matter anyhow. Even if Dev is interested in me, it’s only because he doesn’t know me. If he knew everything about me, he would never want to be with me. He would run screaming if he—

  My thoughts stop dead. I freeze, staring at the book on the desk. Didn’t I shut it? But it’s open now.

  Not only that, it’s moving. As I watch, the thick cream pages rustle to life, fluttering like they’re caught in a breeze. I turn quickly to the windows, but they’re locked tight against the December cold. The air in the library is as still as a tomb.

  My breath is still, too. I don’t dare breathe. I stand, frozen on my spot, as the pages continue to turn, first a few at a time, them more deliberately, one by one, as if invisible fingers are peeling back each one. My heart is thudding painfully in my chest, and I’m starting to shake. I squeeze my eyes shut. It isn’t real, I think, it’s in your mind. In your stupid, defective mind.

  I take a deep, shuddering breath and force my eyes back open.

  The book has stopped. It lies innocently on the desk, pages spread wide like they have nothing to hide.

  I let the breath out. You see? You imagined it. It was the anxiety of thinking about a date with Dev, the anxiety of my boss’s disapproval. It triggered one of my episodes. But there’s still a sinking feeling deep in my chest. Sure, I imagined it, but that doesn’t make it any better. It only means I’m hallucinating again.

  I should come clean to Dr. Sterling, I think. Admit I shouldn’t have gone off the medication, get him to put me back on it. Quickly, I reach out, ready to shut the book before I can imagine its pages turning again.

  But as my hand touches the rough paper, I pause. The book is open to the first page of a story I’ve never heard. The title reads The Legend of Bluebeard in a scrolling, ornate script, and the page facing it is an illustration: the tall wooden door of a castle, with something carved into the arch.

  I slam the door shut like I’m trying to crush a spider inside it, so fast the page gets crumpled. The picture reminds me too much of my dream. In fact, it’s so much like my dream, I wonder if I hallucinated the picture, too, but I can’t bring myself to open it again and check. Instead, I snatch my bag from behind the desk and shove the book inside. Suddenly, the thought of staying even another minute alone in this room is enough me make me feel sick. I storm out the door and down the hall, not even bothering to keep my footsteps quiet on the wooden floors. In moments I’m down the stairs and across the carpeted main room of the library. The few students working on their laptops look up curiously as I pass, but I ignore them. Instead, I head straight for the head librarian’s desk.

  “Mrs. Newman, I feel sick.”

  She looks up, skeptical, and I can tell she thinks I’m lying because I want to go see Dev. “Now listen, Miss Santos, just because it’s winter break, that doesn’t mean—”

  But she stops when she sees the look on my face, and her own expression changes to one of alarm. She gathers up the book she was reading and hugs it protectively to her chest, as if she thinks I might throw up at any second. “Go!” she says. “Dismissed!”

  That’s all I need to hear. In seconds I’m out the door, letting the cold breeze slap me back to my senses. Breathe. I catch a glimpse of my face in the glass doors and I can see why she let me go: I look gray and shaken and very sick. Because I am, I think, I am sick, but not the way she thinks.

  I’m sick in the head.

  Again.

  Still.

  Chapter 6

  Dev

  “How is it going?” Anathema shifts from a cat curled up on my pillow to a beautiful woman lounging on my bed in the space of a heartbeat.

  “Jesus, An, not on the pillow. You know how I feel about cats.” I shrug out of my leather jacket, drape it across the back of the chair and sit down. The dorm room is supposed to be a double, but it’s still so small that if I lean this chair back and stretch out my legs, I can prop my feet up on the bed. Not exactly luxury, but what choice do I have? It will do for a few weeks. “It’s going fine.”

  “Fine? Is that all?” She smiles slyly. “Shouldn’t it be going better than fine if you want her to fall in love with you in just eight days?”

  “You can’t rush it.” I’m already pushing things a bit, I think, coming on to her so strong in the library just now. There’s a real risk of scaring her off. It’s going to be a fine balance, this year. A particularly challenging hunt.

