She had needed a body. Actually having one would be so much better than those stupid teeth had been.
She bent over him, and separated the top of the skull from the jawbone. She left the top of the skull to float just above the body. Then she removed some small bones from the feet and the hands, not enough to show that the hands were bigger than hers, but enough to show that the hands were human. She took a small portion of a rib as well.
She compiled them into a little ball, covered them with a cloak, and sent them, still steaming, through the still-open window. She monitored them as she sent them to the library, and let them tumble into the section where she had sent the teeth.
Then she uncloaked them. Their steam mixed with the smoke of the still-smoldering section.
She shut off her mind’s eye and took a shuddering breath, then wished she hadn’t. It tasted foul, like rotting meat. She licked her lips.
Her neighbors would notice that odor.
She used the last of her energy to cremate the remains into little bits of nothing, careful to contain the fire. Then she put it all out, staggered into her kitchen, and took out a broom and dustpan. She swept up the ash, and dumped it into the toilet in small sections, flushing several times so that it wouldn’t clog up the system.
By the time she was done, she was woozy with exhaustion. She hadn’t used that much magical power in years and years. And using it had opened the door to more interlopers like the man who had just died.
She ran a hand through her hair and looked in the mirror. Shadows under her eyes, and a face smudged with ash. She washed off her skin, then staggered into the kitchen and drank an ancient bottle of Ice Blue Gatorade. It helped, a little.
In the living room, Magoo mewed. It was probably a get-me-out-of-here mew, but she took it as a move-your-ass mew. Because she had to.
She really had been careless. Not just here, but at the Midbury Lake Public Library.
That fire. It had to be her fault. Not because she set it, but because she hadn’t monitored the books. With all the interest in the history of the ancient world these days, particularly the history of religion as it pertained to modern times, someone had probably ordered a book through interlibrary loan that she hadn’t seen.
A paper book, one that shouldn’t be on the shelf of a library where she worked. A paper book about paganism or magic spells or showing ancient scrolls. The kind of book that had actually been in the Library of Alexandria in its heyday or in the Serapeum just before it was destroyed.
The kind of book stored inside her memory, in a locked area, where she couldn’t touch it. Like the women before her, all of them, from the same family. She likened that locked area to a computer chip. It contained knowledge and power, but only tapped that knowledge and power when something demanded them.
She had put herself in a position where nothing would tap the knowledge, or she thought she had. But she hadn’t done enough. She should have kept an active inventory on the books that her family guarded. She hadn’t, and it had caused this.
Because, whenever one of the old books hit a shelf, or a facsimile of one of the old books hit a shelf near a library repositorian (like her), the ancient spells revived, the ones that had actually destroyed the library. If the books from the Library of Alexandria reappeared on shelves, those shelves were supposed to burn.
Her family, one of the 16 ancient families that guarded the library’s knowledge, had never been able to counter those spells. Her grandmother had died trying, so her mother simply avoided libraries, bookstores, and any other place where books gathered.
Darcy had embraced libraries, but she had been cautious.
Not cautious enough though, since that horrid man had found her. And she had destroyed her favorite little library by not monitoring what crossed its shelves.
She went back into the living room. The carryall was inching its way across the floor. Apparently Magoo had had enough.
She crouched beside him and put her hand on his back through the soft side of the carryall.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “We still have to go.”
Before someone caught her again. Before someone took her back to Alexandria. Before someone tried to take that chip of library knowledge out of her brain, and destroy it entirely. Or, worse in her opinion, tried to revive it all at once, and use it for the wrong purpose—whatever that purpose might be.
She put on the wig and hoodie that marked her as Mary Beth’s cousin, then grabbed both carryalls and walked to the door. The apartment still smelled faintly of greasy meat, and there was a lingering bit of smoke.
That was on her. It was always on her.
The magic inside her wasn’t her own. It wasn’t even the library’s. It was an ancient evil spell, designed to destroy the very things she loved.
Books.
Maybe the next time she stopped somewhere, she wouldn’t become a librarian. Maybe she would run a movie theater or open a donut shop. Or maybe she would spend her days in genteel poverty, sitting in a coffee shop and watching the world go by.
She had a lot of time to think about it, and a long way to drive. Where to, she didn’t know. She would wait until she deemed herself as far from this place as possible, in a location that seemed as far from Alexandria as possible.
Then she let herself out and walked down the stairs, quietly, so as not to disturb the neighbors, who were already gathering around the front of the building. She could hear the conversation: they thought the stench was coming from the burning library.
Let them.
People always misunderstood why libraries burned. They blamed old paper or faulty wiring. They never blamed the ignorant, who deemed some knowledge worthy and some too frightening to know.
She wished she could defend that knowledge, but all she could do was protect it, and hold it, until someone else came up with a solution. And when the time came, she would pass that little kernel on to some other member of her family, who would adopt the burden and treasure it.
Like she had adopted Magoo.
