The Library (The Librarian of Alexandria Book 1)

by Casey White

  “Don’t freak out,” Crow said. A comforting weight pressed against his side. Her legs.

  When she held her hand down, he took it, fighting to catch his breath. “You good?” she murmured.

  He nodded.

  Good or not, it didn’t matter. Ahead of them, the door pushed open, showing only blinding light beyond.

  Something pressed through. A silhouette showed black against the brilliance, outlined by sunstreaks. “Hello?” a voice called. The worry in Owl’s chest eased. Whoever it was, they sounded every bit as worried and confused as he felt.

  Crow squeezed his hand, then slipped out in front of him. He watched, hands clasped in front of him, as she walked into the center of the entrance hall.

  And bowed.

  “Welcome to the Library,” she said.

  - Chapter Five -

  Loaded with books high enough he could barely peer over the top, Owl hurried through the Library.

  Voices rang out somewhere ahead of him. His arms quivered, from more than just the weight of the tomes.

  A clock spun over the mantle in their sitting room - the sitting room that had now swelled, offering three times as many chairs with coffee tables slung between them. Fine streams of sand poured between glass orbs in the timepiece, like a dozen different hourglasses hooked together and set to gears.

  Jean had directed him to that clock the first time he’d run to her, asking how long their guests would be staying. He didn’t like them. They were too loud, and they walked around Alexandria like they owned it. The Library didn’t seem to mind, but...

  But he minded. This place belonged to him and Jean, not them. He’d stood in front of the clock that first day, scowling furiously and watching its arms slowly turn.

  Another set of doors blew past, and his steps slowed. The sitting room passed by him merrily, the fire crackling with an inviting warmth. Come sit, it seemed to say.

  Owl groaned, hiking the stack of books up higher. He couldn’t. He had duties. It was his job as Jean’s apprentice. As Crow’s apprentice, he corrected himself again.

  Past the sitting room he went, spinning to put his back into the next door.

  The voices grew louder, turning from muted whispers and half-heard phrases into a conversation right at the edge of audible. Owl grinned from behind his mask, trotting into the next room - a wide and long antechamber lined with table after table. A second story rose around the edge of the study, rising high overhead with tomes.

  Here and there, figures sat at tables, hunched over this or that book. Some looked up at his passing, eyeing the slight figure with barely-concealed interest.

  The one he’d set his eyes on, though, only sat back in his chair, frowning. His eyes stayed resolutely fixed on the notebook in front of him. “There you are. About time, boy.”

  “Y-Yeah,” Owl said, fighting to keep from panting. He came to a stop in front of the man’s table. “Sorry, Bill.”

  Oh, the man looked up at that, his eyes narrowing. “It’s Mr. Parker.”

  “Of course, sir,” Owl said, grinning just a little. It was the one benefit he’d found to the hot, itchy mask - behind the shield of its clay and cloth barrier, no one could see him laughing at them. And with this man, well...He enjoyed the chance to get under his skin a little.

  He deposited the stack of books, breathing a sigh of relief and swinging his arms out to either side. With every day that passed, he could feel himself getting stronger - more so since the doors to the Library had opened and he’d become the guests’ errand boy. But carrying the massive texts was still hard.

  “Shameful, if you ask me,” Mr. Parker said, grabbing one of the books from the top of the stack and pulling it closer. The frown never left his dour face. “This place has gone straight to hell. Why, if I knew service was going to turn to shit like it has, I’d have used up my stamps when I visited last time.”

  Owl balled his fists up at his side, his hands all but hidden by the bulky leather coat Crow insisted he wear every time he left his chambers. “Yes, sir.”

  Back when the guests had first entered, he’d seen the ‘stamps’ Bill referred to - a tiny sheet of cardstock with four boxes printed on its front, pulled from a rack on the wall of the entryway. Three of the boxes had already been marked. Jean had held the library card out for the man to sign, then stamped the final with an intricate red seal.

  That was all they got, she’d explained to him later. Four sets of three-month stays, a potential four trips to their walls.

