Broken Destiny

by Serena Lindahl

  The bottom floor does not actually stop at the limits I saw earlier. Beyond the thin shimmer in the air where I saw the previous barriers, it spreads further in every direction. “So the walls and the ceiling, they’re an illusion?” I ask simply.

  Ansel motions to a nearby table with several cushioned chairs around it. I eagerly take a seat, even though the expected pain isn’t assaulting my limbs with the strength it usually bears. I imagine the decrease in pain has something to do with the library because I’ve already walked and stood a lot today.

  After we sit, a coffee pot and two cups appear magically on the table. I jump in surprise. The sudden appearances will take some getting used to. I’ve lived in a mostly human environment for the past seven years.

  “They’re an illusion of a sort,” Ansel explains, reminding me of my original question as he pours a cup of coffee. He offers it to me, and I realize it’s already been lightened with cream. I take a hesitant sip. It’s just how I like my coffee, unsweetened. When Ansel pours himself a cup, it comes out black. A magic coffee pot. Now, that is useful.

  “You weren’t raised magically, and if you were, I assume you’ve blocked those memories? Good and bad?” He stares at me from across the shiny surface of the table. I don’t respond, so he continues. “The reason I’m asking is that every child in the magical community knows about this library. It hasn’t always been situated in this place. Its location moves to where it’s needed most, to where its caretakers are. The sphinxes have been librarians for as long as the library has existed, and they’re born of the same bloodline. Except the Abrams disappeared over two hundred years ago. The last two librarians were not of your lineage nor were they sphinxes.”

  “Disappeared?” I ask carefully. I blocked memories of my childhood, but I don’t remember a mother or father. Wouldn’t I have retained those memories if they were welcoming?

  “Hunted,” Ansel admits with a grimace. “Some within the magical community believe that if the library is unguarded, they might have access to its secrets. The information within these walls can be very dangerous, Zosia.”

  “And are those people still around?”

  “I imagine there are a few, but the most notable and most infamous was caught before your birth and sentenced to die. This was the man who killed your last known ancestor. I wasn’t present at his execution, but someone I trust told me he saw it personally.”

  “But?” I ask slowly. It doesn’t surprise me that my ancestor was killed if my kind were hunted.

  “But,” Ansel begins on a long exhalation, “your childhood indicates he might not have been working alone. He either had a following, a protégé, or someone who wanted to finish his work.”

  My hands tighten around my coffee cup. I look away from him, noticing all the tiny details I didn’t catch at first glance. The staircase that winds to each floor is carved with small images, and tapestries depicting scenes I can’t decipher from here decorate the walls all the way to the top. I don’t know how I’ll navigate those stairs, but I’ll find a way.

  “How long have you known who or where I was?”

  “Since you checked into the human hospital. I apologize that I didn’t find out until after it was too late to provide a magical healer for your legs. Your existence was kept a carefully guarded secret. I was tasked with finding your bloodline since it disappeared, but the state you were in when you were brought to the hospital revealed how much danger you faced. It was better to keep you out of the magical world until you were safe here.” That brought up the question of his age, but it wasn’t the most critical piece of information.

  “That’s the reason I’ve been at the orphanage?”

  Ansel doesn’t meet my eyes as he looks into his coffee cup. “You couldn’t come here until you came of age, which in the magical community is nineteen. I helped forge your papers at the orphanage to hide your real last name and age so they didn’t kick you out prematurely. I couldn’t do more than that without drawing attention to you, although I offered anonymous donations for your care.”

  I snort. Where did that money go? Maybe to Mother Mary’s secret pot habit? Not that I’m judging her. Being around screaming brats all day would make me want to pick up a calming practice too. I’m not mad at Ansel. My time in the orphanage wasn’t all bad; at least I had my ghost friend. My heart stutters.

  “Kodi.” I change the subject abruptly. “He came to me last night. He’s a slave, Ansel. Do I have any influence here to change that?”

