Shadow of the Sun

by Laura Kreitzer

CHAPTER 13: LIBRARY

  The library towered over us, its lights shining like tiny beacons. We stood outside the door, reading the sign displayed there.

  “They’re only open until midnight,” I conveyed to Andrew, exasperated. “We don’t have much time, maybe an hour.”

  “I read fast,” he reminded me ostentatiously, gazing at the towering building. “I’ve probably read over a million books. I can assimilate information from paper quickly.” He motioned us forward. “Watch for yourself,” he offered.

  He pushed open the doors to the library and gestured for me to enter. The aroma of old and new parchment hit my nose. Rows of books lined the walls, placed neatly in succession and towering up to the ceiling. One of the student employees greeted us with a little wave of hello before sitting down behind the counter to keep reading her book.

  Andrew walked along the shelves of books, his fingers tracing the spines of each of them. “This library is remarkably immense.” He took in a deep breath. “Don’t you just love the smell of books?”

  I smiled at his face. He looked like a kid at Disneyland, though his vocabulary proved to be of an exceptionally—and possibly excessively—educated adult. Join the club.

  “This is only the first floor. There are eight more above us.”

  He looked up automatically.

  “Do you still think one hour is long enough?” I challenged, my voice smug.

  He moved to the second row of books. “No. But for the important things, yes.” His fingers lingered over the bindings of the new row, and then he reached for a book. “I’ll start here.” The book was Chemistry Methodology and Mathematical Models.

  This place was a titanic mine of information, so I nodded, thinking good luck.

  “Take a seat,” I said, pointing toward a table not far away. “I’m going to go upstairs to look through some of their nonacademic books for something to read.”

  He gave me a solemn look. “Maybe I should go with you?”

  “Andrew,” I answered dismissively, “I’ll be fine. It’s just a library.”

  He surveyed my face for a few seconds and grinned. “It won’t bite,” he said, mimicking my phrase about the clothing store, except in his wonderfully deep Italian accent. God how that accent was going to get me into trouble.

  “Exactly,” I said.

  Before I ascended the stairs, I peered over my shoulder to see Andrew staring at me intently, his expression growing more somber by the second, before he reluctantly opened the book in his hands. He leaned over and began reading, flipping past the first two pages before I had even started up the stairs.

  On the sixth floor, I thumbed through several science fiction and fantasy novels, wishing I could take them all home with me. I loved reading, and if I had it my way I’d blow my whole paycheck at the local bookstore. I found a book I’d never read and skipped down the stairs, taking two of them at a time. When I reached the first floor, Andrew was at the table leaning over a pile of books so large it partially blocked him from view. I gasped and dropped my book, the shock so outrageous that it rooted me to the spot.

  Andrew leapt to his feet, practically flying across the room, which I knew he could have if he wished. Within seconds he was at my side, picking up the book from the floor. His eyes were uneasy.

  “Gabriella? What’s wrong?” He led me toward the table and helped me sit.

  “How many—” I paused to lift some of the books off the table. My shock turned to awe. There were physics, chemistry, geography, geology, biology, and many other scientific books splayed across the table. Half of them were open. “How many books have you read? I was only upstairs for fifteen minutes.”

  I checked my watch to make sure I hadn’t gotten carried away looking at books, which happened more often than not at any bookstore or library.

  He looked pleased with himself. “I read through twenty books, and I must say they were fascinating. Science has enhanced tremendously over the past few hundred years.”

  “Twenty?” I mouthed, trying to recover from the shock of the books piled taller than Michael Jordan.

  “When I was young, I read as fast as you,” he informed me, “but age, time, and my magical abilities have given me the opportunity to gain knowledge by reading quickly.”

  “I’ll just stick to my single book right here.” I showed him my book on werewolves. “You know, this is my kind of scientific research,” I teased.

  He laughed and pulled out his chair, grabbing another book off the table. “Aerospace engineering is a beguiling subject.”

  “Werewolves,” I countered, “are equally intriguing.”

  “But completely fiction,” he pointed out.

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t had the opportunity to disprove that yet.” I grinned at him.

  “Or to prove it,” he added with a wink.

  “Anyways,” I said, “angels are supposed to be a work of fiction as well. Okay, to most people anyway. But here you are—positively, solidly here.” I poked him, and he grabbed my finger and laughed.

