Curse of the Evil Librarian

by Michelle Knudsen

  “LB, listen to me. We have to go back to the human world for a little while. We need to . . . to make a plan. And also to be somewhere safer than here. Do you want to come with us? You could stay here and hide if you want, instead. But it might be better for all of us to stay together.”

  He answers at once. “I will stay with you.”

  I nod. “Okay. Peter, take us up, please.”

  We manage to get back up to school and out of the library without any insurmountable problems. Peter elects to spirit himself and LB away to somewhere more private so they can work on pretending to be human together. It appears to be just about lunchtime, so Ryan and I head for the cafeteria to fill the others in on what’s happened and what’s happening now.

  Which is . . . uncertain.

  Mr. Gabriel is, as we speak, regaining his full physical form. And then I assume he will come after us, once he’s ready. Which means we have to get ready, too. Except there’s nothing we can do to get ready. Which I’m sure Mr. Gabriel knows, or else he wouldn’t be so confidently arrogant. We have no allies, no resources, no weapons, no anything. Except LB. But even in my most hopeful moments, I know that he’s not going to be enough to get us through this.

  On the way to the cafeteria we pass Mr. Henry in the hall.

  “Hey, you two! I feel like I haven’t seen you around much this week. Although . . . I know you were in class . . .” He trails off, confused, then seems to shake it off. “I must need more coffee. Anyway. All ready for callbacks tomorrow, Ryan?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  Mr. Henry laughs. “Today’s Thursday, right? Making tomorrow Friday?”

  We look at each other.

  “Uh, right! Ha. Of course.”

  “Looks like I’m not the only one who needs some coffee. Well, see you both there.” He starts to walk away, then stops, resting his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Break a leg, Ryan. Break two of them, okay?”

  “You bet, Mr. H.”

  We watch him continue down the hall.

  “How did we lose a whole day?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” Ryan says. He thinks for a minute. “I have another voice lesson tonight.”

  “Good! And, well — so here’s an upside, anyway. We’re back in time for that, and, um, as long as Mr. Gabriel doesn’t show up again too quickly, we’ll be here for callbacks, no problem! So you’ll, you know, have your lesson, and . . . and get into top form, and then kick Jeff’s ass, and get the part, and then we’ll go fight Mr. Gabriel and then we can come back and start rehearsals and set construction and stuff.”

  Ryan looks at me. “There are so many questionable aspects to what you just said that I hardly know where to begin.”

  “Don’t begin. Just . . . let’s just go have lunch.”

  “If today’s Thursday, that means I missed a lesson yesterday.”

  “Oh. Well . . . I’m sure Peter can smooth that out for you.”

  “Yeah, but . . . I still missed the lesson, Cyn. I haven’t been singing nearly enough this week, I’m going to be rough . . .”

  “Uh, you’ve been kind of busy?”

  “You were the one telling me I still had to take this seriously!”

  “Well, yes! But also you have to give yourself a break! I mean, sometimes there are just conflicts to voice lessons that can’t be avoided. Like when you’re dying of a magical curse in the demon world, for example.”

  He sighs. “You don’t understand.”

  “I — what?”

  He stops walking. “I don’t think I’m hungry. I’ll — I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

  I just stand there, watching, as he turns and walks back down the hall and into the stairwell.

  Somehow being told by Ryan that I don’t understand feels like the most upsetting thing that has happened today. Which can’t be true, obviously, and yet . . .

  I shake my head and continue toward the cafeteria. If there was ever a time I wanted to curl up on my bed with a comfy blanket and a playlist of all my favorite Sondheim songs, it’s right now. But that’s not a remotely viable option, unfortunately. I have to find Annie and the others and let them know what happened. And what’s still happening, and what we still don’t seem to have any way to prevent happening.

  Ryan texts me that night to tell me the lesson went well, but I can feel his lack of confidence radiating through the screen. But I also know that trying to talk to him about it now would be exactly the wrong thing. So I just tell him that I love him and that I know he’s going to be amazing, and then I try to go to sleep.

  But sleep, of course, has other ideas.

