“We?”
“See what you’re missing?” she asked. “Would Jasper ever have the courage to replace his heart with one you built? Does he believe in you that much? You may belong to the other side for now, my love, but you’ll come back. I know you will. You have to.”
“Why?”
“You designed the Heart Mantle,” said Cassandra. “And you designed something else I want.”
Truman’s stomach lurched, but he refused to let Cassandra see his fear.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“You designed a Fresnel to harness the energy and light of the stars.”
“That was just a silly idea. I never built it. It’s not possible to build something like that.”
Cassandra smiled. “We’ll see about that.”
She rebuttoned her tunic and turned around, her black cape whirling in her wake, and glided down Fifth Avenue like she owned it. Clutching his satchel to his chest, Truman watched her until she disappeared into the night.
He ran for the door to the left of the Met’s main staircase with Friday at his heels. He trembled through all the security checks until he reached Raymond’s office. He yanked open the door to find Raymond at his desk.
“She has it!” Truman shouted. “Attached. But she’s made it better. Stronger. Stronger than I ever thought she could. And she knows about the Fresnel.”
Raymond stood up. “Come with me,” he said as he opened one of the large copper doors behind his desk.
On the other side of the door was a flume with an oval vessel standing on end. Raymond began fiddling with a complex set of buttons, switches, and levers on the back of the vessel. Lights came on, and Truman realized they were standing in an intricate transport machine that was barely big enough to fit the two of them and Friday.
“This will take us on an alternate route to the Atrium,” said Raymond. “It’s perfectly safe, but the steep vertical drop makes most people sick. Jasper won’t go near this thing. Congratulations, you’re the only other person who’s ever been in here.”
“You’re full of surprises,” Truman said.
“You have no idea.”
The door snapped shut, and the vessel plunged them down into the darkness.
CHAPTER 28
A NEW REVELATION
Emerson clutched her book to her chest as she and Skylar ran up the staircase from the lake. When they reached the top, Jasper was waiting for them. His smile was faint. Friday was at his side, but the others were nowhere in sight.
“Friday!” exclaimed Emerson. She wrapped her arms around him, and put her head on his shoulder. His fur always smelled like cookies.
“Grandpa, I told Emerson we’d show her around,” said Skylar. “Where is everyone?”
“They’re all in Raymond’s library office,” said Jasper as he pointed to the other side of an enormous open Atrium.
“Truman, too?” asked Skylar.
“Truman, too,” he said. “It’s that copper door in the far corner with the torches on either side. You go. I’ll stay with Emerson.”
“What’s wrong?” Skylar asked. “Something’s wrong.”
“Raymond will explain,” said Jasper.
“Explain what?”
“Skylar, go,” said Jasper. “I’ll give Emerson a tour of her new home.”
Skylar hesitated for one more moment and then sprinted across the Atrium.
Emerson’s mouth hung open as she looked around the immense space. She was so overwhelmed by everything that had happened that her mind went blank.
“My home?” she asked.
Jasper smiled, held her hand, and pointed up to the ceiling that soared and swirled above them. Emerson tilted her head back and looked up and up and up.
“This place has all the answers you’ve been looking for,” said Jasper.
High above her, the Milky Way glittered at Emerson even though they were far underground. The walls of the Atrium were lined with bookshelves full of colorful volumes of all shapes and sizes and thicknesses. They sparkled. It was the biggest library she’d ever seen, and she was certain that the walls must be hundreds of feet high. Tears pooled in her eyes because she could barely take it all in. She kept blinking hard, certain she must be dreaming.
“This is a place that’s been waiting for you to arrive all your life,” said Jasper.
“Waiting for me?” said Emerson. “I’m not even sure how I got here.”
“This is your legacy,” said Jasper. “A place to fully be who you are. This library is your heritage. And my heritage. And the heritage of every person who has ever fully embraced their creativity. It’s called the Library of Imagination.”
Emerson’s eyes opened so wide she felt them stretching. As she spun around to take in a full view of the circular space, she saw that the bookshelves were shiny and gold with an intricate pattern carved into them. It was the same pattern that was etched into the cover of The Starlighter book she held in her hands. She knew that couldn’t be a coincidence, but she couldn’t think of an explanation for it.
Light emanated from every corner to give everything a glowing, dreamlike quality. The plush carpet under her feet was a rich ruby red. It was warm and comforting. As she looked closer, she saw a massive collection of books floating in the air near the bookshelves, wiggling as if they were alive. Tiny sparkling lights surrounded them.
She pointed up toward the ceiling. “Those books are flying and twinkling!” she said. “Way up there.”
“Each book in here represents a life story of a creative mind, a person who has made their creativity the priority of their lives,” Jasper said. “The books that are open represent lives still being lived, still being written. They are still creating.”
“Do I have a book up there? A book all about me and the things I create?” asked Emerson.
