The Forbidden Library

by Django Wexler

  He gave her a long, yellow-eyed stare. “Of course.”

  Alice blinked. “Really?”

  “I am half cat.” He cocked his head, an oddly human gesture. “The operative question, young lady, is will I help you?”

  Alice felt like giving him a kick. The excitement of meeting a talking cat was starting to wear off, and she was reminded once again that she was a mass of cuts and scrapes, and also very cold.

  “Will you help me? I would appreciate it very much.”

  “I will,” Ashes said. He sounded as though he’d made the decision on the spot. “But only because you have aroused my curiosity. Don’t expect me to stand up for you if you get in trouble.”

  “Thank you.”

  The cat gave a little sigh. “You can go ahead and say it. I know you want to.”

  “Say what?”

  “The proverb. About cats, and curiosity, and its effect thereon.”

  “I wasn’t going to say anything like that,” Alice said.

  “No?” Ashes yawned again. “What a strange girl.”

  Getting through the wall turned out to be a much simpler procedure than Alice had expected. Ashes strolled past her, rubbing idly against her leg as he went, and then stepped into the stonework as though it were no more substantial than smoke. For a moment all she could see was his lashing tail. Then his face popped out again, producing the somewhat gruesome effect of a cat head mounted on a stone wall, like a hunting trophy.

  “You can come through,” he said. “As long as I’m in the doorway. Hurry up, though. If it stays open for too long someone may take an interest.”

  Alice extended a hand cautiously. Where her fingers expected to meet stone there was nothing, not even a tingle or a ripple in the air. Her hand was gone, as though she’d thrust it into inky black water, but she could still feel her fingers. She wiggled them and pulled her hand back, obscurely relieved to find it intact.

  “Come on, come on,” Ashes said.

  Alice took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and shuffled forward. The transition was detectable only as a change in the air: It was suddenly much warmer, and her next breath carried the overwhelming smell of dust and old paper that permeated the library. She felt something soft and warm brush against her ankle, and panicked for a moment before she realized it was only Ashes.

  She opened her eyes, but nothing happened. The blackness remained absolute.

  “I can’t see,” she whispered.

  “That’s because there’s no lights.” Ashes sounded smug. “Not enough for a human, anyway. I can see just fine.”

  “Hold on.”

  She fumbled for her supplies, found the matches, and after a few tries managed to strike one on the floor. She transferred the flame to the candle, which gave a wan glow that was barely enough to show her the bookshelves on either side of her. Behind her was a stone wall. She put a hand on it, and felt only cold rock.

  “Fire in the library?” Ashes chided. “Master Geryon would not approve.”

  “If I’d been able to get in the front door, I’d have borrowed one of the lamps,” Alice said. “I’ll be careful.”

  “I’m sure,” the cat said. “Now. Thanks to my good graces, you’re inside. What next?”

  “I . . . I’m not sure.”

  She pursed her lips and looked down at the cat, who was only a gray smudge in the flickering light of the candle. She was feeling, frankly, a little peevish. Ashes’ smug superiority was grating, no matter how helpful he was, and it was irritating that he had the advantage of her, so she had to gawp like a slack-jawed idiot in his wake.

  “Let me guess,” Ashes said. He couldn’t grin, like a human might, but she could hear it in his voice. “You thought you’d just poke around and somehow you’d happen across this ‘fairy’ you’re looking for?”

  “I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to get inside,” Alice told the cat. “Forgive me for not having a long-term plan.”

  “It’s not my forgiveness you should be worried about.” Ashes walked around Alice in a circle, his tail caressing her bare shins. “Right. Follow me.”

  “Where are we going?” Alice had to move quickly to keep the cat in view. The library shelves loomed up on either side, dark and cave-like in the inadequate glow of the candle.

  “To see someone who may able to help you find what you want to know,” Ashes said. “If you’re polite.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ISAAC

  FOLLOW ME VERY CLOSELY,” Ashes said. “If we get separated, you’ll never find your way back out again.”

