by Lori Woods
“Not yet,” I manage to reply weakly as the last of the books is removed and I’m looking up at the faces of Alford and Snowball.
“See, I told you she wasn’t dead, Alfie?” Snowball says before leaning down and licking me on the forehead. “A good cleaning will make you feel better,” she adds in her unique scratchy voice.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” I tell both of them as I gingerly sit up. “What happened?”
Snowball glances over at Alford.
“Uh, someone pushed the bookcase over onto you,” he says.
“Who?” I ask, but even as I ask the question, I say the answer. “Night Shadow.”
“I said a quick protection spell. Whoever it was can’t hurt you for the moment,” Alford explains.
“Uh… I didn’t know you knew magic.”
Alford shrugged. “It’s like Spanish. Everyone knows a few words.”
“Except me. I know zero spells,” I say, sitting up.
“But you can read the runes so you will know some soon,” Alford says. “Oh, here’s your cup of Irish coffee,” he adds, handing me a cup of steaming hot coffee.
I hold it with both hands as I blow on it. I take a sip and gag. “Alford, you just put a little coffee in the Irish whiskey. It’s supposed to be the other way around.”
“Not when you’re a lush,” Snowballs says as she pauses in licking her favorite paw.
“Snowball!” I say loudly.
“Sorry, Alfie. It just slipped out,” Snowball says.
The dwarf gives Snowball a hard look but instead of scolding her he takes a big sip of his coffee. “Just the way I like it!” he tells me as he glances at Snowball as though daring her to say something smart.
I take a bigger sip of my coffee and enjoy it burning its way down to my belly. After another sip, I am a little light-headed.
“You know, if you shave off that scraggly red beard you would be…” I catch myself before saying good-looking. “… more dignified,” I say and smile.
“Oh no, I get my strength from my beard!” Alford says, slurring his words.
“You didn’t by any chance drink some of the whiskey straight from the bottle, did you,” I ask.
“Well, it wouldn’t all go in the two cups of coffee. What else was I going to do with it?” Alford asks as he takes the last of his coffee.
“Hello! Anyone here?” I hear a pleasant voice that I remember as belonging to the elven doctor.
“The patient is in here, Doc,” Alford shouts. “I was administering a little Irish whiskey to calm her nerves.”
“Hi, Doc. I am not dead or dead dead, but I do have a couple of bumps on my head,” I say as I try to stand up. Suddenly the room is spinning. “Gee, check me over. I must have a concussion,” I say as Alford keeps me from falling.
The doctor picks up my now-empty cup of coffee and sniffs it. “No concussion, Suzy. Just drunk,” he accuses and glances over at Alford. “And why is her cat running around in circles? You didn’t give her booze too?”
“Doc, I wouldn’t do that. We are besties now. I gave her a little catnip. And from now on, call me Alfie.
“I see my services aren’t needed here,” the elf said, shaking his head as he grabs his bag and starts to leave.
“Oh, I don’t know, Doc. I could probably use the services of a good-looking man like you,” I say and giggle.
The tall elf glances down at me and flashes a strange smile. “When you’re sober, I am going to recite your words back to you and enjoy seeing that lovely face of yours blush.”
“Prude. Isn’t he a prude, Alfie?” I say dreamily. “Prude, prude,” I call after him.
10
I sit on the chair behind the service desk, my head in my hands. Alfie leans against the desk, a dopier than usual look on his face.
“So, Alfie,” I say, “you don’t happen to know any drunk spells, do you?”
“I think we’re both drunk enough, Suzy. We certainly don’t need to get any drunker.”
“No, no, no,” I say, looking up at him. “I mean undrunk spells.”
“You gotta be kidding me,” Alfie says.
“Since you worked with Rachel for a long time, I thought she might have taught you a spell to sober up after you have had a sip too much of Irish whiskey.”
Alfie gives me a dirty look.
“Okay, okay, if you don’t know any spells, how about getting us both another cup of coffee?”
