by Lucy True
She nodded. “Okay, then. Let’s see if he’s in his office.”
Disturbing the boss at work was something Burgundy and the other employees rarely did. Mr. Knight kept to his office almost entirely without exception. Other than the one time she’d seen him during the Spring Fair, Burgundy hardly saw Mr. Knight out and about. She knew he attended budget meetings at the town hall. They were necessary to keep the library running. But how he actually got there to meet with the mayor and town council, she didn’t know. Nor did she ask. Operations weren’t her business.
She knocked lightly on his door, casting a grim look at Charlotte as she did so. “I hope he doesn’t tell me to piss off.”
“Has he ever?” Charlotte folded her arms. When the door opened, her lips quirked into a smug curve.
“Someone has been causing trouble.” Mr. Knight’s statement wasn’t far from the truth and Burgundy released a sigh of relief when he stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter the office.
“It didn’t start with me,” she said.
“No, it most certainly did not.” Mr. Knight closed the door behind them and waved for them to follow him. “I think it’s time we delved a little deeper into things.
They walked through the narrow doorway that separated the library director’s office from the furnace room. It wasn’t exactly the most exciting place, dominated by the immense contraption that provided both heating and air conditioning to the building. The drab gray cinder block basement walls had their share of cobwebs hanging from them and a few old, dusty filing cabinets took up space in the center of the room. Other than the circuit breakers on the wall to their left, there was nothing else to look at.
“Imagine, if you will,” Mr. Knight said, spreading his arms, “that it is early in the fifteenth century.”
“The fourteen hundreds?” Charlotte clarified.
“Precisely.” The vampire turned, lacing his fingers together. All around them, the scene changed. Instead of the library basement, Burgundy saw a pitch-black night sky with silver stars twinkling in it. In the distance, she heard shouts, saw the glow of torches in a line snaking its way closer and closer.
Mr. Knight turned to face the procession. “Magick users have run amok in 1417. Chaucer is long-since dead, the Hundred Years’ war is raging, and everything is falling into place for the Renaissance. Except witches and warlocks still roam freely. Those who cherish that freedom have decided to put an end to lawlessness and enact order in an effort to protect both themselves and humans.”
“Oh my goodness.” Charlotte reached out to lace her fingers through Burgundy’s, her shiver passing through their joined hands.
Burgundy couldn’t blame her. If she thought fire was a scary thing to face, the approaching crowd sent ice running through her veins. They marched onward, chanting something that sounded vaguely like, “Burn the witches!”
The trio fell into step with the crowd, Mr. Knight offering a reassuring, “They can’t see us. This is all in my memory, ladies.”
“You were here?” Burgundy asked.
“I was, yes. I’m over there.” Mr. Knight pointed at a robed figure walking at the center of the mob, torch held high, head hooded and down. “I knew what happened next would change everything, not only for witches and warlocks, but all supernaturals.”
Charlotte nudged Burgundy and they both lifted their gazes to three stakes that stood side by side on a wooden dais, straw mounded all over it, and three women tied to the upright poles. “Were you here to save them?” Charlotte whispered.
The crowd stopped and, in that moment, Burgundy thought her heart did as well. No words were exchanged as the first person, another hooded man, stepped forward and shoved his torch into the straw at the middle woman’s feet.
“No.” Mr. Knight looked straight ahead at a sight Burgundy could not have forced herself to watch if she tried. She turned away from the vision of flames leaping up the woman’s legs, licking at her dress as she howled in vain. “Three warlocks burned that night and that crowd wasn’t led by humans. It was led by witches. A particular one, in fact, whom I hoped never to see again.”
“Why?” Charlotte choked out, her fingers digging into Burgundy’s hand. “Why did they do that?”
“Too many humans reported strange incidents. The witches and warlocks decided secrecy was imperative, that laws were the only way to keep their own kind safe from one another. Many warlocks disagreed and took it as an insult to their intelligent. They were executed.”
“In 1417?” Burgundy clarified.