  I should feel relieved to be in my own bed, granted this temporary reprieve from demons and monsters and pain tunnels and all the rest. But I know it’s not over, and we’re just waiting for Mr. Gabriel to raise the curtain on the final act.

  And waiting has never been the easiest part for me.

  I’m also starting to worry about how safe Ryan and Peter actually are. Mr. Gabriel isn’t allowed to hurt or kill them, or to order other demons to do so . . . but if they come back down with me to face Mr. Gabriel, something could still go wrong. Another demon could get them, or Mr. Gabriel could find some loophole I didn’t think of. . . . The protection I thought was so ironclad begins to seem less and less so the later it gets.

  I lie awake for a long time worrying about that. And then, once I finally start to feel like I can sleep, I worry that Mr. Gabriel is going to visit me in my dreams. And when I finally fall asleep, I do dream of him . . . but it’s not the kind of dream I had at camp, where he was there, really there in the dream. These are just shadows of him, scary images coughed up by my agitated mind. And as soon as I realize that, I finally do feel relieved, because I think it means he’s still too busy bodybuilding to waste time messing with my head. Which maybe means we still have a little more time.

  The next morning Ryan is wound as tight as I have ever seen him. I pull him away from the others in the band wing and take him to sit at the bottom of his favorite brooding stairwell.

  “Demons or callbacks?” I ask him.

  He laughs, surprising me. “Callbacks. Ridiculously.” He glances at me and then down at the dusty floor. “I keep thinking about what you said before — what if we don’t die, and I didn’t try hard enough, and that Jeff guy gets my part? God, that would suck so much.”

  “It totally would.”

  “I realize that if that were to happen that I should probably focus on just, I don’t know, being happy we’re alive. But . . .”

  “I know.”

  He puts his arm around me and pulls me tight against him. “I know you know. You get it. You always do.”

  Damn straight, you jerk, I think but don’t say. I just squeeze him back.

  “You’re going to be great. I know it.”

  “Yeah,” he says. But he’s still not selling it.

  And I don’t know how to help.

  At the end of the day, all the Les Misérables hopefuls assemble in the auditorium. Mr. Henry gives his usual speech about how they’re all amazing and he wishes he could cast all of them but that would be hard to stage, ha-ha, and so callbacks and cast lists, et cetera. He then calls the potential Jean Valjeans to the stage and sets everyone else free to wait their turn. Some people settle in to watch, some disperse to find places to do extra vocal warm-ups, some just wander out into the band wing to pace and worry.

  We’re in the third group. Ryan’s already warmed up, and I know he doesn’t want to overdo it. Annie and the others offered to come for moral support, but Ryan told them that would probably just make him more nervous, and so they are waiting at the diner and we’ll meet them there later for celebratory post-callback feasting.

  So it’s rather a shock to see Peter come sauntering down the hall.

  “What is he doing here?” Ryan asks me.

  “I have no idea. Let me — let me just go make sure nothing went wrong with LB or something.” But I’m sure that’s not why he’s h
ere. Peter doesn’t look the least bit worried. He looks . . . trickstery.

  I hurry forward to intercept him before he can get close. “What are you doing here?” I hiss at him. “Where’s LB?”

  “LB’s fine. Still, um, practicing his human disguise. It does not come naturally to that guy. If you saw —”

  “Cut it out, Peter. If nothing’s wrong, then you shouldn’t have come. You should be there babysitting.”

  “Relax, Cyn.” He peers past me to where Ryan is glowering suspiciously in our direction.

  “Peter, please.” I lower my voice. “I know how you love to make trouble, but please, please, don’t screw with him right now. This is really important. Really, really important. To both of us, if that matters at all to you.”

  He actually manages to look hurt. “We’re friends, aren’t we, Cyn? I mean really friends.”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Then trust me.” And then he winks and pushes past me.

  Ryan’s glower deepens as Peter approaches. I mouth I’m sorry and raise my hands helplessly as I follow behind.

  “Ready for the big contest?” Peter asks, grinning insolently and leaning against a locker.

