The Library (The Librarian of Alexandria Book 1)

by Casey White

  Down the other way lay fire - fire, and wind, and something mysterious filling the air that toyed with the candlelight and cast an otherworldly sheen over the whole scene.

  That way, then. So be it.

  Owl stood, clawing at the wall for stability. And finally, he released Olivia’s wrist. “Go.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her head whip around. “W-What?”

  He thrust a finger toward the distant sitting room. “Go find Will. Get the hell out.”

  “But-”

  “No buts,” Owl said, each word heavy. “Get out. Don’t get hurt over this. I’ll handle it, so...get to safety.”

  “But what are you-”

  Owl had turned away before her sentence finished. He heard her words die away behind him as he stalked in the other direction - straight toward the heart of the maelstrom.

  One more time, he broke into a run.

  - Chapter Thirty-Nine -

  Fire. It filled the hallway ahead of him, seething at the walls and churning with waves of blue and black. Owl’s eyes were already as wide as they could go, horror building in his gut at the sight of it ravaging the Library. His Library. Alexandria.

  With every corner he turned, watching the pieces of his home fall away under the storm’s ravenous, devouring flames, a piece of his heart froze over and chipped away as well. This place...it was his home. Sentient, yes. A bit of a bitch, yes. But Alexandria was his, and she was hurting.

  Every drip-drop of glowing blue from the walls around him was like a knife to his chest.

  He charged onward, though, one hand upraised. The pale golden glow shooting from his palm was a pathetic defense against the storm, but when he pushed, the flames gave way before him. Now and again, he glanced back, eyeing the hallway he’d so recently come from.

  His guests were safe. He had to trust that. Neither of them were stupid, and the way out was clear. They’d make it.

  Now, he had to worry about Alexandria.

  His eyes turned to the grand, towering walls around him, inspecting every inch as he ran. The farther he made it, the thicker the smoke, rendering his vision dim and thin. But even still, he could see the lines of destruction etching into the stone. And even if here, away from the study halls, the air was free from flying books and texts, chunks of stone and timber still peppered his limbs, bashing against the well-worn leather of his coat.

  Farther. It didn’t matter if he wound up black and blue, covered in bruises from his run. It didn’t matter if the storm around him left him burned and reeling. He’d find whatever was wrong with his Alexandria, and he’d-

  His legs froze, shuddering underneath him. His eyes snapped impossibly wide, glued to the storm overhead.

  And the pale, shimmering figures he could see within the storm’s clouds, floating high above the stone-lined hallways he followed.

  Despite the storm-winds still blasting into his face, despite the fires burning over his head, for a long moment Owl was caught just...staring. Baffled. People? Were those supposed to be-

  No, he decided just as quickly. Not people. They were human-shaped, but not a single one of them seemed to recognize his presence, much less attempt to come talk to him. They swirled and circled within the endless waves of blue and black, little more than glimmering outlines that appeared and disappeared seemingly at will.

  A shiver rippled down his spine. Whatever it was, whatever they were, they didn’t belong here. It wasn’t right.

  He needed to fix it. Quickly.

  With every step he took, though, the clouds built around him, pressing in closer and closer until he could hardly see the next step he was taking - and the ghostly figures weren’t so distant, anymore. They-

  How am I supposed to-

  But, she said she’d-

  Where? Where should I go? I thought this was supposed to-

  His hands slapped over his ears - over the space where his ears were, underneath his hood. Voices. There were voices coming from the storm. With the wind howling louder and louder by the second, their words blended into the mix, melding together into a seamless cry that tore at his senses.

  Owl narrowed his eyes, thankful for the mask that shielded him from the world-gone-mad that surrounded him. It gave him a tiny, fleeting barrier, a wall between the wind that tore at his skin and hair. The voices continued unabated, an eerie undercurrent to the roar of the wind.

  Ahead, though, he could see it - a turn in the hallway, and more importantly, a massive stone-built archway dead ahead. Every gust and ripple of the wind carried dust and glimmering droplets of glowing water in its embrace, enough for him to track the way it moved.

