The Hidden Library
Page 1
Praise for The Collectors’ Society
“The most unique, fascinating, wondrous book I’ve read in a very long time! I was glued to every page.”–Shelly Crane, New York Times bestselling author of Significance and Wide Awake
“So unique and different, the first thing I thought when I finished . . . Man I wish I would have thought of that! Buy this book, you won’t regret it!”–#1 NYT bestselling author Rachel Van Dyken
“This book should come with a handwritten tag that says ‘Read Me.’ And you should. Right now. One of my favorite reads of the year. Loved it! I want to live inside Heather’s brain.”–Daisy Prescott, USA Today Bestselling author of Modern Love Stories
“This fantasy was a breath of fresh air. It was unique, inspiring, and obviously a five-star read. If you enjoy romance, adventure, and traveling through worm holes go get this book ASAP!”—Jennifer Foor, author of the Best Selling Mitchell Family Series, The Kin Series, The Bankshot Series, The Twisted Twin Series, Diary of a Male Maid, Hope’s Chance and Love’s Suicide
“One of the most inventive stories I’ve ever read. Brimming with sexiness and romance, magic and lore, it’s a modern-day fairytale adventure that is not to be missed.”–Vilma’s Book Blog
“THIS BOOK WAS EPIC! . . . I wanted to escape into a story that held not only romance, but also mystery. And that’s exactly what I got when I read The Collectors’ Society. I got a riveting, refreshing, and unique plot that was not only driven by a beautifully sweet romance, but also a thriving story filled with suspense and unbounded mystery.”–Angie and Jessica’s Dreamy Reads
“Alice is the new standard that I set for all heroines.”–BFF Book Blog
“Deserving to be a new classic for the modern day, The Collectors’ Society should be on your must read list.”—The Paisley Reader
“If you love classic literature, and you love fantasy and fairy tales, this is a must read book for you.”—Book Briefs
“This is one of those books where you have to sit back and question an author’s sanity because how the hell did they ever come up with this amazingly insane and totally unique idea if not for a bit of insanity on their parts. All I can say is thank goodness for Heather Lyons and her crazy thoughts, Collectors’ Society is. . . . . . I can’t even explain it, just know that it IS . . .”—Reads All The Books
“ . . . A unique tale that will leave you breathless, enthralled and begging for more. If you thought you knew classic fairy tales, think again!”—Resch Reads and Reviews
“I’m finding it almost impossible to put down in words the love I feel for this story. It was nothing like I expected and yet everything I wanted.”–The Book Hookup
The Hidden Library
Copyright © 2015 by Heather Lyons
http://www.heatherlyons.net
Cerulean Books © Sun
First Edition
ISBN: 978–0-9908436–2-7
Cover design by Whit And Ware
Editing by Kristina Circelli
Book formatting by Champagne Formats
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Praise for The Collectors’ Society
Also by Heather Lyons
Dedication
Interrogation Techniques
Courting
A Call
Truth Serum
/
An Ode to Polaris
Bits Of The Past
A Lover’s Locket
Ghost Stories & Selfies
Fairy Tales
Confessions
Double Identity
A Whiteboard
Co-Opting
Status Report
Silence
Confrontation
Horizons
Paralysis
True Love’s Kiss
Gone
He Knows
Surveillance Footage
Wee Beastie
Literal Creatures
Madness
The Boojum
The Princess & The Unicorn
Coincidences
A Gala
Chaos
Broken Glass
Epilogue
A Bibliography
Acknowledgements
Also by Heather Lyons
Deep End of the Sea
A Matter of Fate
The Fate Series
About the Author
Also by Heather Lyons
The Fate Series
A Matter of Fate (#1)
Beyond Fate—a novella (#1.5)
A Matter of Heart (#2)
A Matter of Truth (#3)
A Matter of Forever (#4)
The Collectors’ Society Series
The Collectors’ Society (#1)
The Hidden Library (#2)
The Deep End of the Sea
To Jon,
true love, north star, and binary
all rolled in one.
