Casanova (Library of Illumination Book 4)

by C. A. Pack

  The thought of Jackson made her cry. She suddenly realized she had pushed him away in favor of Casanova, and she remembered the frustration in Jackson’s voice when he had said goodbye. “I can’t even make you help me clean up this mess,” she said to Casanova, “because your arm may be broken.” Her sobbing became more pronounced, and the Venetian looked as helpless in alleviating her pain as she felt in lessening his.

  She left him sitting on the floor doing nothing, as she cried her heart out while sweeping away debris and shoving the sofa back to where it belonged.

  After she finished cleaning and had dragged the broken display case out to the trash, she pulled out the red metal first-aid case from behind the information desk and went to check on Casanova. She swabbed his forehead with an antiseptic wipe and hoped he would not have a permanent scar. She next focused her efforts on his shoulder. He shrieked when she touched it, but his protest did not stop her from thoroughly inspecting it. It did not seem to be dislocated or broken. More than likely, he had bruised it. At least she hoped so, because she couldn’t take him to the emergency room at Exeter Hospital. He was from the eighteenth century, and she feared that if anyone in the emergency room understood Italian and heard his story, they’d insist on admitting him for psychiatric evaluation. She couldn’t take the risk.

  “Dov’è il mostro?” he asked again.

  She shook her head. She didn’t understand him, and the iPad with the translation app had died an ugly death.

  He made grunting sounds and tried to imitate the demeanor of the monster. “Il mostro ...”

  “The monster?” she guessed. She just shook her head. No way I can explain that to him. She helped him off the floor and led him to the sofa. “Sit,” she demanded. He apparently figured out what she meant, because he wasted no time dropping onto the cushions. “Stay,” she commanded, holding out her arm with her palm facing him, before disappearing up the spiral staircase.

  She put on a pot of coffee and then carried the blanket and pillow downstairs. She doubted she would get any sleep, but maybe Casanova would take the hint. She needn’t have worried. He had fallen asleep by the time she returned. She covered him with the blanket and put the pillow between his head and the arm of the sofa, in case he slumped over.

  A small snore escaped him.

  Satisfied that the library would be safe for the immediate future, Johanna went back upstairs to see if her coffee was ready. She got halfway up the steps when she heard someone banging on the front door. She peeked at the security system and saw two police officers standing outside. She recognized them immediately, having met them both the previous summer.

  “Great,” she grumbled, before proceeding to the door. “Illumination.”

  The wall slid open, and she smiled weakly at the two cops standing in the vestibule.

  “Is there a problem, officers?”

  “One of your neighbors called. Says he was out walking his dog and heard yelling and screaming coming from here. He said it sounded like you were slaughtering barnyard animals. I know it sounds far-fetched, but with this place you never know.”

  “As you can see, everything is fine.”

  “May we come in and look around?”

  “Sure,” she answered, glad that she had finished cleaning everything up. She prayed Casanova would stay asleep.

  “That gentleman?” One of the officers nodded toward the sofa.

  “Actually, he’s probably responsible for the call you got. He had a little too much to drink last night and had trouble navigating the circular stairs when I told him it was time to leave. He fell, and he hit his head. He hurt his arm as well and began howling. I’m willing to bet that’s what my neighbor heard.

  “I already cleaned the cut over his eye and checked his arm to make sure it wasn’t broken. Having broken my own arm, twice, I know the drill. By the time I finished, he had passed out. I covered him so he could sleep it off.” Thank God I covered him. He’s dressed like a freaking knight.

  “Did he hurt you in any way?”

  “No. If he did, I’d have called youmyself. Trust me, everything here is fine.”

  The officer stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Johanna knew he must have been thinking about the previous ruckus caused by the appearance, and sudden disappearance, of the blue orb.

  “We’ll patrol the area, just in case, and come back later to check on you.”

  “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” She managed to dredge up a smile, but the last thing she wanted was another visit. She hoped they would get called away on some emergency.