“Oh, yes,” said Jasper.
“Where?” asked Emerson. “Where’s my book?”
“It’s just there.” Jasper pointed at a white twinkling light directly above her, high in the air. It now glowed a little brighter than the others. “Yours is quite special, more special than you know.”
“Why is that?” asked Emerson.
“Come with me,” he said. “I’ll show you.”
Jasper and Emerson talked as they wound their way around the Atrium, following a path of honey-colored marble that created a ring between the bookshelves and the carpet that lined most of the floor. Friday padded along beside them. Emerson noticed that their footprints were illuminated on the marble floor as they walked. She looked down hallways that started at the Atrium and went on as far as she could see, like spokes off the hub of a wheel. She stopped to count them. There were nine, and they were lined with bookshelves. Each hallway had its own color of trim along the walls and a distinct marble statue of a woman guarding its entrance from the Atrium. The statues matched the ones that lined the walls downstairs at the Lake of Possibility.
Emerson had a million questions. She admired every view, every angle. She felt safe. Safer than she’d ever felt before. For the first time since the fire in her apartment building, she could breathe fully and easily. It felt old and new, all at once, to be at ease.
“Jasper, every book that’s ever been written must be here in this library.”
“They are the life stories—complete, unabridged, and untainted—of every person who has ever believed in the power of their own creativity and then put it into practice, since the beginning of humankind,” said Jasper.
“Every single person ever?”
“Not every single person, unfortunately,” said Jasper. “There are people who don’t develop their gifts. Who settle for lives that are less than the ones they’re capable of living. You won’t find their stories here, simply because they were never lived.”
“Why would so
meone not live?” asked Emerson. “If they could have a creative life, why wouldn’t they?”
“We’re all born with this incredible gift—our minds, our imaginations. We’re capable of amazing things, things we haven’t even begun to explore or dream of.”
Emerson believed that. She often spent time wondering what she might do with her life. Her dad was passionate about solving puzzles. Jasper loved and lived in a world of old, rare books. Skylar told her she was fascinated by history because having a history is the one thing that all people share. Emerson knew she wanted to see the world.
“Do you think everyone was born to do something?” she asked. “That there’s something we’re meant to do?”
“I think we could be meant to do a lot of things,” said Jasper. “We all have many gifts, and what we have to decide is which ones to develop.”
“How do we decide?”
“That’s the biggest question we all face. What do you think you’d like to do with your life, Emerson?”
In this library, everything seemed possible so she felt free to articulate her dream for the first time.
“I want to travel. Just like my mother did. I want to see the places she visited and go to the places she never got to see.”
“She’d want that for you, too,” said Jasper.
“Do you think so?”
“I know so. Your mother’s gift for languages took her off the beaten path, into new places to meet new people. She believed fiercely in the value of understanding foreign cultures and in the goodness of people. She lived the life she imagined, and she never let anyone tell her something she wanted to do was impossible.”
Emerson felt a deep longing for her mother. She always missed her, but right now, more than anything, she wanted to show her this incredible place.
“I wish my mother could see this. I think she would have loved it here.”
Jasper stopped short and turned to Emerson. “Oh, Emerson, your mother did love it here. She spent a lot of time in this library.”
Emerson was confused. “But why didn’t she ever bring me here?”
“What were the books she read to you the most?” Jasper asked.
Emerson’s mother read to her every night before bed. Those were Emerson’s favorite times, cuddled up in her mother’s arms, listening to her read stories about people in far-off places in make-believe lands.
“We read so many books together, but my favorites were always the ones about mythology and the muses. They were her favorites, too.”
“Those weren’t just stories, Emerson. Your mother was preparing you.”
Emerson shook her head, trying to clear it. “Those stories are made up. They don’t prepare you for anything. They’re just for fun.”
“For most people, they’re just fun. For you, they’re your past and your future.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Have you ever thought of an idea, but you had no idea how you came up with it?”
Emerson thought about what had happened in the hospital. “I had a dream that a woman told me she was preparing the way for me and that she’d see me on the other side. I didn’t know what she was talking about. I didn’t even know who she was. But I did feel like I was going to see her again. I have no idea where that dream came from.”
Jasper was surprised. He didn’t realize that the muses had already begun their work with her.
“That dream was preparing you to come here. This library is yours now. Just as it was your mother’s. You are its designated protector.”
“Me? How can I protect all this?” asked Emerson. “And what am I protecting it from?”
“I want you to meet someone who can help answer that question.” Jasper pointed into the very center of the Atrium.
Emerson had been so overwhelmed by the books that she hadn’t noticed the small patch in the very center of the Atrium floor. A ring of babbling water encircled a bright yellow and orange flame slightly taller than Emerson. The flame seemed to beckon her. She and Jasper walked toward it. When she got closer, she saw that the flame was made of many threads of light twisted together to create a kind of twirling sculpture.