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.” He let go of my finger. “Now get to reading. We don’t have much time.” I pointed toward the clock on the wall. “Librarians are very strict.”

  “I know. I was friends with one.”

  At that moment, someone shushed us. We both fell silent and pulled our books to our faces, our smiles spilling over the pages.

  He flipped through the pages of his so quickly I thought he was just looking for pretty pictures. I tried to tear my eyes away from him and read my book on werewolves, but for several minutes all I could do was watch this angel rapidly slicing through the pages. He was more engaging and enchanting than a man who turned into a wolf.

  Andrew looked up when he noticed I wasn’t reading. “Something wrong with your book?” His tone was teasing.

  “No. You just surprise the hell out of me.”

  He smiled at the saying. Then a thought came to me—one that I hadn’t had much time to consider or think about since we’d been on the run. I felt worse and worse as I tried to digest the appalling thought, like an invisible hand was twisting my insides. I wondered how the other angels were doing in their prison cells.

  He must have seen the look on my face because he arched an eyebrow. His dark hair fell around his face. “What is it?”

  I became abruptly serious. “Do you believe in hell?”

  He looked slightly taken aback for a second before his expression cleared. “Why should I?” He shrugged with dispassion. “I’m immortal. Death constantly eludes me. The Olympian gods were whom we all feared when I was a child. But, as you’ve seen, even being in the ground for a few hundred years hasn’t stopped me from living.” He didn’t elaborate on how he ended up there in the first place.

  I didn’t want to continue with my line of questioning; it reminded me forcibly of the dream of the dead angel and the golden blood. They were unbidden, unwelcome thoughts. Were angels really as immortal as they believed? Even Paolo had said that some angels didn’t survive attacks by the Shadows.

  I tried to rid myself of the image. It was hard to resist asking questions; there were so many answers I wanted to know. We had only a little time left for reading anyway. He must have interpreted something in my eyes, because he bowed over the book again and flipped through the pages.

  Silence fell between us. I immersed myself in the werewolf book, enjoying the main character’s struggle with self-denial. Those were always my favorite kinds of stories, probably because I had never had the opportunity to be in a position to self-deny.

  My eyes flickered up toward Andrew, stealing another glance. His long, dark hair fell to his shoulders as his golden eyes raced across a page. He was reading a book on popular culture, and his lips twitched up several times. The line of his jaw was flawlessly straight and dimples formed with each smile. His nose was proportioned for his face. I studied his arms and the well-formed muscles. I’d almost bet my l
ife savings that he had a six-pack under that shirt. Add wings and a halo, and I’d believe he was an angel from heaven.

  Then again, I was using my life savings to keep him safe, so I was already betting on him being the real deal. I flipped the page of my book distractedly but couldn’t help but continuously peek up at Andrew.

  He studiously read through another book. The title was half covered by his long fingers, but I saw the basic subject was medicine. I watched as he took in the information. Sometimes his facial expression would change from incredulity to out-right fascination. Watching this process became more enjoyable for me than reading the now forgotten teenage werewolf on the pages before me.

  Abruptly, he got an excited gleam in his eyes and jumped up to grab another book, completely unrelated to medicine. He tossed it aside and grabbed another. The title on that one was Environmental Epidemiology. For a second, I wondered why he was reading about epidemics in the first place. Whatever he was looking for, he must have found it, because his eyes gleamed with triumph at his discovery. After a moment, he went back to his book pile and pulled a book from the bottom, which he had left opened to a page. His eyebrows flew up at something he read. He plopped another book on top of it and continued reading a while before the amused skeptical look left his face. There was still a ghost of a smile on his lips as he read on.

  For the last thirty minutes at the library, I watched him go through several more books, ranging from astrophysics, cellular biology, and botany to bioengineering and world culture. Watching this, I felt like my entire college career and all of my degrees were silly pieces of paper. He soaked up information as easily as a snake would soak up the warmth on a sunny day. I had struggled, studied constantly, and never attended a single party all throughout school. I was an outcast for my intelligence. Andrew put that intelligence to shame. But then I felt immediately better. The one person who everyone would look up to—an angel—was the one who reveled in knowledge. I felt a jolt of pride, in myself and in Andrew. In that moment, I knew he was my angel. As if he heard my thoughts, his eyes shot up to mine, and he smiled.