  Johanna yawned. She wanted to crawl into bed and get some sleep, but she was afraid of what Casanova might do when he awakened, so she sank into the overstuffed leather wingchair that had always been Mal’s favorite. Mal. I bet he’d know what to do. I’d better check his diary. But she was too tired to go get it. I’ll just close my eyes for a second ...

  Jackson yawned. He had been out most of the night. He slept fitfully, dreaming of Johanna and Casanova cuddling together. To make matters worse, Casanova could speak English in his dreams, and Jackson had to listen to all their pillow talk.

  “You are so beautiful, my love.” Casanova stroked Johanna’s face. “The most sensual woman in the world.”

  “Thanks,” Johanna replied. “You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever met. Your face is perfect.” She ran her fingers through his long locks. “And you have awesome hair. But most of all, this suit of armor”—she flicked her fingers against the bits of rhinoceros horn—“it turns me on.”

  “I’m surprised. I thought you were attracted to the boy.” Casanova nuzzled her neck, and Johanna closed her eyes—her face, a study in ecstasy.

  “You mean Jackson?” she mumbled. “He’s just a child compared to you. What does he know about love? But you know a lot, don’t you? You’ve been intimate with so many woman—governesses, maidens, their mothers, contessas ...”

  “Umm ...” He smiled. “Several nuns, a royal highness or two, and quite a few ladies of the night. Ahhh ... and nurses. I love a sponge bath.”

  “I bet they all taught you a lot about what drives women wild.” She yelped as he playfully pinched a part of her anatomy. “I want you to teach me everything,” she gasped. “I want you to do to me everything you have ever done with another woman. And I want you to do it right now.” She ripped open her shirt, the buttons flying in all directions ...

  “Jackson,” his mother called out. “We’re leaving for church. Do you want to come with us?”

  The amorous vision of Johanna and Casanova faded to black.

  The closed door muffled his brother’s voice. “I don’t think he’s into it, Mom.”

  “Why not?” she asked.

  Their conversation and footsteps faded away, as sleep reclaimed Jackson, and a new dream unfolded.

  Jackson and Casanova stood facing each other on a grassy field not far from the library. Johanna walked up to them carrying a wooden box, similar to the one Shakespeare’s First Folio had arrived in. She wore a pale, silver eighteenth-century gown. A white wig topped her head, along with a slouchy hat festooned with feathers and birds. She opened the box. Inside were two books, each with a plain, black cover.

  “What books are these?” Jackson asked.

  “Ah, that’s for me to know and for you to find out. Choose wisely.”

  “I shall take this one,” Casanova said confidently, as he reached between them, grabbing the book closest to Jackson. He gave Johanna a knowing wink.

  Jackson’s muscles tensed. He had no choice but to take the remaining book.

  “I will count,” Johanna explained, “as you walk ten paces away from each other. On the count of ten, turn and open your books. May the best man win.”

  Jackson’s stomach tightened with each step. When Johanna called, “Ten,” he turned and opened his book. Comic-strip characters appeared with word balloons floating above their heads. Jackson fiercely thumbed his way to the title page and found he
had a bound edition of Thimble Theater Comic Strips by Kings Features. Sweat oozed from the teenager’s pores. He looked over at Casanova, but Robin of Locksley blocked his view. “Oh my god,” Jackson screamed, as Robin Hood aimed an arrow straight for him. He heard the snap of the bow, but not the arrow whizzing through the air, because it was blocked out by the sudden, oddly pitched laugh of a two-dimensional cartoon of Popeye.

  “Arg-ug-ug-ug-ug-ug-ug-ug.”

  —LOI—

  6

  Jackson shot straight up into a sitting position. He was drenched in sweat. He could feel his heart pumping in his throat as he tried to come to grips with his erratic breathing. There was no way he would even attempt to go back to sleep. He grabbed a change of clothes and headed for the shower.