“Come on, kiddo,” she said to him as they headed to the van. “Adventures await.”
And she hoped those adventures would be of the gentle, placid kind. Like summer mornings staring at a still Midbury Lake.
One could always hope. Because hope was what kept the bits of the library alive. Hope that one day the spells would lift, one day the library would be reunited, and one day the books would return to the shelves.
And she would never ever have to grieve again.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA Today bestselling author Kristine Kathryn Rusch writes in almost every genre. Generally, she uses her real name (Rusch) for most of her writing. Under that name, she publishes bestselling science fiction and fantasy, award-winning mysteries, acclaimed mainstream fiction, controversial nonfiction, and the occasional romance. Her novels have made bestseller lists around the world and her short fiction has appeared in eighteen best of the year collections. She has won more than twenty-five awards for her fiction, including the Hugo, Le Prix Imaginales, the Asimov’s Readers Choice award, and the Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine Readers Choice Award.
Publications from The Chicago Tribune to Booklist have included her Kris Nelscott mystery novels in their top-ten-best mystery novels of the year. The Nelscott books have received nominations for almost every award in the mystery field, including the best novel Edgar Award, and the Shamus Award.
She writes goofy romance novels as award-winner Kristine Grayson, romantic suspense as Kristine Dexter, and futuristic sf as Kris DeLake.
She also edits. Beginning with work at the innovative publishing company, Pulphouse, followed by her award-winning tenure at The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, she took fifteen years off before returning to editing with the original anthology series Fiction River, published by WMG Publishing. She acts as series editor with her husband, writer Dean Wesley Smith, and edits at least two anthologies in the series per year on her own.
; To keep up with everything she does, go to kriswrites.com and sign up for her newsletter. To track her many pen names and series, see their individual websites (krisnelscott.com, kristinegrayson.com, krisdelake.com, retrievalartist.com, divingintothewreck.com). She lives and occasionally sleeps in Oregon.
Uncollected Anthology
If you liked this story, check out these other amazing urban fantasy authors and their stories in the Magical Libraries uncollected anthology! Turn the page and click on the titles to go to their websites and order their urban fantasy tales.
“The Library of Atlantis” by Dean Wesley Smith
Poker Boy specializes in asking stupid questions. But sometimes even stupid questions need answers.
To save the fabric of all things from unraveling, whatever that means, Poker Boy must go to the Library of Atlantis and do something that no one ever accomplished before.
Poker Boy saves all things. Again!
“[The Poker Boy] series is unlike anything else out there. It’s quirky and a lot of fun.”
—Amazing Stories
“These Chains” by Dayle A. Dermatis
Madeleine works at a secret library beneath the New York Public Library, serving her final magical-juvie sentence. If she keeps her head down and does her time, she’ll finally be free. But when the most prized—and most dangerous books—are stolen, the ancient ones affixed with chains, all eyes turn on her.
Because her girlfriend—the girl she thought was her girlfriend—clearly had her fingers all over the job.
The Magical Council tells Madeleine to sit tight; they’ll handle it. Madeleine, however, isn’t any good at waiting for someone else to solve a problem. She has to get involved, even if she ends up being found guilty for doing the wrong thing for the right reasons…yet again.
“Kitty of Death” by Michele Lang
When you lose a Library Cat, the late fees are murder...
Corrie the Cat Librarian leads an orderly life in the strange little town of New Castle, Connecticut. As Keeper of Feline Deities, Corrie lends her cats out to magicworkers who need a familiar to complete their spells.
A safe and rather boring existence...
But when Idris, a minor Egyptian deity, goes missing, Corrie and the formidable litigomancer Elizabeth Royall must battle an evil, medieval necromancer bent on capturing death itself. And in the process, Corrie discovers the deadly power of a quiet magic.
“Lang is a writer to watch.” — Booklist
“The Library of Orphaned Hearts” by Annie Reed
The books in Gretta’s library contain something far more precious than words. Something she lost herself in her youth and thought gone forever until a stranger made of shadows and smiles handed her a key and a book she couldn’t read.
The books in Gretta’s library can never be purchased, only loaned, and only to those truly in need.
The books in Gretta’s library can change your life.
If you’re brave enough to ask.
“All the Words in All the Worlds” by Leslie Claire Walker
When Chris Garcia reads the magical morning Metro section of the newspaper, one and only one article stands out: a girl named Alice must find something precious she’s lost before nightfall or go to Hell. Chris figures his newfound magical skill of finding the lost will save her. Instead, he walks straight into a trap. If he fails to find a way out before the sun sets, he dooms Alice—and himself—forever.
Table of Contents
Mary Beth Wilkins had the most perfect library, until one day, in the middle of June, the library burned down.
About the Author
Uncollected Anthology
The Library of Atlantis
These Chains
Kitty of Death
The Library of Orphaned Hearts
All the Words in All the Worlds
Copyright Information
Midbury Lake Incident Page 2