“YOU AND I ARE due for a talk, don’t you think? Lady to lady.”
The cackles erupting from the woman before me would make the sorceresses of Wonderlandian lore proud. Or even the Red Queen, who often practiced perfecting such a laugh to be used during the Red Court’s infamous bandersnatch arena games. Rage has turned Rosemary’s eyes bloodshot yet glassy, and with her black hair dipped white and in a bird’s-nest array around her head, she promises to be a fright to behold for many.
I am not afraid of Rosemary, though. Especially not when she is constrained as she is.
We are in one of the Institute’s more secure rooms with a locked door behind me. The only piece of furniture within is the chair she’s strapped to. Everything else was hastily removed prior to our entrance.
The Collectors’ Society, the clandestine organization I work for, never saw fit for such a space prior to the last few days. While technologically advanced and cunning, their specialties have lain in the acquisition and preservation of catalysts from various Timelines, not the capture and interrogation of villains. But two such persons newly reside within the Institute’s walls, and answers must be taken, whether willingly or through force.
As my partner is currently embroiled in important meetings, I am the woman to happily provide such coercion.
“What is your name?”
Spittle flies from between Rosemary’s lips. “Go fuck yourself, you ugly bitch whore!” A frenzy overtakes her, much like the berserkers of yore. She shouts, she struggles against the straps binding her to the chair, she froths at the mouth. And then, just when it appears she might burst out of her skin and morph into a beast, she begins singing in a voice so beautiful, so rich and pure, a woman with a softer heart than mine might shed a tear over it.
Unfortunately for her, though, I am no such lady.
Carry on, beyond the skies,
beyond tumultuous sea,
to the heart of the mountain
lies wondrous future for ye.
Sing, sing, little children!
Spill blood graciously.
Rest assured, in the end,
treasure and glory await thee.
> The villainess’ head tilts back, her eyes close. Her voice lowers and begins anew.
Fear not the blade of death,
fear not the hole of time.
Come, come, little children!
Harken to beauteous sign.
The small earpiece I am wearing vibrates as Mary Lennox’s voice says, “Well, if she isn’t crazier than a bag of hungry opossums, then I don’t know what’s what.”
I am unsure of what opossums are, but I feel it is safe to agree with my colleague’s assessment. I have known and fought many a crazed lady in my life, but Rosemary is one of the most unsettling. The others—the Queens of Red, Hearts, and White—all had method and rationale behind their madnesses and were more than happy to wax eloquent on issues when queried. I may have rarely agreed with their actions, but I knew what made them tick. This woman, who has attacked me multiple times and is suspected to have destroyed numerous Timelines and thereby murdering countless souls, cannot willingly offer up any rhyme or reason for her actions.
She is an alien creature if there ever was one.
I cannot allow what she has done to continue, even though Rosemary is now in Society custody. A team of our agents captured her and an associate whilst several others and I were acquiring the Wonderlandian catalyst. Unfortunately for all, though, S. Todd, Rosemary’s assumed paramour and partner, escaped after annihilating a catalyst and slashing Abraham Van Brunt’s throat. The Society’s leader is currently recovering in a nearby hospital and doing well, but the events have left our organization impatient to bring these fiends to justice.
I clap politely whilst Rosemary softly hums another stanza. Her eyes close in rapture, her head slumps forward. “What a pretty song. The time for such diversions is over, though. What is your full name?”
Rage overtakes her once more. This time, her fits send her and the chair she’s strapped to toppling over onto the ground. From there, she lashes about like a fish out of water.
I step forward, crouching down over her sideways body until I have her pinned sufficiently below me. She gnashes her teeth, snarling like a rabid beast. I carefully take hold of her jaw, ensuring my fingers remain safe from her overly sharp-appearing teeth. “You are responsible for the deletion of numerous Timelines. True or false?”
Attempts to whip her head about are stymied by both my grip and the awkward angle of her body trapped beneath mine. “Eat shit,” she hisses.
I am undeterred at her pathetic efforts. She no longer holds the upper hand, no matter what delusions she suffers under. “Where is S. Todd?”