  “Give it a rest, Peter. I’m not in the mood, okay?”

  Peter looks him up and down. “Yeah, I can see that. Funny, that Jeff guy doesn’t look nervous at all. I just passed him around the corner. He looks like he could do this in his sleep.”

  Ryan takes a step toward Peter. “I said, give it a rest, Peter. You do not want to mess with me right now.”

  “Well, I kinda do, though. It’s so much fun.”

  “Peter, that’s enough,” I say, trying to pull him away. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but just cut it out.”

  “Leave him, Cyn,” Ryan says. “I can handle this loser on my own.”

  “Oh, you think so?” Peter asks, stepping closer.

  “Yeah,” Ryan says, also stepping closer. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Maybe you should be.”

  Ryan laughs scornfully. “I have your number, Peter. You’re a monster, just like the rest of them. But you can’t let Cyn see that, and so you’re never going to do anything to me. But I know what you are.”

  “Maybe,” Peter says softly. “Maybe I am a monster. But Cyn knows what I am, too. And yet she hasn’t sent me away, has she? She doesn’t seem nearly as bothered by my demon nature as you are. Were you watching when she kissed me? Did you see how much she liked it?”

  Ryan lunges forward and I throw myself between them. “Stop it!” I scream at Peter.

  The auditorium door opens then, and the stage manager calls Ryan’s name.

  “You’re lucky,” Ryan snarls, reaching past me to jab his finger into Peter’s chest. Then he storms off into the auditorium.

  I give Peter my scathing-est glare and follow after Ryan.

  Mr. Henry has one of the Jean Valjeans up on the stage still. “Ah! Ryan, good. I want to hear you do a bit of the suicide in a minute, but first I thought we’d start with ‘Confrontation,’ so I can see how you and Kevin sound together, okay?”

  Ryan nods and hops up onto the stage. Both of us know Kevin from previous shows and drama class, and I had a feeling he was going to be the Valjean front-runner. At Mr. Henry’s go-ahead, Mr. Iverson begins the introduction, and then Ryan starts to sing.

  From the first word, I can hear the pent-up anger and frustration in Ryan’s voice, courtesy of Peter. I could kill Peter in that instant. I really could.

  But then I keep listening, and I realize: somehow it’s perfect. Ryan’s using it, channeling everything he didn’t get to say to Peter into the song, especially as it goes along and Valjean begins to plead and argue and threaten in response.

  Kevin is good, really good; he’s gained some confidence since last year, and there’s something just right about his voice for this part. And it’s clear to everyone — Kevin and Ryan included, I can tell — that the chemistry between them is amazing. They circle each other, getting into the feel of it, and I can see that the rest of us have disappeared for them; there is only the song and the music and the characters that they have each slipped into so effortlessly.

  It’s incredible.

  By the time they’re finished, I realize I’m clasping my hands together so hard that my fingers ache. Both boys are grinning, fully aware of how very, very well that just went.

  “Excellent, excellent, really well done, both of you,” Mr. Henry gushes. “Now, Ryan, I just want to hear you sing ‘Javert’s Suicide’; I’m assuming you know this one by heart, too?”

  Ryan nods, still grinning. Mr. Henry gives Kevin a chance to leave the stage and Ryan a minute to regroup, and then he gestures again to Mr. Iverson.

  Ryan is fully back in his element now, though. I’m not even nervous for him anymore. I’m just in awe. The anger at Peter and the joy at how well “Confrontation” went are almost visibly swirling inside him, and he controls each emotion perfectly, easing from anger to wonder to confused agony to rigid surrender and despair. In my mind I can’t help but envision the stage setting I’m going to create for him, attempting to do justice to what I can see is going to be a show-stopping performance.

  The parents are going to be bawling their eyes out.

  Mr. Henry releases Ryan with a not-so-subtle wink, and he bounds off the stage and scoops me into his arms with all the leopard-like grace and energy and rowr I have come to expect in my boyfriend when he’s on his game. I kiss him soundly right there in the aisle, until a loud throat-clearing from Mr. Iverson encourages us to make our way out to the hall so they can carry on with the rest of callbacks.