  He remembered his mother quizzing Chris about what might be bothering him. He did not want to be home when they got back from church. He jumped on his bike and pedaled as fast as he could until he reached the bay.

  His stomach growled. He regretted not having stopped for breakfast, but he could eat after he left the beach. He needed its solitude to help him think. The gentle lap of the waves soothed him. He dropped his bike on the sand and looked for something to lean against. Finding a comfortable spot, he sat down and contemplated the surface of the water. He tried to make his mind go blank. If he could just stop thinking and dreaming for a little while, maybe he could regain his composure.

  Johanna awoke with a start. The library’s grandfather clock chimed eleven times. She shook away the last vestiges of sleep and saw Casanova snoozing on the sofa. There was something she wanted to do, but she couldn’t remember what. She needed coffee. She remembered brewing a pot earlier that morning. By now, it was probably sludge. She wished she could run out to the local coffee shop, but she could hardly leave Casanova alone in the library. She had managed to keep the situation contained the day before only because Jackson had been there to help her. She felt a pang of melancholy. Jackson probably hated her for the way she had treated him. She was overwhelmed by sadness, but she couldn’t stop to dwell on it. She needed to get the coffee going again, before “lover boy” woke up.

  Jackson skipped stones along the surface of the water, as birds fluttered about the shoreline. Their occasional squawks seemed to mock him. Look at us playing together. We all get along. Why can’t you? The birds skittered along the water’s edge. Afterward, some of them stretched out to bask in the sun, while others took flight to dry off.

  I wish I could be as carefree as these birds, taking each day as it comes. He used to think he was like that, before Casanova came along. He had to stop thinking of the Italian as a character. Like it or not, Casanova was a real person. Still, he was a man displaced in time, and he didn’t belong here. Eventually, he would move on. No woman had ever owned Casanova, and that would probably include Johanna. Jackson didn’t want to see her get hurt, especially by the Latin Lothario.

  Why am I wasting time here? he thought, as he jumped on his bike.

  Johanna brought her coffee and Mal’s diary into the main reading room and settled onto the big leather chair. Casanova still slept, so Johanna kept her voice down. “Mal, what happens if a character doesn’t disappear when a book is closed?”

  The pages shuffled to a hand-drawn chart entitled “Physical Properties of the Library of Illumination.” It was a list of the various traits held by different levels of enchanted books.

  The first book category was Level Zero. Most books in the physical world fell into this category. These books had no enchantments whatsoever, or as it was described on the chart, an “absence of presence.” Nothing happened when you opened the book, or closed it.

  Level One books had scenes that came to life when the reader touched the page, but all remnants of the scene disappeared when the book closed. Level Two books were the ones she was most familiar with: books in which characters from a particular page came to life, but disappeared when the book was closed or, at least, mostly disappeared. Detritus might be left behind. It reminded Johanna of the day when Jo from Little Women got her hair cut, and how the clippings littered the floor, even after Jo had returned to the written page. Level Three books were similar to Level Two, although the objects left behind were more valuable. Ah, doubloons. The description for Level Four books caught her attention right away. At that level, characters did not disappear when the book closed. Shakespeare’s First Folio must have been a Level Four book. She continued to read about the higher levels, but they gave her no indication of how to solve her problem.

  “Mal,” she whispered, “you’ve got to help me.”

  The diary opened to the last page. One line of instruction was written across the top.

  PLEASE LIST IN DETAIL WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE.

  She had forgotten to bring a pen. She gulped down some coffee before going over to the information desk to find one. She grabbed a fountain pen out of a cup decorated with the inscription Librarians do it by the book.

  She nestled back in the chair and started to scribble, Casanova needs to be—

  “Buongiorno!”

  Johanna looked up. Casanova stared at her. He did not look happy—more like he was dazed and confused. He threw off the blanket that covered him and winced. The pain in his arm seemed to bring him back to alertness. He slowly looked around the library and continued to sit quietly.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Caffeè? Si.” He nodded.