  “We have to go.” I sighed, wishing I could watch him read all night.

  “Ten more pages,” he said, and his eyes went back to the book in his hands.

  “Done?” I asked after less than a minute. He had flipped through eleven pages. I was counting.

  “Yes,” he said, looking up at me as if the book had bewitched him. “Everything’s so different. I feel overwhelmed and enthralled all at the same time.”

  “I can’t imagine what it would be like taking so much in at once like you just did.” I looked over his pile of books. “Let’s go, before the librarian breathes fire at us.”

  Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Let’s,” he said.

  We swept out of the building. Outside was chilly, the deep hour of the night making the air frigid. The sky was dark, and I could barely see the tiny stars with all the city lights blocking them out.

  “Looks like we’re going to have to walk,” I told him.

  Without conscious thought—or so it seemed—he grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. The familiar electric jolt shot between us. He squeezed my hand in reassurance.

  Big, round yellow lights lit the sidewalk, but that didn’t stop the shadows from looking terrifying. A chill formed in my stomach that had nothing to do with the temperature. It felt as though someone, or something, was following us. I shivered at the thought of what could be in the dark of the frosty October air. My thoughts weren’t helping the situation.

  Our footsteps echoed in the silence. There was a far-off hoot of an owl, because, really, things couldn’t be any creepier. Shadowy figures seemed to loom in and out of view as we continued down the sidewalk, though Andrew was oblivious. Maybe it was all in my head. Despite the strange feeling I had about the night, for some reason I really couldn’t feel completely afraid with Andrew by my side. He radiated some indefinable sense of power that immediately made me feel safe and guarded. Still, it was hard to suppress the suspicion, and I took up a brisk pace.

  A thunderous clunking came from an old truck behind us. It backfired as it passed and wheezed on down the road. Its headlights briefly illuminated the area and showed that there was nothing in the shadows, just trees and quiet houses, exactly what I should have expected. I felt slightly reassured at this knowledge but was still creeped out.

  “You’re freezing,” Andrew stated simply, looking at me with deep golden eyes full of concern.

  He wrapped his arm around me and rubbed my arm with his palm to produce heat with the friction. Sparks shot from the contact. I didn’t know if I should’ve felt embarrassed or not, but for several seconds I didn’t care. The feeling was amazing. The cold seemed to have no affect on his warm skin, and his simple embrace was like wearing a space heater.

  “Thank you,” I murmured, not meeting his eyes.

  We passed a stretch of blank wall that blocked out the shadows. “We need to find a place to stay,” I said after a minute, anxious. We were on the run, after all. What if a police cruiser drove by?

  “Yes. This way.” He pointed with his free hand and smiled down at me knowingly. His gold eyes pierced through me and made me melt.

  I shook my head, trying to dispel my slowly growing feelings for this angel. He may want to protect me, he may be charming and breathtaking, but he was not mine—no matter how much I felt the need to claim him. He was an angel; I was human. He was immortal; I was mortal. He wasn’t just some vampire, where I could beg him to turn me into the deplorable creature he was so we could stalk the shadows for eternity. This was a genuine angel, full of radiance and love, something I couldn’t reciprocate in full because I’d get old and die while he stayed young and eternal. Any ideas of loving him had to be dumped right then. For the first time ever, I had no expectations.

  “Here it is.” Andrew stopped in front of a three-story hotel. Its outside looked like any three-star hotel: nondescript. The parking lot was packed, so people had parked their cars on the road, blocking off part of it. There were large trucks and jeeps parked in the grass. I bet management loved that.

  “We have a reservation,” he said.

  “How did we manage that?” I stared up at him in shock.

  “When you were upstairs, the librarian was very helpful. She said this was the most popular hotel in town because of the restaurant and bar.”

  “Oh,” was my ingenious response.

  “She told me they stay open late. We could order some food perhaps?”

  We? I thought. So he does eat food. I hadn’t been sure if he did or not. Suddenly, I felt like a dunce. How else would he sustain his life? He wasn’t a vampire, so no drinking of blood or other concoctions, nor did I think he fed off the life force of humans. I felt like a simpleton for even having questioned it in my mind. Thank you fantasy novels for making me think of these silly things.