  When Ryan and I arrive at the diner, there is a general cheer of welcome from our group at the back table — which includes Annie, William, Leticia, and Diane, as well as Jorge and several of Ryan’s other friends — and we immediately plunk down into chairs so Ryan can tell them how it went. The table is crowded enough that it takes me a minute to notice Peter and a rather strange-looking boy I’ve never seen before sitting at the far end. I nearly choke on my water when I realize that the stranger is LB. As soon as I can do so unobtrusively, I get up and wander over, pulling up an extra chair to sit next to them.

  “Hi,” I say, studying LB’s fake-human visage with interest. It’s . . . passable; I mean, he looks human, and no one else at the table seems to be giving him a second thought . . . but there’s something very odd happening in his facial features. Like the shape of his nose seems to keep changing slightly, even though I can’t exactly catch it in the act, and some of the longer hairs of his eyebrows seem to be very subtly waving around of their own volition.

  “It is I. LB,” he says. Then he adds, more quietly, “This is not my real face.”

  “Yes, I know,” I say, struggling not to laugh. “But it’s very convincing. Good job.”

  I glance at Peter, who is watching Ryan holding court at the other end of the table. “How did you know?” I ask him.

  He shrugs. “I watched Jeff’s callback just before you saw me. He was good, very good, but . . . too confident. Too smooth. No fire. I knew Ryan had fire. I thought it might be helpful if I just kind of . . . stirred it up for him.” He looks at me then, suddenly anxious. “I swear, that’s all I did. No demon magic involved.”

  I smirk at him. “It’s okay. I know you are fully capable of pissing Ryan off without the help of magic. I have observed that phenomenon many times.” I lean over and squeeze his arm. “Thanks. This was . . . I know maybe it’s dumb, because we might still all die very soon, but . . . this was important.”

  “I know.”

  “We will not die very soon,” LB puts in. “We will go to kill my brother. He is the one who will die.”

  “God, I hope so,” I tell him. I give him a few pats on the shoulder for good measure. “I really do.”

  Saturday morning, I head over to Annie’s house.

  After wading through the countless small children running and screaming in all
the hallways — Annie’s siblings, and their friends, and possibly total stranger children from around the neighborhood — I let myself into her room.

  “Hey, lady.”

  “Cyn!” She immediately scoots over on her unicorn bedspread to make room for me. Then her smile slips as she takes in my expression. “Is everything —”

  “Everything’s okay. Or, you know, nothing new is worse, anyway.” I lean back against her pillows. “I just — I feel like we need to be doing something. We can’t just wait for him to come for us.”

  “I know. I’ve been thinking the same thing. But what can we do?”

  “I think we need to go down there. Soon. Now. Before he’s ready. Remember how he set Mr. Crunchy to stand guard? Why would he need a guard unless —”

  “Unless he’s vulnerable!” Annie finishes.

  “Right. The only problem is . . .”

  “How the hell can we fight him when he’s a powerful demon and we’re just . . . us?”

  I smile ruefully. “Yeah.”

  She tucks her legs underneath her and sits up straight. I recognize this as her night-before-exam study pose. “Okay. Let’s think about this logically. What assets do we have? We have you, and your super-roach powers. We have LB, who is also a powerful demon but, we assume, not strong enough to take on Mr. Gabriel single-handedly, or else he wouldn’t have been wanting to team up with us. We have Peter, who is a far less powerful demon, but who does have some useful abilities and is way nicer to look at than LB.”

  “All valid points.”

  “We have Ryan, who is also very nice to look at, but who, other than acting and singing, does not have any special talents.”

  My mouth twists up into a helpless grin before I can stop it. “None that are applicable to our current situation, no.”

  Annie raises her eyebrows at me. “I am going to need to ask some follow-up questions on that later.”

  “We have Leticia and Diane and William,” I continue, “who absolutely are not allowed to put themselves in danger. The deal I made with Mr. Gabriel will protect them from him, but the demon world is too dangerous all on its own. There’s like a thousand things that could kill them the second they set foot there.”