When Emerson moved around it, the flame turned, too, as if it had eyes that were watching her. If she slowed down, the flame’s rotation slowed down. If she sped up, it sped up. Emerson couldn’t stop looking at it. It made her lose track of time, and she barely felt her feet moving beneath her. It seemed as though the flame was carrying her somehow. She’d felt this way the night outside the Crooked Willow and the day that her home caught fire. She even felt this same weightlessness during her dream in the hospital.
The flame then got very narrow and formed an arrow that pointed toward one of the long hallways off the Atrium. Emerson followed the arrow with her eyes and turned toward the hallway.
Its archway was studded with shimmering jewels of every color wound into the swirling pattern that matched the book in her hands. Flames flickered from the torches that dotted the hallway, and she and Jasper walked toward it. The hallway had a thick carpet of soft green grass. She took a few steps onto it and was delighted when she realized that the tiniest pink flowers sprang up behind her in each of her footprints.
The hallway was lined with books, just like the Atrium. She looked closely at the ones at her eye level. Lewis Carroll’s name ran down the spine of an especially thick book. J.M. Barrie was to one side of it and C.S. Lewis to the other. Emerson ran her hands along their covers and felt a tingle ripple through her.
“These are all my favorite books and writers,” she said.
“Books are magical that way,” said Jasper. “They connect us and transport us across centuries, across continents. And we feel as though they were written just for us. And in some ways, they were. We find the right story, exactly when we need it most.”
“They’re like family to me,” Emerson said.
Jasper smiled. “Not like family, Emerson. They are your creative family.”
Emerson looked at him, confused.
“If we trace your history back,” said Jasper, “back to the very beginning, to your very oldest ancestors, along the many branches of your mother’s family tree, you are directly descended from one of the muses. And that’s also true for me. And Skylar, Samuel, Mrs. Morgan, Raymond, and my friend, Irene, whom you met at Stargrass. Each of the nine muses has a set of descendants that together form our Council.”
Emerson stumbled back a few steps, and Friday positioned himself to steady her. She felt dizzy. As she leaned on Friday, she closed her eyes to try to ground herself.
“Jasper, the muses are made up. They’re just stories.”
“I know it’s a lot to try to understand, but it’s true. Through your mother, you are descended from Calliope, the head muse. These authors, and all of the people whose life books are here in this hallway, called upon her, your ancestor, to help them with their creative work. The works of their imaginations feel so familiar to you because in a way they are from you, from your family. There’s a spark of you in each of them.”
Emerson felt dazed. Of all the surprises she’d had in the past few days, this one felt heaviest. Who was she? Why hadn’t her mother or father told her about any of this? What was she supposed to do with all this information now?
She was tired. The world began to spin. She turned back toward the flame in the center of the Atrium. Was it whispering her name?
Like a tractor beam, the flame drew her toward it. It grew warmer and brighter as she got closer. This flame had a spirit; it felt alive.
“Emerson,” said Jasper as they stood with their toes nearly dipped into the babbling water, “ this is your mother.”
There was a pang in her heart. She stared at Jasper for a long moment before she could think of something to say.
“That’s a flame, Jasper. It’s not my mother.”
“The night she died, she was faced with a very difficult decision. This library, her heritage, all of human imagination was under attack by some terrible people who wanted to destroy all of it. The leader of that group wanted to have supreme control over the human imagination, who could access it, and what they could do with it.”
Emerson’s breathing grew ragged. This was too much to process. She felt like she was being repeatedly hit in the face. Every piece of news seemed more unbelievable than the one before it.
“I need to sit down,” she said.
She sank onto the floor, and Friday positioned himself behind her to support her back. She placed the book she was holding in her lap and let her hands rest on it. Jasper sat beside her and closed his eyes. He had pushed Emerson too far, too fast, with too much information.
“It’s late,” he said. “We can talk more about this tomorrow.”
“No,” she said. “I want to hear what happened.”
“You need to rest—”
“I need to know what happened to my mother. Please.” A tear streamed down her cheek.
Jasper sighed. “Calliope, as the head muse, is the guardian of human imagination, ingenuity, and creativity. A direct descendent of Calliope had to allow the light within her to consume her, the way a shooting star burns so bright that it dies, in a way. All its energy is converted into a different form, one that can protect what is whole and heal what is broken.”
Emerson loved the sight of the stars. She tried to picture her mother flying across the sky, free and unbound. She wanted to smile at the thought, but she didn’t have the strength. Jasper continued.
“With a light that bright, and only with a light that bright, the dark force who sought to destroy creativity could be repelled from here. If the dark force had been allowed to prevail, creativity would have been entirely extinguished. We would be taken, literally and figuratively, back into darkness. Your mother allowed her inner light to consume her, and it transformed her heart into this flame.”
Emerson Page and Where the Light Enters Page 11