  “Emma taught me a trick for that,” Alice said, trying to assert a modicum of independence. “You just need to follow the glass arrows in the ceiling.”

  The cat snorted. “You can follow them, all right. Where they’ll lead you is something else entirely.”

  They’d been walking for at least a quarter of an hour. Alice had removed her remaining slipper—wearing only one made her walk with a limp—and her feet were now coated with library dust. Ashes never hesitated when he came to an intersection, so she assumed he knew where he was going. But the shelves all looked alike, and she wondered briefly if he was leading her in circles for a laugh. That couldn’t be, though. When she looked behind her, her footprints in the dust were clear even in the dim light of the candle, and the dust ahead of them was always pristine and undisturbed.

  Then the character of the library started to change. Instead of neat alleys, the bookshelves stood in tight little groups, enclosing small spaces almost like little rooms. In these interior spaces, Alice glimpsed things that were not bookshelves—statues, suits of armor, even what looked very much like a living tree. There were flashes of movement too, and shadows that were definitely un-feline dancing on the floor.

  Ashes’ formerly confident steps took on a decidedly cautious air as they wove through the clusters of shelving. At times he would suddenly stop, tasting the air while his ears twitched, as though listening to a distant noise Alice couldn’t hear. Once, without explanation, he backtracked and led her in a circle, giving wide berth to an apparently empty passage. When she tried to ask why, all she got was a peremptory shush.

  By the time they arrived at their destination, Alice felt like she’d walked for miles. Their path had to have been a twisting one, she thought, because the library building simply couldn’t be that large. They’d never even come in sight of one of the outer walls.

  Ashes stopped at a particular group of shelves, five heavy wooden things arranged in a pentagon with only slim gaps between them. As they’d penetrated deeper in the library, the books themselves had grown fewer and fewer, and these shelves were entirely empty. Dust lay so thick on them that they seemed to have been there for centuries.

  “All right,” Ashes said. “Wait here. I won’t be long.”

  “But you said—”

  The cat was already gone, slipping lithely between two of the bookcases. Alice stared after him, seeing nothing but darkness beyond, and felt utterly foolish.

  Perhaps he’s abandoned me here, she thought. For a joke? Or is he really trying to make sure I never come back? She was starting to question the wisdom of following a talking cat in the first place. Cats were notoriously fickle creatures.

  Ashes re-emerged into the candlelight. “He’s not here yet,” he said. “Come in, but move carefully, and don’t touch anything.”

  She looked dubiously at the gap between the shelves.

  “You’ll fit,” Ashes said. “Although you’d fit better if you were a cat.” He turned and slipped easily through the narrow crack.

  Alice edged sideways into the angle formed by the two bookshelves, pushed her arm through the space between them, and tried to force her shoulders through. To her surprise, it wasn’t difficult. She got the distinct sense that the shelves were moving apart, or actually bending back as though they were
made of clay. Something passed across her skin, a faint tingle like a wall of warm mist, and her next breath brought a lungful of air so unlike the dry, dusty smell of the library that she stopped short, wedged halfway between the bookshelves.

  “Don’t just stand there,” came Ashes’ voice. “You’ll let the damp out.”

  Alice dragged herself through with a final effort, carefully bringing the candle in last of all. When she turned around, she discovered she didn’t need it, and nearly dropped it in surprise.

  Inside, the little cluster looked nothing like the library beyond. The backs of the shelves were enormous, shadowy things, more like stone than wood. The space they enclosed was much larger than it had appeared from the outside, as big as a good-sized garden. The floor had changed from dusty stone to a rich, soft loam, damp and clingy on her feet. The air smelled wet, warm, and thick with the scent of rotting, growing things.

