Written: A Reverse Harem Fantasy Romance (The Librarian's Coven Book 1)

by Kathryn Moon

  “Where did Woollard find you?” he said under his breath.

  “Bridgeston,” I said, smiling a little.

  He laughed and shook himself, rising off the stool and walking up to me. “You must be the very best library clerk Canderfey has ever had because Color Magic has been missing for hundreds of years. Ever since Amesbury had his falling out with his favorite student.”

  “Maybe they finally decided to return it?” I joked.

  His eyes narrowed even as his smile deepened. “What did you do? Smuggle it out of the library?”

  “I told Gwen it was for you,” I said, shrugging.

  “You call her Gwen?” he asked, taking the books from my hands at last. “That’s remarkable in itself.” His finger ran over his name on the paper wrapping and a smear of russet paint followed the line.

  I winced, wondering if maybe I shouldn’t have leant the rare classical text to a painter.

  “The others,” he said, looking up suddenly. “The other books on your list…”

  “They…turned up,” I said, feeling the strangeness of the statement as I said it, as I watched his face shift, twitching with interest. “You should let your friends know.”

  “I’m sure you’ll see them soon. Where did you go to university, Joanna?” he asked.

  I shook my head, and looked down to fidget with the strap of my bag. “No, I didn’t…I’m not a witch. Just training to be a plain old librarian.”

  “Ohh, don’t tell Gwen you said that. Her coven is fierce,” he said, grinning.

  The boyish expression on his face made me want to find a seat nearby to curl up in for the afternoon, like it was ten years ago and I was sitting on a field fence waiting for Gregory Thatcher to notice me.

  “I should get back to work,” I said, turning away quickly before I could catch another flash of his smile or answer another question in a way that made him laugh at me again.

  “I’m here in the studios a lot at this time,” he said to my back. “I’d like it if you came back again. Canderfey has too many city people, stuck out here in the woods.”

  My hands clenched around the leather strap of my bag. I didn’t even know how badly I wanted the invitation until it was ringing in my ears. I nodded at him, looking back over my shoulder. My eyes landed on the canvas and my chest ached as I recognized the bird in flight, copper feathers flashing at me from across the space.

  “The hawk…” I bit my lip, not entirely sure what I wanted to ask.

  “He’ll heal,” Isaac said, watching my face.

  Somehow, that was the answer I needed and I left the building, hurrying as I realized how long I had dawdled with the man.

  4. Joanna

  I wasn’t brave enough to visit Isaac again the next day, but I was brave enough to gobble down a sandwich at lunch and use the extra time to sneak back up into the staff only library. I found a text on the pigments used to preserve a life in a portrait—ground bone and dried blood and the ashes of the body included—and the book Resonants which was all about the strongest tones in sound for conjuring the instruments that best formed them.

  The window seat I had seen Professor King in on my first day was open and I folded myself into the corner, a stack of books I couldn’t possibly work through placed in front of my feet. I was mid-explanation of the breed of tree in the northern mountains whose wood was the ideal density for the hollowness required in the bass note that brought the dead back to life, when I was interrupted.

  “You’re getting quite cozy with my book.”

  Professor King stood at the far end of the bench seat, an eyebrow raised at the book in my hands. He moved closer and sat down next to my pile of reading material, glancing down at the stack with a tilt of his head.

  “That’s quite the range of subjects too. Do you have much interest in the influence of ley lines on birthing cycles?”

  I was beginning to resent the effect I had on the professors at Canderfey and the way I seemed to draw laughter up in them. I may have been practically magicless and from the rustic country but Gwen had said I was where I needed to be and I was doing my job, even if it was simple compared to theirs.

  “I have an interest in everything,” I said, keeping my tone even. “And up until this week I had very little means of finding the information.”

  His humor settled but the crinkle at the corner of eyes deepened. “I have students with less ambition than you,” he said. “And I’m very jealous that you’ve gotten a look at that book before I have.”

  “You must be one of Isaac’s friends,” I said, closing the book and passing it to him.

  “Isaac?” he asked, seeming surprised by the name. But then he added, “I am. Aiden King.”

  He extended his hand and I took it, watching the way his hold dwarfed mine. His grip was warm and surprisingly gentle, even as he squeezed my hand once and then released me.

  “Joanna Wick. Is the information in the book true?” I asked.