  Wherever the hallway led, it wasn’t involved - and the gouts of fire-laced wind billowing out of the arch made it painfully clear where his destination was. He could hardly see the entryway through the mess of glowing, seething magic.

  Worst of all, his lungs hadn’t stopped their tingling - and he couldn’t quite banish the need to cough. You’re breathing something bad, his thoughts whispered. Humans aren’t supposed to breathe magic. This stuff is eating away at the walls. What’ll it do to your lungs? How long can you survive?

  And what would happen if he collapsed then and there, left to vanish into the clouds? A shudder ran through him.

  Owl gritted his teeth, shaking his head with new fervor, and took another step forward. Alexandria was magic. He wasn’t magic.

  Probably.

  Although he was here in a dream.

  And he was the Librarian, Alexandria’s caretaker.

  Best not to think about it too hard, he thought with a wry, hollow chuckle. He squinted up toward the ceiling as the arch emerged from the storm.

  His heart dropped like a rock. He’d thought it just a moment before - he was Alexandria’s caretaker.

  And out of all his years as Librarian, even through Alan and Dylan’s havoc, he’d never seen his Library devastated as this.

  The storm coiled about the eaves of the grand, towering chamber beyond the arch. In one section, a hole had been gnawed in the roof itself, allowing the crackling waves of magic to burst out into the open air beyond. This is what we saw, then.

  This was the heart of it.

  As quick as he could shuffle forward, Owl hurled himself past the arch and staggered sideways. That horrible wind was gusting forward, pushing out of the room and toward its escape. If that was the case, then-

  He exhaled with relief as the wind died away. Not entirely, mind - it still whipped around him, nipping at his heels and trying to pull him back in. But he could see again, and he could think.

  “What are you doing, Alex?” he whispered, searching the storm. “What’s-”

  He stopped as another pale shape gleamed from within the heart of the maelstrom - and this time, it wasn’t so transparent. With the worst of the wind out of his ears again, he could hear them, too. Almost. He took a hesitant step forward, gritting his teeth and straining.

  A cry burst from his lips as the storm erupted - and one of those human-shaped figures exploded out towards him. Another. Another. They whirled around him, closer and closer until-

  -don’t know where’d she go? I thought-

  ...the deal was. We had a deal. You promised. You-

  -so quiet. I don’t like it. Said I wouldn’t be alone. Please don’t-

  Owl could hear himself screaming, the sound a pale shadow to the renewed crackling of magic-fueled electricity from the storm. It was too much. Alexandria was- was being torn apart. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. They were in his head. How was he supposed to fix this? It was impossible. He couldn’t begin to-

  “Stop whining and stand up,” he heard someone snap, the sound filling the air around him. A woman. Familiar. The voices of the beings around him still screamed under her words, but impossibly, she didn’t even sound like she’d raised her voice. “You have to mend what’s broken. You must.”

  Right. He needed to...to find a way. Somehow. He’d fi
x this. And the first step to getting himself under control was-

  A groan ripped from his throat as he brought his hand up, fire appearing between his fingers. If these creatures were attacking him, he’d-

  An invisible weight slapped across the back of his head. He flinched, stumbling forward. His head snapped back - and his eyes found only empty air behind him.

  “Let no harm come to those who walk these halls,” the voice said, with anger starting to lace her words. “Will the Librarian attack his own guests?”

  Guests? Owl furrowed his brow, stumbling backward again. These creatures were no guests of his. He hadn’t invited them. So why-

  “Pull yourself together and end this. Now.” Her final word was biting, and when she didn’t speak again, Owl lifted his head. Pull himself together, then?

  Easier said than fucking done. Owl’s teeth cut through the soft skin of his lip, filling his mouth with the taste of blood. He forced his eyes back open, his head afire. Stretching one hand out, he fought, scrabbled for control. His arms quivered.

  The palest, faintest shield he’d ever summoned flickered to life before him. The sight of it lit a fire in his gut. With his pulse thundering in his ears, he pushed - and watched it spread across the air, a barrier against the madness.