  And this man clearly regretted not using up his allotted time earlier. Owl rocked back on his heels, his frustration growing with every exasperated sigh Bill let out. Why? He hadn’t done anything to deserve this. “If you need more books, sir-”

  “If I need more books, I’ll seek out this place’s master,” Bill said, sniffing. “I don’t need ‘help’ from children who’ll waste the little time I have.”

  “I’ll be-”

  “Really, how old are you?” Bill said, setting his book down and peering at Owl over the rims of his massive, horn-rim glasses. His hair coiled around his balding head in thin, greasy strands. “You can’t be more than ten. Don’t you have parents to be terrorizing instead of bothering me?”

  Owl clenched his teeth, the man’s words echoing through his mind. If he was being honest...he’d wondered the same, some nights. The stories he’d found on the Library’s shelves all showed people his age in...well, in situations not this. His situation wasn’t normal, that much was clear. Jean had told him he was seven, but when he saw characters that age, even if he outwardly looked like them, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was older, somehow. Much older. And no matter how hard he pushed himself, he couldn’t remember anything like ‘parents’.

  Just a pair of blurry shapes, swimming up in the moments before he found sleep. Nothing more.

  But this was his job. Jean was trusting him. “If you need me, sir, I’ll-”

  “Oh, just bugger off and leave me be,” Bill said, turning back to his book with a sneer.

  A hand pressed down on Owl’s shoulder before he could turn and run.

  “Is something the matter?” a woman’s voice said, carefully cheerful. The tension building in him bled away. Jean - Crow. Good.

  Just as surely, though, shame rose to take its place. He didn’t need her help. He shouldn’t need her to save him, like...like the child this man thought he was.

  Bill’s face lost a little of its derisive set. “Ah...your apprentice was dragging his feet, and-”

  “I understand,” Crow said, and the icy chill in her voice sent a shiver down Owl’s spine. “I do apologize for any inconvenience. If you have any further requests, you may address those to me personally.”

  Her fingers squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. Owl slumped another inch lower. They were looking. Everyone was looking, by then, all their other guests and everyone. He just knew it.

  “See to the others, Owl,” Crow said. “Be off, now.”

  She swatted at his shoulder, and he darted away before she could say another word. Somewhere behind him as he fled, he heard someone chuckle.

  He ran. Most of the guests were there, in the study they’d set aside. But some would probably linger in the living wing the Library had created upon their arrival. It jutted off from alongside the sitting room, a narrow hallway with wide, ancient oak doors lined up one after another.

  Some of them would be sleeping in, or relaxing there still. They had to be. And so, Owl could definitely lurk about in the comfort of the sitting room and still be able to tell Crow he was ‘working’. Definitely.

  A smile grew across his face as he darted down the hallway, jogging along comfortably, and the firelight painted the walls ahead of him. As soon as he came through the doors, he hurled himself into one of the giant chairs by the fire, curling up into a ball on the cushion.

  He couldn’t take off his coat. He couldn’t take off his mask. He couldn’t even lower his hood. And so he stared at the man
tle, still bundled up from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head, and fumed.

  Each of the glass orbs waiting over the fireplace glimmered faintly, ratcheting another millimeter along their circle. He ground his teeth together, staring at the half-dozen symbols marked onto the clock. According to Jean, each one of the symbols was one of their visitors. They’d all set aside a different number of stamps on their slip, their library card. Some would remain in Alexandria for longer than others, but the angry Mr. Parker would be the first to go.

  According to the clock, though, he wasn’t going to be free of their guest anytime soon.

  Burying his face in his knees, Owl shook his head, curling up a little tighter.

  * * * * *

  Flames crackled around him.

  Owl lurched, backpedaling wildly. The dirt crunched under his boots, shifting with loose stones and gravel.

  Crow pressed closer, taking one unbothered step after another. Her black mask gleamed with a lustrous lacquer, reflecting the firelight in spots of reds and oranges. Slowly, she raised one hand.