She turned to Mr. Knight, to meet his dark gaze shining in the firelight. “That’s when it all began, but that’s not when it ended.” He lifted his arm and Burgundy followed the gesture, from the line of his pointing finger to something gleaming in the darkness. Every so often, a flicker of firelight illuminated the object and Burgundy gasped.
Charlotte’s fingers dug into her arm, her best friend pressed up behind her. “That’s a 1974 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am,” the medicine woman hissed.
“How do you know?”
“Trust me. I know.” Her grip tightened and Burgundy turned to look at her taut features, before looking again at Mr. Knight.
“This isn’t the fifteenth century, is it?” she whispered.
He shook his head as the screams reached a wailing crescendo. “Try 1975, only a couple of years after your mother was born. The burning times didn’t end with Salem. At least, not for the Witches Council and their agenda.”
Burgundy closed her eyes, but the screams continued – high pitched, shrieking, piercing. Like a heavy vehicle with squealing brakes, the kind you always knew was coming at you and wished would hurry past.
And then the sounds faded. When Burgundy opened her eyes, they were enclosed by four walls once more. Four walls with dark bookshelves that spanned from floor to ceiling everywhere she looked. Each shelf held densely-packed books, the ancient leather spines all the colors of the rainbow. The place smelled of ancient dust mingled with sweet earth. The scent of magick.
“To this day,” Mr. Knight continued, “a rift has existed between those who ally with the Council and those who do not. Nearly all witches gave themselves over to the new laws enacted in 1417 and the leadership that ascended more than five hundred years after that. Some warlocks, as well. Known troublemakers were eliminated, while others were put on close watch. When the first burnings began, a secret group formed to combat the Council, to keep warlocks safe by training them in their gifts and allying them with one another.”
Burgundy met Mr. Knight’s dark gaze, the chill still permeating her body. “You mean the Firebrand Syndicate,” she said.
“You’re aware of it. Good. I’m glad your father said something to you.” Mr. Knight extended his arms and circled the room full of books. “They took the knowledge that witches deemed dangerous and collected it. To this day, they still add whatever they can to this collection. Warlocks aren’t evil. They’re explorers, they’re scholars, and yes, there are some troublemakers. But can’t the same be said of any group of people?”
Charlotte’s grip loosened, but she gave Burgundy’s hand a tug and shook her head. “Maybe, but warlocks cause more trouble than all supernaturals put together.”
“They’d like you to think that, wouldn’t they? But the truth is they have what the witches want – knowledge. As you know, knowledge is power, and while the Witches Council says it abhors the idea of any one race holding the power, they’re lying.” Mr. Knight tipped his head toward them, a grin tugging his lips apart just enough that Burgundy could see his fangs.
Most of them, she hardly noticed them. It wasn’t like she’d ever thought to look at Mr. Knight’s mouth when he talked, even when she learned he was a vampire. Now, she hoped she’d never get close enough to find out just how sharp they were.
“Here’s the deal, my dear Miss Hart,” he continued, “like it or not, you’re caught up in something bigger than you. You don’t want to be, but there it is. The only w
ay you can survive is by doing what generations of warlocks before you have done – learning how to use your power.”
Burgundy tried to pick something out of the swirl of thoughts crowding her mind, finally settling on, “And how can I do that? What I did at the diner today, putting out the fire, was a fluke. I acted on instinct, but I’ve got no control, no idea where to even start.”
“Then you start here.” Mr. Knight waved his hand.
Lights between the shelves illuminated, driving gloom and darkness away, and chasing shadows from the corners. The familiar library smells wrapped around Burgundy, filling her senses as she took everything in. An enormous desk sat beneath a round window with what looked like wrought iron separating the panes of glass. She looked up and gasped at the beauty of the frescoed ceiling overhead, each square of it depicting a different coat of arms or, she assumed, warlock honored with a portrait.
“Only a few people can access the warlocks’ secret library, and now you’re one of them. Welcome to your new job, Burgundy, as head librarian for the Firebrand Syndicate.”