  Ansel laughs. For a moment, it pisses me off, thinking he finds my friend’s plight funny, but he explains quickly. “Zosia, as the new librarian, you automatically earn a seat on the Academy Board of Directors and a position on the delegation for the OSC. Where knowledge is concerned, you are now the foremost expert in the supernatural community.”

  “No pressure,” I mutter. I didn’t even know this place existed, and now I’m an expert? Nervous laughter bubbles inside me. “Um, I don’t know anything…”

  “You’ll grow into this world and your role.” He dismisses my concerns with a wave of his beringed hand. I debate telling him that the man that put me in the hospital wore one of those rings, but lifelong distrust stalls my words. “As for Kodi, you’re allowed to select a group of guardians to help you protect the library. The library decides what capacity they’ll serve in. There’s nothing in the rules that says a ghost can’t be included among those ranks, but I’m not certain the library will accept him as an acceptable sentry because of his inability to touch things. The fact that he was allowed to visit you in the guardhouse suggests that he’s trusted, so that’s a start.”

  “I’ll ask her.” The words come out on instinct as if I’ve already become accustomed to speaking of a building as a sentient female. “But that’s only one...”

  “I have a couple of supernaturals in mind if you’d allow me to introduce you?”

  I nod quickly. “That would be preferable,” I reply with relief, more focused on freeing Kodi than selecting a cadre of guards. How many will I need?

  “Excellent. The library will stay closed for a couple of days until you acclimate and get accustomed to your role and move into your new quarters.”

  I nod and take another hesitant sip. “You didn’t track down the man who…?” I motion toward my legs, and Ansel frowns unhappily.

  “Unfortunately not, Zosia. Whoever it is, they’ve covered their tracks well.”

  I can only nod in response. I’ll have to delve into my memories at some point and learn who it is. I can’t hide from my duties forever. I made a promise. “How did you know who I was? When I was in the human hospital?” I don’t have many memories from that time, but I thought I’d remember his compassion. It’s a rarity in my experience.

  “I’ve been looking for survivors of your lineage for a long time, Zosia, almost two centuries. The library gave me the task the moment I came of age. It became my life’s work, along with working with the House of Beasts here at the academy. Even with your magic hidden and decreased, I knew who you were.”

  “And I’m the only one?”

  Ansel’s expression droops with sadness. “As far as I know, yes. Your parents aren’t believed to be alive.”

  I’d thought as much, and I’ve already made peace with the fact that my family is likely dead. “So the illusion?” I ask, bringing the subject back around to less painful topics.

  “The library doesn’t trust everyone, as it shouldn’t, especially considering what happened to your ancestors. Those that aren’t on its list, so to speak, see what you saw when you first entered. If they need additional information, it will be your decision as the representative to find the book or deny their request. Knowledge is power, and not every supernatural is granted access.”

  I remember Duggar’s warnings about the supernatural community and wonder if Ansel knows what’s going on. But again, that’s for another time. I need to learn everything I can about my new job. My mysterious benefactor stands as he senses
my thoughts turn inward. He pulls the ring of keys I saw last night from his pocket and places them on the table in front of me. I stare at them, realizing that taking those keys is another step in accepting this position. But I’ve already given my blood, so there’s no going back now.

  “I’ll need my chair,” I say hesitantly. Ansel’s eyes flicker behind me. I look with him to see that my wheelchair has been deposited in front of the circulation desk. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I still am.

  Ansel gives me a half-smile. “The library provides, Zosia.”

  “So she does,” I murmur.

  “I’ll bring by the couple men I have in mind for the guardian positions later. You’ll know when I enter the building, so feel free to wander and get to know her and your new place here. No one else will be able to enter but me until you are properly guarded.”

  I nod absently and barely notice as Ansel takes his leave. Alone in the cavernous space, I lean back in my chair and look up, way up, into the glass dome that allows the light inside. Not alone, I amend. I can feel the essence of the library and each of the goblins if I concentrate. There are eight as far as I can tell. I imagine they’ll introduce themselves when they’re ready.