  The ghostly figures swirling around him flew away with what sounded like irritated snarls, rejoining the storm. He watched them go, his confusion growing by the second. What were they? Why were they here? They’d almost looked like-

  His eyes latched to something glowing at the very center of the destruction - a tiny, human-shaped figure, still as stone and glowing like a second sun. It had to be bright to be seen through the murk, he knew. And that made it-

  A dreamer.

  The truth slammed down onto his shoulders like an anvil, driving him back on his heels. The shield around him wavered, but held. He clung to the magic, horror wiping away any conscious effort he might have put in.

  Because he’d realized it as soon as the word drifted through his mind. The rightness of it. The truth. There, at the core of all of the damage, was a dreamer, burning brighter and more fiercely than he’d ever seen from one of the lost souls.

  Magic storms. With the last bit of context he’d been missing, half-forgotten memories rose up one after another to slam into his chest. He’d been told, hadn’t he? Dreamers had to be looked after. And if they didn’t-

  If a dreamer was ignored, it’d try and find the answers on its own. The Library would respond to its distress in the only way it knew how.

  Owl stared out across the rampant destruction of his home, aghast. Everywhere he looked, it grew worse by the second. The roof was mostly gone, by then. The walls were etched away, marred by sheets of fire that left only scarred remnants of metal and stone in their wake. The whole room was filled with books flying through the air, their torn and ruined pages forming together like a tornado of words.

  This was his fault.

  His thoughts raced in that quiet, horror-filled moment, spelling it all out. The way he’d gotten himself worked up over Olivia and Will. The way his thoughts had centered on them, or James, or Leon, and kept him away. He’d fulfilled his chores with Olivia, yes, but...but little else.

  He’d let himself become distracted. He’d put the politics of being the Librarian ahead of the needs of the Library, and now...now, here they were. Now, Alexandria was scarred and bleeding. Now even his guests were trapped in the inner rooms, hiding from the chaos.

  He’d let it all go straight to hell. He’d failed.

  “It’s not too late,” the voice said again, but her words were oddly distant, like she’d gotten farther away. “You’re the Librarian now, kid. Act like it.”

  His vision narrowed, zeroing in on the tiny, fierce-glowing figure in the heart of the storm. It’s not too late.

  He could still fix it.

  The barrier around him fell away. He didn’t need it. The ghostly dreamers surged from the maelstrom toward him, sensing the return of their target.

  Don’t worry, Alex. I can handle it myself. I promise.

  The ground underneath him rippled, shuddering and reshaping as he grabbed at it. The fires in his skull reignited with fierce new life. And then-

  When he lunged forward, his eyes glued to the dreamer, the ground under his feet bucked forward, pushing hard. In an instant he was airborne, launched into the thick of it. Fires shot past him, fires that licked at his jacket and his mask and left tiny networks of scars across everything it touched but didn’t burn.

  I don’t want to be here without-

  -but how long? You said-

  The whispers rose higher, matched by the dimly-glowing shapes that he could see himself sliding straight through. They were thicker here, growing more real still. With each one that passed through him, he could feel a chill settle over him.

  Even still. Owl brushed their words off as best he could, all his willpower focused on staying upright and moving closer to- to the thing at the center of the storm. Pages flattened against his mask, buffeted away almost before he could register it. Now and again, a book slammed into his shoulders hard enough to bruise.

  Faster.

  His foot brushed the ground - and it bunched up again, kicking at his heel like he’d stepped on a landmine. The storm whipped harder, pushing against him as he plunged into the heart. There were yet more ghostly dreamer-things here too, thicker than before. They formed a wall in his vision, grabbing at his arms and torso and-

  The air went quiet around him - or rather, the air cleared. He could still feel the push of it against him as he stumbled to a stop. The wind still clawed at him, rocking him to and fro. But the flames had parted, and no spectral hands reached out to cling to his jacket. Paper drifted down around him, dancing on the turbulent air.

  Nothing was left between Owl and the dreamer. Not anymore.