  Johanna scrambled upstairs and grabbed a tray on her way into the kitchen. She grabbed the coffeepot, a cup, a spoon, sugar, milk—everything Casanova might need—and rushed back downstairs.

  The heady aroma of the espresso gave her strength as she poured a steady stream of the hot liquid into his cup. She pointed to milk and sugar. He waved it away.

  “Biscotto?”

  It was a word she understood. “No,” she answered, shaking her head. “No biscotti.”

  Casanova’s sigh signaled his complete disillusionment with her.

  Good girl, she thought. You’ve driven away two men in less than twelve hours. She reclaimed her chair and looked for the diary. She got up and checked the cushions. Had she taken it with her when she ran upstairs? She was about to retrace her steps when she saw Casanova turn a page. He had taken Mal’s diary.

  “Che cosa é questa? Questo libro non ha niente scritto in esso.” What is this? This book has nothing written in it.

  “My book, my libro. I’d like it back.” She held out her hand.

  “È vuoto.” It’s blank.

  She shook her head. She had no idea what he meant. She looked down at the page to see what he had referred to, but nothing was written there. She watched him flip through the pages. All of them were as white as snow.

  He slapped the book against her palm. She opened it, and the blank pages slowly filled with words. She realized, as curator of the library, Mal’s diary was probably meant only for her, and no one else could learn its secrets. “Hmmm.”

  Suddenly, the back door flew open.

  Johanna’s eyes widened when she saw Jackson standing at the rear entrance holding a bakery bag. She blinked to hold back a tear.

  “I didn’t know if you planned to cook for lov—your friend,” he ventured. “If not, I thought you both might appreciate some Italian pastries.”

  “You’re a lifesaver,” she said, accepting the bag.

  Jackson wished he could wrap his arms around her and hold on to her forever. That probably wasn’t a good idea, although she looked glad to see him.

  Casanova also looked glad to see him. Probably because I brought food, Jackson thought. “Why is he just sitting there like that?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it, but not now. Let’s just say a lot happened after you left.”

  Jackson felt his heart pound. “Are you okay?”

  Johanna nodded. “I am now.” She broke into a wide grin. “And I learned something interesting.”

  “What’s that?”

  “No
one can read what’s inside Mal’s diary, except me.”

  Jackson looked at the book she held open. He could see words written on the page, but maybe that’s not what she meant. “What are you looking up in his diary?”

  “How to send my Italian friend back where he belongs.”

  “Then don’t let me stop you.”

  “Please. I know it’s Sunday, but can you stay? I’ll pay you double.”

  His heart quickened. “You don’t have to pay me.” He was glad to be back in her good graces. “I’ll be more than happy to make sure he doesn’t bother you.”

  “That would help.”

  “Where’s the iPad?”

  “In about a hundred pieces in the trash bin.”

  “No,” he wailed. He ran over to the trash stall and pulled it open. “Aarrgghh ...” He picked through the pieces to see if any of it was salvageable. It had been smashed beyond repair. “What happened?”

  “Frankenstein.”

  “No way.”

  “His monster was here.”

  “I can’t believe I missed that.”

  “Trust me, I wished you were here when it happened.”

  “Tell me ...”

  “Later. Finding out how to book Signor Casanova’s return trip is more important.”

  “I won’t argue with that.” He looked at them both for a moment and shook his head. “Too bad the library board rejected your request to install a sixty-inch TV in here. At least that would have entertained him.”

  “There’s the other iPad. All I ask is that you try not to break it.”

  “Hey, I didn’t break the first one.”

  “I know. Just take care of it.”

  While Casanova watched Jackson set up the other iPad, Johanna sequestered herself in her office, looking for guidance from Mal. She picked up a pen to detail what needed to be done. Casanova needs to be returned to his own time, she wrote. She looked at what she had written. The instructions said to list her request “in detail,” but she did not know what details to include. She couldn’t be any more specific than what she had written. After giving it a lot of thought, she added the words as soon as possible.