  Aiden’s thumbs were stroking the fabric cover of the book in his hands and he looked down at it, lips twisting in thought. “From what I know they were at the time. For Wrenshaw, the author, at least. He made all his own instruments, was easily the best luthier in history. But who’s to say if the conditions of the materials are still the same now.”

  “But the part about raising the dead,” I said, leaning in to open to where I’d left off. “It seems so…like a story.”

  “Do you read that fast or do you just know where to look?” he asked, and when I looked up he had leaned in as well and my vision was full of his face, the prickle of stubble on his cheek and the glint in his dark gaze. He leaned away and I realized I had frozen in surprise. “Wrenshaw’s wife died very young. He did raise her. But it didn’t work out, those sort of experiments never do. I expect that portion of the book was why it was stolen from the library in the first place.”

  A throat cleared beyond us and I looked up finding Cecil, one of the library clerks, winking at me before leaving a full cart at the sidewall.

  I fought down my blush, probably fruitlessly, and stood up from my seat.

  “I doubt it was stolen,” I said to Aiden, nodding at the book. “A stack of missing books came at once. Probably a professor had an old stack hoarded away that just got found.”

  He smiled at me but his brow furrowed as if he were equally puzzled by my answer. “I’ll save your seat for you,” he said as I grabbed my cart.

  I assumed he meant he’d be taking up the spot in the window but when I passed by fifteen minutes later the spot was empty but for the books I collected. It wasn’t until evening hit and my shift was over that I returned. The books were still waiting for me and when I reached my seat I found the charm in place, a sweet little hum of music that faded as I reached it. I thanked Aiden in my head and picked up the next book in the stack, another of the missing titles that Isaac’s friends were looking for.

  I hadn’t answered Aiden when he asked but the truth was I was both a fast reader and I tended to skip through pages until I found a spot that interested me. Gatekeepers; a Compendium of the Old Guard, another withering old book that smelled sharply of dirt and mold, had black ink drawings stamped crookedly into the page and I flipped through the pages until one of the images struck me. It was dark, saturated with ink that wrinkled the paper, faint white lines guiding the picture of a copse of trees that curled up out of the earth and a shadowy figure at the heart of them. The words below the image were blocked out boldly, little faint cracks appearing in the letters.

  It Eats.

  The lamps in the library dimmed in the evening although the building was still full of people. It would close deep into the night and only for a handful hours, open for night owls and early birds alike. The building was warm with magic and the windows on my left were cool from the night air outside. I read the story of the old god-like force of blind destruction, a being that devoured without reason, whose appetite was unquenchable. The chatter of the library fell away into a buzz
that lulled me with the rhythm of the words I traced across the page with my finger.

  Let me out.

  Let me out.

  Let me out.

  Let it out.

  5. Callum

  At dinner, the night before, Isaac mentioned his visit from the new librarian while I stared down at my plate and Aiden ruffled with excitement. They wanted her, I could tell, and my nerves stirred in anxiety. Would I disappoint them again? Kill another of Isaac’s romances and Aiden’s chance for finally being settled, having his family. It left me wondering for the hundredth time if I was really meant to be here, sharing this home and their magic with mine.

  Aiden bringing her up at our third dinner in a row was enough. He’d already decided for himself. Joanna Wick had the potential to be our fourth. His stare at me from over the candlelight wasn’t subtle. It was time for me to meet her, really speak to her. And if there was no real attraction, no pull—why was there never a pull?—then I owed it to my covenmates to let them know sooner rather than later.

  “I left a charm for her and her books,” Aiden said, still staring at me. “She has Gatekeepers, by the way.”

  A little carrot to dangle for me. Get the stubborn ass moving in the right direction.

  “I’ve been looking for that text,” I said as if I didn’t know what they were fishing for. Their shoulders relaxed in their seats.

  I left for the library as Aiden cleared the table. Their watching eyes were like hands shoving me out the door.

  She was asleep when I found her, with one of the most valuable, dangerous, and contentious texts of magic still gripped between her hands. Her temple was against the window pane at her side, her lips pursed and forehead tangled. Her shoulders were drawn tight up to her ears and my palms itched, body leaning forward and wanting to follow some set of instructions I had no translation for. To wake her or soothe her or both.

  I crossed in front of the lamplight and she sat up with a violent shudder and a whimpering gasp that froze my chest. I dropped down to the bench seat, hands reaching out for her even as her back stretched up against the wall behind her. A cornered animal with the whites of her eyes stark in the dim light.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, pulling away. “I didn’t mean to startle you!”