  The poor thing stood hunched over, its head buried in its hands. Its fingers were splayed, quivering with tension. Owl flinched. So it was moving - it wasn’t-

  The dreamer’s head snapped up.

  Owl yelped, the sound disappearing into the din as the wind returned in full. His coat billowed out behind him. His hood flapped, tearing at its straps for a perilous moment before ripping free of his mask entirely. He’d pulled his black hair up into a short, messy bun that morning - that, too, vanished as the tie gave way to the wind’s call.

  But the thing was looking at him, glaring with a face that was all blinding light and searing heat. In an instant, the moment passed - and the dreamer shuffled forward again, screaming wordlessly. The wind howled in response.

  Do something. Owl’s hands shook. He didn’t try to pull his hood up, to tame the unruly mess of hair that flapped about his face. The heat pouring off the dreamer warmed the leather of his coat, rising with ominous intensity. Be careful, but you have to-

  “Hey!” Owl screamed, taking another step forward. And then another. The leather of his gloves was long-past ‘warm’. “Hey! Come here, I’ll-”

  The wind swirled, changing directions in a heartbeat. Owl tripped, overbalancing, and caught himself with a curse before he could tumble down. Falling would be very, very bad, his thoughts shrieked.

  His head snapped back up, though, returning his gaze to the dreamer. The dreamers wanted guidance. This one had been without it for...for too long. A fresh wave of shame roiled through him. But he was here now, and he could give guidance, so long as-

  “Hey! You!” Owl bellowed, forcing himself closer and closer. If the dreamers had names, that would make things easier. “Wait! I can help! I can- I can try!”

  Something screeched overhead, something loud and angry that set his nerves to screaming along with it. His eyes darted up.

  A section of the roof tumbled, ripping free of its joists and falling into open air. In his adrenaline-filled mind, the debris almost seemed to float, light as a feather as it descended. He knew it was anything but.

  Owl leapt to the side with
a gasp, thrusting out hard. Gold glimmered between his fingers.

  The chunk of roof bounced off the barrier, landing with a crash.

  Breathing hard, Owl looked back. The dreamer walked on - and with every second he delayed, it felt like the whispers filling the storm grew louder and louder.

  “Hey!” Owl screamed, his throat aching with the effort of it. “Mister Dreamer! Wait! Just-”

  The dreamer didn’t turn. It didn’t react at all - it just kept shambling away, still holding its head. The air around it seethed with heat. The glow underneath its skin grew brighter and brighter, until Owl could hardly look at the damn thing.

  No matter what he tried, he wasn’t going to get its attention. He knew that, then. The dreamer was too far gone to respond to calls or yells. But if he didn’t do that then what? What would he-

  Owl stepped closer again. And froze.

  The wet squelch of his footstep still rang in his ears. Slowly, his mind a hazy blur of fog and fear, he looked down.

  The glowing blue waters dripping down the walls had gathered, welling up. Puddles surrounded him and the dreamer both - puddles that grew deeper by the second.

  Magic. Magic from Alexandria. He stared, motionless, pinned in place as his thoughts raced.

  Alexandria was too occupied with the dreamer’s magical storm to help him. Too hurt. Too weak.

  The dreamer was desperately searching for answers - answers in Alexandria’s books. In her magic.

  Maybe there was another option.

  Steeling himself and praying that he was right, Owl stretched his fingers toward the magical waters below. His breath caught, freezing in his chest.

  He was sure of it. Alexandria was a magical creation. This storm - whatever it was - was tearing her apart in the dreamer’s need for answers. And wherever it touched, this water was all that remained.

  Like Alexandria’s blood. If she was magic, it was too. It was a part of her. And if Alexandria had knowledge-

  “Come on,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes to slits. “Please. Please, just-”

  The waters around him shimmered, quivering. His fingers tightened. And then - there. A droplet rose out of the depths, then another. A stream of silvery, faintly-glowing liquid drifted toward his hands. It pooled into an orb, seething and pulsating with the ever-blowing wind.