  In the center of the place was a circular pond. It was the only way Alice could think to describe it, in spite of the ridiculousness of having a pond inside a library. In the middle of the pond was an island, only a few feet across, and on the island a small fire of sticks and dry leaves crackled merrily. Balanced on an iron stand above the fire was a small iron cauldron, of the sort a witch in a story might use to boil unwary children. Something was bubbling in it, and the rising steam mixed with the smoke of the fire as it rose toward the invisible ceiling.

  All around, growing out of the soil in incredible profusion, were mushrooms. These ranged from whole banks of familiar-looking fungi a few inches high, topped with caps or puffballs, to truly enormous specimens taller than Alice was. The bigger they were, the stranger their shapes, dividing into many quivering branches or forming neat, concentric rings like a wedding cake. They came in all colors too, not just the drab gray and brown of ordinary mushrooms. She could see streaks of green, red, violet, and royal blue in the light of the bonfire.

  Ashes stood at the edge of the pond, back arched, trying to keep his body as far away from the ground as possible. He caught Alice’s eyes with his yellow ones and gave an exaggerated sigh.

  “I don’t know how he stands the damp,” the cat said. “It’s a nasty little hole, if you ask me.”

  “Who is ‘he’? Is someone living in here?”

  “All in good time.”

  Alice gave the cat a cross look. “You’re not being very helpful.”

  “No,” Ashes said, sounding pleased with himself. He yawned. “However, perhaps a little quid pro quo is in order. Do me a favor, and I’ll answer your questions.”

  “A favor?” Alice narrowed her eyes. “What kind of favor?”

  “Let me ride on your shoulder,” Ashes said, holding up his front paw. “This stuff mats my fur something awful.”

  Ashes was lighter than he looked. She lifted him to her shoulder and he shifted around until he found a comfortable position, the tips of his claws pricking through the thin fabric of her nightshirt. His tail flipped back and forth against her shoulder blades.

  “All right,” Alice said. “So where are we?”

  “Hmm?” Ashes said. “We’re in the library, of course.”

  “You don’t have to be clever about it,” Alice said. She pushed a foot into the ground, which squelched. “This doesn’t look like any library I’ve ever been in. And it certainly doesn’t look like the library out”—she gestured vaguely—“there.”

  “I’ve never been in another library, so I wouldn’t know,” the cat said. “But you’re right. ‘Out there’ is what you might think of as the front parlor. This is Master Geryon’s private collection.”

  “But—”

  “He keeps his really important books here. But they start to . . . leak, after a while, and you end up with places like this.”

  “Leak?” Alice frowned. “Books have always seemed fairly solid to me. Paper, leather, ink. How can they leak?”

  “I can see that you’re an expert,” Ashes said, with injured pride.

  “Sorry,” Alice said. “What books are we talking about?”

  “Look at one of the big mushrooms,” the cat said. “Like that one just there, see?”

  Alice squelched over to it. It was of the classic shape, with a long white stem and a dark red cap with green spots, and about four feet high. Lying on top of the cap, Alice was surprised to see, was a book. It was a big, flat volume, leather-bound, that wouldn’t have looked out of place in her father’s collection. The title was picked out in gold leaf on the cover. It said The Swarm.

  “It looks like an ordinary book,” Alice said. “Why would you store a book here? You’d think the damp would get to it in no time.”

  “I told you, the damp leaks out of the books,” Ashes said. “It probably likes it that way.”

  “Likes? It’s alive?”

  “Not exactly. But it’s not exactly not alive, either.”

  Alice reached out and laid a finger on the cover. It felt normal enough.

  “Can I look inside it?” she said.

  Ashes chuckled. “Go ahead, but you’ll only give yourself a headache.”

  “It doesn’t look all that difficult to me—”

  “Who’s there?” a voice said from behind her. “What are you doing here?”

  Alice turned around, fast enough that Ashes had to grip a little tighter to keep his perch. There was a boy standing by the edge of the pond, his back to the fire and his face in shadow. He wore a long, heavy coat, almost like a wizard’s cape with pockets. What she could see of his face looked thin and unfriendly. It was hard to guess his age exactly, but from his height he couldn’t be much older than she was. He held his hands in front of him in a sort of boxer’s stance, as though he expected to be attacked.