  Embers sparked around her palm, curling and coiling into streaks that burned hotter and hotter.

  Don’t just run, Owl screamed in the silence of his own mind, forcing his legs to stop shaking. Don’t let her push you back like this.

  His fingers snapped wide, swathed in heavy leather gloves. He couldn’t do it on his own - not from scratch. Not with adrenaline filling his head and making him dizzy.

  But a jug had been set at the end of the practice yard’s benches for just this reason. He reached toward it, willing his image to life.

  For a single, nerve-wracking moment, nothing happened. Don’t doubt. Doubt kills. His fingers tensed, grabbing at the air.

  And then a river of water poured from the jug, burbling and bubbling across the open space toward them.

  “Eyes front!” he heard Crow call, though. Out of time.

  Spinning, he brought his hands back to the front - and the water responded in kind, spraying out into a sheet.

  It caught the fireball Crow hurled, exploding into a cloud of mist and steam.

  Now. Owl broke into a run, his eyes fixed on his teacher. She’d just cast. She’d just attacked. If he was going to throw her off balance, he’d have to be fast.

  His fingers twirled at his side, calling the water back to life. The pale mist filling the air vanished, falling to droplets that whisked back to his hand.

  “Go,” he breathed, seeing Crow straighten. He flicked his hand out, like they were tossing a disc back and forth instead of magical attacks.

  Again, the water shot forth - but this time, instead of coalescing into a shield, it lashed at Crow in missiles.

  He could see it perfectly: the way the water would soak through her boots, her pants. The way it’d freeze her to the ground.

  The taste of victory turned to ash in his mouth as Crow skittered back, letting the water hit the ground with a useless splash.

  Owl kept running, closing in on Crow. Keep moving. Keep pressing. Don’t let her turn the tables on him.

  If she wanted to back up, take that away from her.

  His foot slammed into the ground, driving down like a hammer. His hands came up, the fingers arched and digging into empty space.

  With a muted roar, the dusty ground behind Crow rose in chunks, shooting up to block out the sky.

  He saw her twitch - and her head turned, her expression hidden behind the mask. But he knew he’d done it. He’d surprised her. Now all he had to do was-

  When he took another step forward, though, her head snapped back to him. And her hands twisted together, meeting in front of her chest.

  Something grabbed hold of his ankle. Owl tumbled to the ground, hitting hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.

  Wheezing for air, he twisted far enough to look back - and saw dirt-formed hands grappling at his leg. More and more appeared with every second.

  “No,” he gasped, trying to push off the ground, but more clutched his waist, his arms.

  A heartbeat later, he lay pinned, staring up at the blurred grey sky overhead and fighting for air.

  Footsteps crunched across the dry ground. Crow appeared upside-down in his vision, coming to a stop by his head. “So,” she said. “What did we learn?”

  Owl bit back a snarl, blinking away tears that burned at the corners of his eyes. “That- That wasn’t fair.” Each word seared his lungs, leaving an ache in his chest.

  Jean kicked at his arm, her chin lifting. “Owl.”

  “Just...Just go away.” It wasn’t right. He’d had her, and then...she was being a bully. Again. And that had hurt.

  “Come on. Get up. We’re not done.”

  “Don’t want to.”

  Silence. And then, he heard her sigh.

  She hit the ground with a dull thud, stretching her legs out and leaning her head back. “I know it’s rough, kid.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re getting better,” she said, continuing on as though he hadn’t spoken. “Really, you are. If I seem hard on you...it’s just because the world is going to be hard, too.”

  Owl sniffed, scrunching up his nose, but nodded. “I-I know.”

  “You’ve seen that ass, Bill Parker. I know how he gets.”

  He giggled a little at that, the sound warbling and thin. “He’s a jerk.”

  “I know. Sorry. Like I’ve said, you don’t have to help him. Just let me.”

  Owl nodded again. And she had said that - in the weeks since he’d reamed Owl in the study, Jean had been ready and waiting to step in every time Mr. Parker called. She’d kept the older man away from him, just like she’d promised.