  I close my eyes and take in what just happened. Yesterday, I was an orphan with no plans, no dreams, and no thoughts other than the ones I allowed myself when I sank into my books. I escaped into them to ignore the desperate situation of my life, the lack of a future, and the uncertainty of what I wanted or needed. Now, I’m surrounded by books to escape into, and I don’t want to. For the first time, I feel I’m where I truly belong. It’s a heady sensation, and I can understand why someone else would want to steal this power. These walls contain immeasurable knowledge, wisdom, and truth. And it’s my job to protect it.

  I release a small sigh. I’m not a praying person, but I wish fervently. Please, don’t let me fuck this up.

  Chapter Seven

  Zosia

  “Let me show you where you’ll sleep, Mistress.” The quiet voice makes me jump, nearly causing me to knock my knees against the underside of the table. The little library goblin reminds me of Duggar, except that she’s obviously female, with curves on her humanoid body. She still doesn’t have any hair, but her eyes are a little lighter than Duggar’s, not flat black in her leathery face. Her hat is blue.

  “Hi,” I offer as I gather my crutches and pull myself from my seat.

  She bows neatly. “My name is Gilly, Miss. You’ve already met one of my husbands, Duggar.”

  I blink as I follow her behind the huge circulation desk. “One of your husbands? How many do you have? How many of you are there?” My questions are rude, but I have to know. A strange thought hits me. If I’m a sphinx, I’m part cat. No wonder I’m so curious all the time. Hopefully, that clichéd statement isn’t true. I don’t really want to die for my curiosity.

  “I have two husbands, Duggar and Murray. We have five children. So there are eight of us all together. The children are shy, so you might not see them that often. They love playing hide and seek in the stacks, though.” Her voice is both business-like and pleasant, which automatically puts me at ease.

  “Two husbands, huh? Can I ask why you have two husbands?” I don’t know why the concept fascinates me so much, maybe because I’ve read so many romance novels.

  She shrugs a shoulder. “Why not?”

  Gilly’s answer is so matter-of-fact that I consider it for a moment. Indeed, why not? Not that I could even find one man who would want me. Two would be a stretch.

  I push the thoughts away as I observe what will be my working space. I don’t know how, but it’s perfectly designed for my wheelchair, and it appears as if I won’t have any issues navigating. It’s completely non-technological, but that doesn’t surprise me. Without a computer, I wonder if there’s an enormous card catalog or if the library magically keeps track of where its books are. How long will it take me to figure out the system?

  The lack of a phone is almost freeing. I volunteered at an office down the street one summer. The phone was my nemesis. I hated answering it, and I hated calling people even more.

  “We’ll go over your duties later,” Gilly continues, and I force myself to pay attention. Focus is not one of my strong suits. “Right now, we want to get you settled in, and the library can’t open until you have your guards. You’re vulnerable until you learn how to shift.” She eyes me out of the corner of her eye, and I look down at the floor.

  “Do I have, like, a deadline in which I need to shift?” I ask curiously. Since the conditions were laid out so clearly, I have no doubt that they’ll boot me if I don’t fulfill my end of the bargain. Somehow, I don’t believe the booting will be as simple as a letter of termination.

  “You’ll know when the time is right,” Gilly answers vaguely as she pushes open the door behind the circulation desk. She’s strong for how little she is, but I also notice that the doors move smoothly, which will be a boon when I’m in my chair. The hall we enter is wide. It has two entrances - one on either side - and another door that she points to.

  “This is a bathroom if you need it during your shift.” She pushes the door open a crack to show the small toilet room. There are bars on the walls for me to grab onto. My breath catches. Was all this prepared for me? Is it part of the library? I hope it wasn’t a bother. I hate it when my different needs place a burden on others. The fact that magic was probably used doesn’t ease me much.

  “This other door leads to your private apartment. You don’t have to worry about cleaning. My oldest one does all that.”

  That’s a relief. Scrubbing and cleaning aren’t easy for me, and I hate doing it. The apartment is small, but it’s perfect. A huge bed, far larger than anything I’d ever need, takes up most of the room. I blink in surprise as it temporarily captures all my attention.