“What!” Alfie glances at me, a startled look on his face. “You want more of that stuff?”
“Coffee, Alfie; just coffee. Nothing else but. And black. And strong.”
“If you insist.”
“Please, Alfie. I mean how would it look if someone came into the library and saw the condition we’re in?”
Snowball rubs against my legs. “Catnip! I want more catnip!” she demands in her scratchy voice.
I give her a disgusted look. “You’re in worse shape than we are.”
Snowball has a glazed look in her eyes. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”
“Have you?”
Snowball rolls her eyes, which is such a human-type thing that I burst out laughing. “I can’t believe you did that,” I tell Snowball. I turn back to Alfie. “And a saucer of strong black coffee for her.”
“Hair—I mean Snowball?”
I shake my head. “Whiskey for us. Catnip for her. Each has the same effect.”
“All right, all right. A cup of strong, black coffee for the new librarian.”
“And one for the assistant librarian, as well.”
“I don’t think I really need—”
I give him a look. He turns on his heel and goes to a small room to the right of the desk. In a moment, he returns with two steaming cups of coffee.
“Are you forgetting something?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
She nods toward Snowball. “The catnip addict!”
Alfie sighs, turns, and goes into the small room again. He soon comes back with a saucer and sets the coffee down in front of Snowball.
“What’s that in your other hand?” I ask.
“In my other hand. What do you mean?” His face turns pink.
“What I mean is the bag of cat treats.”
“Oh, that.” Alfie places the bag on the desk between the two cups of coffee. “Food helps absorb alcohol in the stomach. It helps you not get so drunk.”
“And it works the same for catnip inebriation as it does for alcohol?”
“All right, you caught me. I thought Snowball deserved some treats for coming up with my new name. Alfie.” He opens the bag and takes out several nuggets. “I hope you like these, Snowball.”
“Of course I like them!” she says haughtily. Then she looks up at him. “Thank you, Alfie. That was very nice of you.”
“Aw, it was nothing.”
Snowball begins to purr.
After the third cup of coffee, I am more clear-headed…well, almost.
“Alfie,” I say. “Do you know where to look for the spell that would allow me to go back to the other side again?”
“The cemetery?”
“Yes,” I stand up. “What book it’s likely to be in?”
“I heard Rachel say that brewed spells are the strongest of all spells. One of the books should deal with that.”
Good idea, I think. “I put a book on brewing spells aside before the world came crashing down on my head,” I say, moving over to a short stack of books that isn’t covered by the avalanche. “Here it is.” I say as I open it. “I didn’t realize brewed spells were so powerful. I didn’t even bother opening it.”
“Hmm… some witch you are?” Alfie says, raising his eyebrows.
“I’m new at this, okay? I thought it was just in movies that witches brewed spells.”
I busy myself glancing through the book. I am still fascinated by how the runes rearrange themselves until they make sense.
“Alfie! I found it! Exit spell for leaving Nightshade!” I say in a s
udden shrill voice. “But it has a long list of weird ingredients.”
“Well, remember you’re new at this. The things that sound weird to you? I probably have them in the cellar. Read me the list.
“One eye of a newt”
“Have it.”
“One toe of a frog.”
“Yes.”
“Fur of bat.”
“Check!”
As I read down the list, I am appalled that Alfie has all the ingredients.
Feeling good, I read the last ingredient. “Magic red mushroom!”
“Rats!”
“What’s the matter?” I say, glancing up from the spell book. “Mushrooms grow almost everywhere, right?”
Alfie is shaking his head. “No. Not the red magic mushroom. It grows only in one place.”
“Where?” I ask eagerly.
“Werewoods,” Alfie says in a whisper.
“Hmm, that doesn’t sound like a place for a Sunday outing.”
“It’s not.” Alfie shudders. “It’s got trolls! Big, ugly trolls that love the taste of dwarfs. That’s what people call the wood dwarfs in Werewoods—troll snacks.”