  “Y-Yeah.”

  “But it won’t just be him,” she said, turning her head toward him. Her eyes were hidden behind the same glassy lenses as studded his own mask, but he knew she was watching him. “The other guests will see you as a child. And...they probably will for a while. It’s going to make things hard for you.”

  “But I’m not,” Owl snapped. “I’m not some dumb baby.”

  Crow chuckled. “I mean, you kind of are a kid.”

  “I don’t feel like one,” he muttered. “So why am I like this? I-I know I’m small, but....why?”

  He’d expected another snippy response, a joke or a comeback or something to shut him up. Instead, Crow only rocked her head from side to side, pensive.

  “I’ve already told you things work...differently, in here,” she said finally. “You should know that much.”

  “I know,” Owl said. He let his head loll to the side, unable to summon the energy to stand. “But that doesn’t-”

  “Time works differently, too,” she said. “Like I said. Out there?” She waved a hand toward the blurred wall of the Edge, the end of the Library’s domain. “Outside, your body is young. But in here, well.”

  She leaned over again, dropping her hand to rap at the edge of Owl’s mask. “Your body is young still, because it’s young out there, but your mind is getting older all the time. So...it’ll be tough. The others won’t see you like that until your body and soul match up.”

  Breathe in, breathe out. Owl blinked, eyes staring into the sky overhead. Outside? And his mind was...old? “So...I’m outside?” he said, his confusion growing. “But I’m here. In the Library. I thought-”

  “Ah, it’s complicated,” Crow said, her voice tightening. “Wish I could just tell you, but...it’ll be easier to see it.” Her head drooped forward. “Sorry, kid. The Librarian changeover doesn’t usually work out like this.”

  Like what? Owl’s forehead wrinkled, his confusion growing. That didn’t make sense. “What do you-”

  “You remember what I told you about the library cards, yes?” Her voice still had that quiet, oddly mournful tone to it, but had twisted to something more businesslike.

  “Of course,” he said, starting to sulk. “Four stamps. Each stamp gets them three months. They can get all the stamps in one trip or-”r />
  “Yes, yes, yes,” Crow said, flapping her hand. He stopped. “That’s the ‘inside’. Outside?” Her hand dropped to her lap, and her face stayed pointed right at him. “It’s just a night’s sleep for the visitors.” She chuckled again, sourly. “And for us.”

  “But that’d...” Owl shook his head, trying to make sense of it. “That’s a year.”

  A year. In the span of...He bit his lip. That was impossible. They were sleeping? But then, this whole time...had he been out there, dreaming? Was any of this actually...real?

  Slowly, he tilted his head to the side, looking at his hand. He pressed his fingers into the dirt, savoring the feeling of the grit and grime and stone. It all felt real enough.

  But Jean had never lied to him before.

  “It could be that long, yes,” Crow said, her words growing more serious by the moment. “That’s...”

  Her shoulders slumped incrementally. “That’s our job as Librarians, kid,” she murmured. “It’s what we do. And it’s hard, sometimes. But you’ll never be alone. You’ll have the Library, and its guests, and the dreamers.”

  And you, he whispered silently. I’ll have you here too. But his lips wouldn’t shape the words. His lungs wouldn’t push them out. It was too much. Too much information, too many questions. He couldn’t begin to give them voice.

  Crow cleared her throat, straightening. “It’s not so hard, Daniel,” she said softly. His skin shivered at the sound of his name, the forbidden word. “And when you do get to leave Alexandria? Those days when the last guest clears out, and the Library is empty at last?”

  Her hand inched closer to his, wrapping around his fingers. “Enjoy it,” she whispered. “Make it count. Get out there and feel the sun on your face.”

  “I don’t-”

  “One more time,” he heard her murmur, even softer than before. “Just...one more time, I’d like to-”

  “Jean?” he said, his fear rising. He wasn’t supposed to say her name. He really wasn’t supposed to say her name. But she’d said his, and they were alone in the practice yard, and-