  “Um, why is the bed so big?”

  Gilly’s lip twitches. “In case you want to sleep in your sphinx form, of course.”

  “Of course,” I repeat in a mumble like I’d known that all along. The thought of shifting is still alien to me.

  I force my attention away from the bed to examine the rest of the room. It’s set up flawlessly for someone with a wheelchair. The refrigerator is half-size, the stove and counters lower as well. Everything is in reach, and there aren’t any tall cabinets in case I don’t want to stand up. The space isn’t filled with too much furniture, and everything is colored in soothing greens and browns. The single window makes it slightly dark in the apartment, but that’s my only complaint. It’s covered in thick green curtains. A half-open door leads to a full bath, complete with a special bathtub that makes me sigh just looking at it. Standing for a shower gets tedious, but it’s all I’ve ever known. The orphanage didn’t have a bathtub either.

  I can see myself being happy here, and I fight back the tears. Suddenly, I’ve become an emotional mess. I’ve never had a place of my own. The area is not just set up for my comfort; it seems made for me.

  “This is amazing,” I whisper.

  “I’m so glad you like it, Miss. Your clothes are over there.” She points to a short dresser. “And there’s some special massage oil that Master Ansel procured for you on top of the dresser. It will help your pain if you insist on standing.”

  I can’t hold it back any longer as I stare at the little tub of salve. A tear slips down my cheek. Gilly makes a clucking sound, and I suck in a watery breath. “There, there, child. You’re one of us now and protector of the library. Whatever you need, just ask for it.”

  “I’m not used to…” I stutter but stop speaking when more tears threaten.

  “I know.” She pats my hand in a maternal manner. “It will take some getting used to, but it’s nothing you don’t deserve. You remember that.” I nod even though that’s going to be the hardest part for me - believing I’m worthy of all this. “Take a minute to get used to your new place. When you’re ready, we’ll start talking about your guardians and your job.”
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  “Oh, that’s not necessary,” I start to object but she blinks out before I can finish the sentence. One minute she’s there and the next she’s not. It’s just another thing that I’ll have to adjust to. I shrug at her absence and snoop into the drawers in the dresser. The clothes are much nicer than what I’m used to: satiny shirts and stretchy pants in comfortable, flattering fabrics. My face colors at the panties and bras. They’re all the perfect size and far more delicate than the bargain store or hand me downs I dealt with at the orphanage. I caress one of the silky, bikini-cut panties and sigh with pleasure. I could get used to this.

  The bottom drawer is filled with weird scraps of fabric that don’t exactly look like clothes. I pull one out. It’s a shirt, but there are holes cut in the back. Why would I need holes in the back of my shirt? An image of a sphinx fills my mind. Right. Sphinxes have female shaped torsos. In fact, every picture I’ve seen of a sphinx has her boobs hanging out. (Are there any male sphinx? It’s just another point for me to research.) Maybe shirts are a great idea because my shift won’t be like a wolf’s or a tiger’s. I’ll be a strange human-animal hybrid. I refold the odd shirt and hobble to the bathroom. The mirror is huge, and I almost flinch away from my reflection. The bends in my legs are apparent in the shape-fitting jeans and dark circles underline my eyes. For the first time in my life, I wish I had makeup.

  Hesitating only a moment, I open one of the vanity drawers. It’s filled with cosmetics, moisturizers, and other containers I don’t actually know the use of until I read the labels. I feel like a princess. Remembering why I came into the bathroom in the first place, I rest my crutches against the sink, turn around, and rest my butt on the low counter. I lift my shirt and twist around to see my back. The scraps of fabric made me wonder if I could see my wings in my human form, but my back is the same as it’s been since the monster finished with me. Two long, jagged scars trace the inner edges of my shoulder blades, and I vaguely remember a voice mumbling about cutting out my wings. I hope he didn’t. Duggar said they’re still there; I really hope he’s right.