“You...” She spun around, breath shuddering out of her. “You can’t be serious.”
This place with its powerful pulse of magick was beyond anything she’d ever imagined. Sure, she’d pictured fantastical libraries in her mind, the kind where magick-type folk would go to learn, conjure, and delve into the mysteries of the universe. But each breath she took seemed to reveal something new. A set of stairs. A second floor with a heavy, dark rail all around it. Even more books. And magick cradling her at every turn, welcoming her.
“Burgundy.” Mr. Knight’s hands fell on her shoulders, holding her in place and drawing her gaze to his. “You said it didn’t start with you, but now’s the time to decide it will end with you.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Listen to this,” Charlotte read. “Some of the most powerful people believe strongly in purity of magickal bloodlines. Thus, they have lobbied for laws that prevent witches and warlocks from intermarrying. Is that medieval or what?”
“Surely that’s a rhetorical question.” Burgundy plucked the book from Charlotte’s hands and flipped to the beginning. “Oh yes, it can’t be anything else with a publication date of 1508, Char.”
Charlotte responded with an eye-roll and a playful smile. “You know what I mean. I just can’t believe these books exist.”
Neither could Burgundy, who handed the tome back to her with a nod. She’d adored books since childhood. It was one of the reasons she dreamed of being a librarian, so she could spend every day surrounded by the scent of paper and ink, the rustle of pages, the whisper of words. The Firebrand Syndicate’s secret library, however, was something out of her wildest dreams.
Ever since their first visit on Friday, she and Charlotte continued to discover hidden nooks and unexpected treasures. Technically, Charlotte didn’t count among magick-users, even with her shamanic abilities. But as far as Burgundy was concerned, she needed her friend at her side. The library hadn’t objected. Burgundy should know, since she’d asked multiple times and the library always answered in the same manner. With a bit of a sigh, followed by a breathy Yes, child.
That was another thing she’d never expected – that magick places had a consciousness. This place tingled with life, warmed to her presence, and she almost hated to leave. If she wanted to, she was sure she could sleep here. The library wouldn’t mind. Heck, it’d probably make her a bed. Her aunt, on the other hand, would ask uncomfortable questions if she didn’t come home for the night.
Still... Burgundy tucked her lower lip beneath her teeth and glanced around the library. If things got bad, if Iris kept pushing her, there was no reason Burgundy couldn’t move out. Mr. Knight had given her complete responsibility for this place. She had a right to assert herself as an adult and fulfill the obligations she chose to accept.
“Hey, if the library belongs to the Firebrand Syndicate, when do you think another warlock will show up?” Charlotte asked.
“What are you, a mind-reader now?” A glance at the huge clock that hung on the wall opposite the desk told her it was already four on that Sunday afternoon.
“Well, Mr. Knight did say this place is for the warlocks. If you’re the head librarian now, does that mean you have to check out books to the people who come here?” Charlotte’s brow furrowed. “Wait – it wouldn’t be people, only guys, right? You’re technically the only female warlock on earth. At least, that we know of.”
Burgundy blew out a breath. “Welcome to my very strange world. If you didn’t think life could get weirder, ta da, you’ve found the answer to that.”
Charlotte shrugged, closed the book, and put it back on the shelf. She stretched to reach the top shelf, her shirt lifting with the movement to reveal her lower back. The sway of fabric shadowed her flesh for a moment, until she bent forward.
Along her waistband was scrollwork familiar to Burgundy, from one of the times they went to get tattoos together. She swallowed and turned away, pushing the thought of tracing the inked lines with her finger right out of her head. They had other things to worry about and sex should be the last thing on her mind.
Her libido begged to differ.
“You know what? I’m done in,” Burgundy said, closing the book in front of her. So far, her studies had told her far more than Iris ever did about using magick. Instead of complicated rituals and perfect timing, warlocks simply had to cast. All that mattered was intention. Too bad she still didn’t know how to direct that intention.
“No luck?” Charlotte asked, turning back to the desk.