  A trembling hand fluttered into the air and then landed over her heart. The terror was bitter in the air, and a sting of bile rose in my throat, bringing back muddy fields and the echo of magic and metal crashing from decades ago.

  “I…I fell asleep?” she said. The whisper in her voice of lingering sleep brushed away my memories.

  “Are you alright?” There was an argument in every muscle in my body, the urge to leave and the impulse to move in closer and offer…comfort or at least contact.

  There was a catch in her breath and I tensed under her stare as it landed firmly on my face after skirting the space of the stacks around us.

  “A dream,” she said. “It must have been…I don’t remember it but it was just a bad dream.” And her shoulders eased as she spoke.

  Dreams were significant. A part of me wanted to press with questions, check her symptoms off against the possible causes. Nightmares were one thing but a disturbance in dreams wasn’t limited to the subconscious and if she…

  “You’re one of Isaac’s friends, aren’t you?” she asked, glancing at me out of the side of her eyes while trying to smooth her skirt and hair to erase the evidence of her nap.

  “Covenmate,” I said and then wished I could bite my own tongue as her eyes widened and then shuttered, face going blank.

  “Of course,” she said, with a wilted smile. “That makes sense. And Professor King.”

  “Yes.” The word sat stale in my mouth with all that I wanted to add to it. That we were only three. That Aiden and Isaac had all but shoved me out the door to meet her. And that for the first time I could understand why. There was a draw, an itch under my skin to be closer to her. That contact I was craving.

  “This is yours then,” she said, closing the book in her hands and passing it across the bench to me.

  The energy around the book pooled darkly like rot and refuse in the air and I hesitated before picking it up.

  “Bit of light reading?” I asked, wondering how far she had read.

  “I like a spooky story,” she said, tone dry and light and coaxing a smile out in spite of my nerves. “But I suppose it explains the anxious sleep.”

  My fingertips brushed down the spine of the book and a creeping, slithering feeling stirred at the back of my thoughts. But it was chased away as Joanna stood from the bench.

  “I should be getting home, my shift ended hours ago,” she said, moving to pass me.

  I stood too abruptly and forced her to stop in her tracks or run into me again as she had days ago. She stared up at me in surprise, a dark curl falling down one cheek.

  “Let me walk you,” I said, trying not to cringe at my own clumsiness. “I’m on my way out,” I added, holding up Gatekeepers.

  “We can walk each other down to the circulation desk, how about that?” she said.

  I tried to laugh off the refusal but the sound was closer to a cough. Still, she waited for me to join her at the steps, her hand poised on the stair railing.

  “I think this is the kind of building all books should live in,” she said after several quiet steps down. I turned to look at her and found her staring up at the wood molding that grew up the staircase walls, rosewood vines crawling up and alien faces peering out from behind glossy wooden leaves. “Where I worked before was nice. Well, it was clean and quiet. But the town I grew up in didn’t have much use for books and certainly didn’t think to build them such a…shrine.” I had seen women looking less seduced by Aiden at his most charming than Joanna did at the walls of the library. And her touch on the staircase was more of a caress than a steadying hold.

  “How long have you been a librarian?” I asked. She looked young. Not young enough to be a student but enough to leave a gap in our ages.

  “I’m not really, yet. But I’ve been a clerk for a decade, about?” she said, shrugging. “Since I finished school. The librarian was working alone and I’d been doing the shelving for her for years anyway. Now she has a couple council women volunteering. It’ll do fine.” There was a little wistfulness in her voice.

  “Are you homesick?”

  “Nooo,” she said, sounding disgusted at the idea. “Not yet, at least, but…” she raised her chin and squared her shoulders, “I don’t think I will be.”

  “In my experience you don’t have to be,” I said, firmly keeping home out of my head.

  We reached the first floor and quieted as we passed clusters of students gathered together at long tables, studying in hushed voices. She ducked behind the circulation desk, grabbing one of the open places and reaching across to me, hand outstretched for the book.

  “So you can skip the wait list,” she whispered, grinning at me.

  I leaned across desk and whispered back, “I’m at the top of the wait list.”

  She raised an eyebrow and pulled one of Woollard’s massive reference texts up, flipping through till she found the collection of names gathered for holds on Gatekeepers.

  “Callum Pike,” I said as she skimmed past the names that had been crossed away, retired professors and graduated students from years ago.

  “Callum…but this is from almost twenty years ago!” she said looking up at me. “You can’t have been a student then.”