“Alfie, I am sure you are exaggerating,” I say, seeing him suddenly distressed.
“No, I’m not. I’m not.”
“Where is this Werewoods located?”
“It is beyond Granny Maycomber’s cottage. There’s a big meadow between the oak forest and Werewoods.”
“Okay, but where in Werewoods does the red magic mushroom grow?”
“Suzy, you are not seriously thinking of going into Werewoods, are you?” Alfie asks.
“Well, yes, if that’s the only place this special mushroom grows. What choice do I have?”
“I can only tell you what I’ve heard from Rachel after she went there once to collect some. There is a wide trail leading from the meadow into Werewoods. You take the trail and go from Foggy Bottom to Shimmering Lake. The red magical mushroom grows in the marsh beyond the lake.”
“Okay, that sounds simple.”
“But what are you going to do if you meet a troll?” Alfie asks.
“I’m going to give it a whack with Broom Hilda, and if that doesn’t work I’m going to get out of Dodge!” I say.
“Get out of Dodge? I don’t understand,” Alfie says with a confused look.
“Never mind; it is one of those expressions we use on the other side.”
Just then I hear the library door opening. We both glance around and see Sheriff Dudley through the bookshelves. “Anyone here?” he asks, cocking his right ear so it stands straight up.
“We’re back here,” I call. “In the stacks. Come on over.”
“No, no,” Alfie says. “No one’s allowed back here but the librarians.”
“Really?” I ask. “People can’t just come in and browse?”
Alfie looks horrified. “Think about the books! What that would do to them. All those hands touching them. Dirty hands, sweaty hands! Kids’ hands covered with sticky candy! Oh, no, we have to go out to the front. Anyway, most people can’t read runes.”
I can’t believe it. A library where no one can look through the books. No one but the library staff!
“Come on,” Alfie says. “Let’s go out and talk to the sheriff.”
The sheriff holds a pen and a tablet. “Good morning,” he says. “But then again, it’s not such a good morning for you, is it, Miss Macomber?”
“I’m sorry?” I answer, puzzled.
“Didn’t you call to say someone upset a stack of books on top your head?”
“Oh, Alfie called you.”
“Alfie,” Sheriff Dudley glances around, looking for someone else.
“Alford likes to be called Alfie,” I say.
“Short name for a shor…that’s a good name,” Sheriff Dudley says with a smile.
“Anyway, Sheriff, I think someone wants to kill me,” I say to end the awkward moment.
Dudley looks down at his empty tablet as if what he needs to ask is written there. “Can you identify the perp?”
“I didn’t see anyone. They caught me by surprise.”
“The perp?” Alfie asked. “What’s a ‘perp’?”
Dudley gives him a disgusted look. “Don’t you read mystery books?” He holds up his hand in a dismissive manner. “Not important, not important at all.” He turns again to me. “Can you…” He glances once more at the tablet. “Can you describe the person or persons—”
“How can she describe them, Dudley, if she never saw them?”
“Hmm. Didn’t think of that.”
“And while we’re about it,” Alfie says, “why do you keep looking down at your tablet every time you ask a question. The pages are blank, for goodness sake.”
“Blank? No, you’re wrong. Everything’s here, alright. In invisible ink.”
“Invisible ink?” I ask incredulously.
“Yes, of course,” Dudley answers in a way that makes it seem he’s talking to the village idiot. “We wouldn’t want the results of an investigation to fall into the wrong hands. Particularly if they can read everything I’ve written down.”
“Do you have any suspects in mind?” Alfie asked. “Surely, you have a list of names.”
“No…”
“What about Sprout?” Alfie asked.
“The old gardener?” Dudley asks.
“Why not?”
“Maybe you’re right.”
I speak up quickly. “Why don’t you question Sprout? Even if he’s not the perp, maybe he saw something.”
“You’re right. I’ll do that immediately.” He turns and heads for the door.