  “So you’ve asked her out then?” An sits up, running her fingers sleepily through her long blond hair. “What did she say?”

  “I haven’t outright asked her.”

  Her blue eyes widen. “You haven’t? Why not?”

  “Because I’m laying the groundwork. Right now, she’s still sort of hesitant. A little afraid of me.”

  An smiles wickedly. Her teeth haven’t shifted yet—they are still the little needle teeth of a cat. “Smart girl. A little too smart, if you ask me. How will you get her to stop fearing you?”

  “By making her fear something else.” I pick up the box, which I keep on the floor beside my bed. As always, it’s cold to the touch. A chill passes through me as I run my finger tip over the ornate carvings in the deep red wood. “She’s a romantic at heart, I think, and a romantic loves a rescue. We need a bonding experience, something heightened and emotional. We need to share an adrenaline rush.”

  An is watching me with cat-like curiosity in her eyes. “What did you have in mind?”

  I set the box back down, carefully. “I’m going to help her and her roommate this evening, at a warehouse in the North of town. I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Anything,” she says, “Just name it.”

  Chapter 7

  Saintly

  “This is it,” Delia calls to the cab driver. “Stop here!”

  “Here?” The cabdriver eyes the big old warehouse doubtfully. “You girls wanna get out here?”

  I understand his hesitation. This whole neighborhood is warehouses, and most of them look abandoned—some for the weekend, and some for good. The one we’ve stopped in front of is worse than most. A few of the upper windows are boarded up, and the ones that aren’t are broken. Barn swallows fly through the missing panes like spit through an old man’s teeth.

  Not exactly reassuring.

  But Delia is on a mission. “Yes, I’m sure of it. This is the place. I’ve got it right here on my phone.” She rummages in her overstuffed bag and comes up with cash for the driver. For a minute, I consider asking him to stay, at least until we get inside, but it’s too late. The moment we’re out of the cab, it takes off with a roar. Evidently the driver is as eager to be out of here as I am.

  But Delia isn’t worried. She strides toward the warehouse door, her high-heeled boots clickin
g on the damp pavement. She’s a little over-dressed even for Delia, and I wonder if it has to go with a certain someone. “Is Dev still coming to help us?”

  “Eventually,” she says. “He said he’d catch up.”

  I nod numbly. I consider telling her Dev came by the library but decide not to. What would I say? Sure, Dev was flirting, but I have a feeling that’s just his nature. He probably flirts with everyone like that.

  And it’s not like I can tell her about the book.

  Delia fishes a set of keys out of her purse and fits one into the fist-sized padlock that holds the door. It releases with a rusty creak. Together we push open the sliding door, sending up a cloud of dust. The warehouse is dark and musty as a cave.

  “There must be a light here somewhere.” I run my hand along the wall, cringing at the sticky touch of cobwebs and grime, until my fingers find the switch. Fluorescent lights hum to life overhead, casting the warehouse in a greenish glow.

  “Holy crappola,” Delia breathes.

  “You can say that again.” The space is huge, and every inch is crammed with set pieces: wooden pallets stacked with tables, couches wrapped in plastic, neon signs and house facades and staircases sweeping to nowhere. A “stone” tower rises behind a ’50s lunch counter. A huge silver moon sits in the back of an antique truck. There’s a trampoline in one corner stacked with tiki masks as big as I am and, way at the back, a big chrome jukebox. Through the teetering piles of treasure, little pathways run like streams through a canyon of junk.

  Delia bounces on her toes. “This is going to be fun!” She whips a notebook and a stack of bright orange tags out of her bag. “We’ll take a tour through the set pieces first and mark anything we think we should use, so they can get it with the truck later, when it’s time to start decorating the ballroom. Then, if we have time, we can start going through the costumes and props to see what we should pull to lend out. Anything small we can take today in Dev’s car. The rest we’ll just pile by the door, okay?”