“Nah.”
“What about the fire, though? You put that out with magick.” Sweet Charlotte, so optimistic.
Burgundy circled the desk and draped her arm across the brunette’s shoulders, leaning toward her conspiratorially to whisper, “I did, yeah, but I have to admit I have no clue how I managed that. It just sort of happened.”
“If you made it happen once, you can make it happen again.” Charlotte sounded so self-assured, her nod punctuating the statement. It was, perhaps, the most adorable thing Burgundy had ever seen. So adorable, she almost forgot herself in the tilt of a head, the quick brush of lips on lips, the hand that clutched at the belt loops on her jeans...
The last time they’d kissed, they’d sprung apart. This was completely different as Charlotte tugged her close and slanted her mouth over Burgundy’s. Talk about intention! Several stumbling, entangled steps back, and they hit one of the bookshelves.
Everything about the connection felt so right. Maybe it was the magick of the library, maybe something more. Whatever it was, Burgundy didn’t want to lose it. She’d waited too long to move on from Jenna, for the right moment to be sure she and Charlotte shared the same feelings.
After the break-up with Jenna, she’d avoided this, afraid of turning Charlotte into a rebound and destroying their friendship. This time, however, everything was different. Enough time had passed and she had distance from her previous relationship. She’d come too close to losing Charlotte last winter to let this opportunity pass her by.
Charlotte pulled back to look at her, fingers threading through her hair as if to keep Burgundy in place, and asked, “Do you want to do this?”
Want it? She’d been wanting it for years, waiting since high school to figure out if Charlotte felt the same. Afraid of losing her best friend, she’d kept those feelings to herself. Because, she reasoned, even if Charlotte never had romantic inclinations toward her, at least they could always be friends. And now here she was, asking, offering. All Burgundy had to do was say yes.
She couldn’t even speak, so she nodded. There was no other answer.
The beauty of the secret library was that it not only welcomed Burgundy, but gave her exactly what she needed, when she needed it. She didn’t know if it was because Mr. Knight had decreed her head librarian or if the library itself had chosen her.
All she knew for certain was they were in Charlotte’s bedroom no
w, a teleportative shift she’d barely noticed. She’d known the library had a portal of sorts to the Rock Grove library, but not this. Something to explore later, to better understand when the time was right.
Now, though, was the time to explore Charlotte. To get to know more than the lines of ink decorating that smooth lower back.
Not once did the two of them stop touching, tasting, connecting. They’d waited too long, Burgundy knew, loved one another from a distance. She’d already made one mistake in giving a year of her life to Jenna. A year she could have given to Charlotte by bringing their friendship to the next level. Instead, she’d let fear stop her.
And not once had this lovely, wise woman begrudged her that. Charlotte remained ever-present, eager in her kisses and touches, passion glazing her eyes as they tumbled into her bed.
Definitely a friendship that would never be the same again.
****
BURGUNDY FLUFFED HER hair and grinned when Charlotte caught her eye in the mirror. “I’m famished,” she declared. Granted, Burgundy was hungry more often than not, but especially now.
“A few hours of hot sex will do that to a person. Do you want to go down to the diner? I could whip something up.” Charlotte dabbed on some lip gloss from a small, round container, then screwed the lid on.
“Are you kidding? Your apartment is right here above it.”
“I know, but all the best stuff is downstairs.”
Burgundy pursed her lips and considered her options. It didn’t seem fair to ask Charlotte to make her dinner, especially when her craving went in a different direction. “I know,” she said, “let’s go to the DQ. We should get Blizzards to celebrate.”
“You want to celebrate sex?” Charlotte snorted out a laugh. “I like the idea. Let’s do it.”
And, just like that, Burgundy and Charlotte sat across from each other in a booth at the local DQ not as friends, but lovers. The idea had certainly entered Burgundy’s mind time and again since high school. How could it not when her friend was the prettiest, sweetest woman in town? They picked at their burgers and fries, sipped their Blizzards, and stared at each other.