“Is he any good at his job?” I ask Alfie.
“He stays on a case like a hound on a scent,” Alfie assures me.
Suddenly, the front door opens again.
“Please don’t tell me Deputy Dog is coming back,” Snowballs says.
“No,” Alfie says. “It’s Val Kilmoor.”
“Suzy, are you here?” he asks.
I lay the book of brewed spells down and walk out to meet him.
“Good morning.” He has a big smile on his face.
“Good morning. I thought vampires couldn’t walk around in the day?” I blurt out.
He smiles. “I use sunscreen and unfortunately, a heavy layer of make-up too.”
I nod. “Oh, I see.”
“Anyway, I came to apologize so that’s what I’m going to do. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I think maybe I was a little too forward when I spoke with you the last time.”
“Too forward? I don’t know what you mean.”
Val blushes…or at least I thinks he does. It’s hard to tell with a vampire. Even a vampire who’s a preacher by day.
“I told you I wasn’t celibate.”
“I wasn’t offended.”
“You weren’t? Well, I’m so glad.”
I laugh.
“At any rate, I came both to apologize and to invite you to come to church this Sunday. We’ll be celebrating communion.”
“You will?”
“Yes, we do so one Sunday out of every month. But unlike most churches, I think, we believe that the blood of Christ is in everyone already.”
Oh my God, I think. He’s going to say that instead of drinking wine or grape juice, the members of the congregation drink each other’s blood.
Val must have noticed my expression. “What is it?” he asks.
“How do you practice communion?”
“What do you mean?”
“Christ’s blood?”
“I suppose like most churches, but we use grape juice entirely; no wine. A few members of the church are…well, you know.”
“So it’s just like regular communion at a regular church?”
He looked puzzled. “How else would it be?”
I certainly wasn’t about to tell him what I’d been thinking. “Just curious,” I said.
“So can I cou
nt on your being there? The service begins at ten.”
Why not? I think. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to church. Too long. “Of course,” I say.
“And maybe we can do something afterward.”
Like what? I wonder. Sucking each other’s blood? “What did you have in mind?”
“A nice picnic, perhaps? Where we can have a bottle of grape juice.”
“Grape juice!”
“I’m kidding. I’m kidding.”
I laugh. “That sounds nice.” He was, after all, a very attractive man—despite the fact that his favorite midnight snack was…No, I tell myself. I’m not going to go there.
“See you Sunday morning then,” Val says and holds out his hand. I reach to shake but he raises my hand to his lips and kisses it. Then he turns and is gone.
I find Alfie still back in the stacks. He has a rag and is dusting some of the books. “Alfie?” I ask.
“What is it?” He backs up to escape the cloud of dust he’s created. But apparently not fast enough or far enough. He starts to sneeze and can’t seem to stop.
“Gesundheit.” Pause. “Gesundheit.” Pause. “Gesundheit.” Pause. “Gesundheit.” Pause. After sneeze number ten it stops.
“Sorry about that,” Alfie says.
I shrug. “I’m going to get the red magic mushroom. Are you sure you aren’t going to come along? I could really use your help. Both Snowball and I could use someone strong like you.”
Alfie smiles, but as quickly as the smiles reaches his face, it vanishes.
“No way,” he says. “A team of unicorns couldn’t drag me to Werewoods!”
11
“No wonder Alfie didn’t want to come to Werewoods,” I shout to Snowball as I bring Broom Hilda to a perfect landing in the meadow at the edge of the tangled mass of vines hanging from giant oak trees. I’m definitely getting the hang of this flying thing. “This is spooky!” I add as we get off Broom Hilda and watch as she transforms back to her usual self.
I take a couple steps toward a path leading through the black oaks when suddenly I hear Snowball’s scratchy voice humming Sam the Sham’s song, Little Red Riding Hood.
“Stop that, Snowball. It’s not funny. If I had known you were going to regurgitate recorded songs at exactly the wrong moment, I would have used earphones!”