  “Is that all right with you?” he persisted when I didn’t respond.

  “Food. That sounds nice,” I said faintly. The day’s events weighed on me. “And a shower would be even better.”

  His face brightened. “I read about those. Whoever came up with sewer systems and water treatment plants was exceptionally clever.”

  We continued to trudge through the brightly lit parking lot. There were no bugs circling the lights like they would have been in the summer months. Winter was only around the corner, and once again I felt the chill in the air.

  As we approached the hotel, for some unknown reason, I felt reluctant. But I knew I’d rather be inside than out in the cool misty darkness. An odd chill ran up my spine, emphasizing my thoughts. I cast a quick look over my shoulder. The parking lot was empty besides two men walking to their truck.

  When Andrew reached the door he didn’t hesitate, so I didn’t either. The door slid open automatically, and he didn’t flinch as he continued on through like this world all made sense to him. Maybe it did. It was nice to see his face
wasn’t so bewildered and completely apprehensive about all of the new technology surrounding him anymore.

  The woman behind the counter looked up from her computer screen to greet us with a bright smile, though her grin was not for me but for Andrew. I’d be in awe, too, if I were her. I leaned over the counter.

  “We have a reservation,” I said calmly, though I was full of nerves. I knew the FBI were looking for us, and I knew it would be a risk to use my name, but all modern hotels demanded ID.

  I turned to Andrew, realizing I didn’t know whose name it was under. “Andrew, did you put it under my name?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Dr. Moretti.”

  I gaped at him for a second before turning back to the girl who was focused on the screen. I’d never told him my title or my last name. “It should be under Dr. Moretti.”

  When the girl looked up from her computer, she had a strained smile on her face. She seemed suddenly tense, alarmed. “Of course, Dr. Moretti. How would you like to pay for your hotel stay?” she asked with a bite of vehemence in her voice. “I’ll also need to see your ID.”

  I handed her my driver’s license. “I’ll be paying with cash,” I answered apprehensively.

  “You have to leave a credit card at the front desk,” she barked, her words punctuated by her quick slap of my driver’s license on the desk—another show of edginess.

  I flinched slightly at her manner. She was starting to make me nervous, yet at the same time there was a twinge of annoyance growing in me. I wondered why she was being so hostile in the first place. Had I not been polite to her? It couldn’t possibly be because Andrew was with me, could it?

  My card was in my back pocket, and I reached behind me to grab it. The girl gripped the counter so hard I thought she would cut off the blood flow to her fingers. When she saw the plastic card come out of my back pocket, she relaxed.

  She was acting especially peculiar. I slid the card across the space between us. She snatched it up, scanned it before handing it back, and practically threw our room keys at us. “Room 310,” she said dismissively.

  “Thank you?” It came out more like a question than a statement.

  A vacant silence greeted my words, so I wheeled around, puzzled by her open enmity. I strolled towards the stairs, which were next to the elevator. “Our room is on the third floor,” I said.

  Before I could open the door to the stairs, he stopped and pulled me back. “Can we take the elevator?” He pointed his head to the right. “I read about them, and I want to ride in one.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. He really was like an excited three year old. “Okay, but don’t press all the buttons.” He’d already pressed the button to call the elevator down to us.

  “I’ll try not to.” He smiled mischievously.

  The room was just as boring as any other. Tan walls with horrid flower wallpaper around the edges, matching curtains and comforter. There were about a million lamps and no light on the ceiling. Typical, I thought. The small flat screen TV on the dresser was more or less a surprise. I was distracted from the normalness of the room by the bed. To my bewilderment, we had only one bed, a king-sized bed, but still only one. I thought him choosing a different hotel from the one on the brochure was to make sure we had two beds. Apparently not, seeing as how Andrew wasn’t acting like this wasn’t any big deal. There was an upsurge of noise as the heater turned on. Andrew, his eyes roaming over every detail of the room, threw himself onto the comforter.

  “I don’t ever remember a bed as comfortable as this,” he stated happily.

  Hesitantly, I perched on the edge of it and gave it a little bounce. “It’s not nearly as nice as my bed at home,” I noted under my breath. Here I was, already talking about my bed to Andrew. Pitiful.

  He sat up, his golden eyes full of delirium at this revelation. “Really? It gets better than this?”

  “It sure does.”