  “Finally,” Ashes said. “We’ve been waiting.”

  “Ashes.” The boy sighed and let his arms fall. “You might have warned me.”

  “I might have,” Ashes agreed.

  The boy frowned. “But what’s she doing here?”

  “I’ll do the introductions, shall I?” Ashes said. “Alice, this is Isaac. Isaac, Alice.”

  “I know who she is,” Isaac said. “But why did you bring her here?”

  “Just being polite.” Ashes sniffed. “You told Mother you needed help, didn’t you?”

  “From her?” Isaac looked incredulous. “She’s just a . . . a girl! Geryon’s niece, or something. What am I supposed to do with her, use her as bait?”

  “Maybe,” Ashes said. “You can never tell, with Mother.”

  “All right,” said Alice, who had had just about enough of being discussed as though she weren’t there. “First of all, I have no idea what you need help with, but you can forget it. Second of all, nobody brought me anywhere.” She turned her head to glare at Ashes. “This cat said that you might be able to help me, but apparently he had something else in mind. Someone in his position ought to be a little more forthcoming, or else he might find himself tail-deep in the mud.”

  “There’s no need for that sort of thing,” Ashes said, alarmed.

  Isaac chuckled. “Right. You haven’t been told much, have you?”

  “He’s a Reader,” Ashes blurted.

  “So am I,” Alice said. “What’s so special about reading?”

  “No, you’re not,” Ashes said. “He’s a Reader. A wizard. A magician. A wielder of arcane forces.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means he can use these books,” Ashes said. “Or try to, anyway.”

  Isaac shot Ashes a cold glance, then turned back to Alice. “I know this may be hard to accept—”

  “I’m standing by the side of the pond in the middle of a library with a talking cat on my shoulder,” Alice deadpanned. “What’s so special about these books?”

  “Take a look and see,” Isaac said. It was hard to tell wi
th his back to the fire, but she thought he was smirking.

  Alice turned back to the mushroom. Ashes dug his claws into her shoulder a little harder.

  “I really wouldn’t,” the cat said. “Trust me. Your head will hurt for hours.”

  “I don’t think so,” Alice said. “Anything he can read, I can read.”

  “It’s not like that, I told you—”

  Alice flipped the cover open and looked down at the first page. It was a solid block of text, but the characters were in a language she didn’t recognize, all strange curls and crossed lines. There was something off about them, as though they were out of focus, and she felt herself going cross-eyed. Then the print moved, with a crawling sensation that seemed to go straight from the page to the back of her eyeballs, and formed itself into familiar English words.

  “Wait a minute—” Ashes said.

  Alice read:

  Alice opened her eyes in another place entirely. It was dark after the brightness of Isaac’s fire . . .

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE SWARM

  ALICE OPENED HER EYES in another place entirely. It was dark after the brightness of Isaac’s fire, with only faint glowing patches on the walls. She could feel brickwork underfoot, cracked and crumbling with age.

  Ashes dug in all four sets of claws at once, hard enough to draw blood. Alice gave a screech and grabbed for him, but he jumped, landing with a soft thump on the bricks and vanishing into the darkness.

  “Ashes?” she said quietly, one hand clapped to her lacerated shoulder. “Where are you?”

  “Right here, you half-blind two-legs,” the cat said. She felt his tail brush against her shin. “All right, very clever, you put one over on old Ashes. I like the ‘clueless little girl’ act, it’s quite good. Now, I assume you’ve got a plan?”

  “A plan?”

  Alice blinked and held up a hand, trying to find the outline of her fingers. Her eyes were adjusting to the gloom, and she could just make out that they were in a small room, like a cellar, with arched doorways in all four walls. The light was coming from something growing on the brickwork, hanging in great glowing strips, like tattered wallpaper painted with the guts of lightning bugs.