“You’re going to die, bitch!”
Further questions are answered with loudly voiced assurances of my upcoming albeit untimely demise. I am close to violence when a thought comes to me.
I release her face and stand up. Interestingly enough, my sudden retreat has left her momentarily stunned.
“Alice?” Mary’s voice fills my ear. “Is everything okay?”
My colleague has been observing the interrogation via a security camera stationed in the corner of the room. To answer, I push on the small earpiece. “Have the door opened.”
Rosemary resumes her cackling. She thinks she has bested me, and I allow her this piece of assumed yet false accomplishment.
When I exit the room and the door is locked behind me, I instruct the guard, “As she chose to fall to the ground, leave her be.” And then I make my way to the nearby medical wing of the Institute.
“She’s going through detox,” Victor Frankenstein Van Brunt informs me minutes later. The Society’s resident doctor has been overseeing Rosemary’s so-called health for the last few days. “From what I can tell, she’s been hooked on meth for ages. I warned you that getting straight answers out of her would be difficult.”
Despite having gone through detoxification myself after leaving Wonderland and all of its drugging influences behind, I harbor no sympathy for Rosemary. Nor do I personally care what meth is or how difficult it may be for one to wean herself off of it either voluntarily or by force. I desire answers that will lead to solutions and nothing else will suffice. “What can be administered to compel her to answer my questions?”
Even after fighting alongside me just last week, somehow this statement from my lips surprises the doctor. He glances down at Rosemary’s chart, brows furrowed. “You mean, like a drug?”
“Exactly.”
His brows furrow even farther. “I think that she’s—”
“One of two links we have to Todd. And most likely a murderous fiend herself.”
A wry hint of a smile curls a corner of his mouth. “I was going to say that, coming off meth the way she is, I cannot vouch for the effectiveness of any such drugs.”
“But do you possess them?”
He nods toward the door. “Lady’s choice down in Mary’s lab.” Before I leave, he stays me with a gentle hand. “Did you ever interrogate suspects in Wonderland?”
I think that, given the chance, Dr. Frankenstein Van Brunt may be horrified at how many times I have done just such a thing. “War often requires a person to do whatever is necessary.”
“But we aren’t at war.”
“Ah, but there you are wrong, Doctor. We most certainly are at war right now.”
I march down the hallway to where Victor’s love and partner, as well as my friend and colleague, awaits. Inside, I find Mary Lennox hunched over a microscope, swearing under her breath. I allow the door’s slam to indicate my arrival. Never one for surprises, though, she doesn’t even flinch. She simply motions to the tablet next to her, now showing a muted scene of Rosemary appearing as if she’s howling herself hoarse whilst still lying on her side upon the floor. “Don’t tell me you let that hag get to you.”
I sigh irritably as I make my way over to where she is. “The so-called kid gloves I’ve been requested to utilize aren’t working. It’s time to switch tactics.”
“That’s Society policy for you, I suppose.” She glances up from the microscope. “We’re thieves, not interrogators. Nobody really knows what to do with all of this.”
“Is the belief that, one morning, Rosemary and F.K. Jenkins will wake up and think to themselves, ‘Goodness, the folks at the Society are upstanding gents and ladies. I think I’ll tell them everything today,’?”
An unladylike snort escapes her. “Maybe Jenkins. That toad might crack sooner or later. But Rosemary?” Her nose wrinkles. “That’ll be the day. Coming down off meth is only making her even more batshit crazy.”
Thankfully, Mary doesn’t sound as if she pities Rosemary any more than I do. “When I was in recovery, I was placed in a straight jacket.” After being exiled from Wonderland, I’d returned to England and immediately checked myself into an asylum. It took months to wean myself off of the natural yet addictive drugs found in Wonderlandian food and drink.
My comment makes my colleague smile. “Were you in a padded room?”
“After threatening to bite bits of their faces off and send my armies after them, the nurses and staff of the Pleasance Asylum felt it best I be restrained to just such a room for both their and my safety.”
“Too bad we don’t have a padded room,” she says forlornly. “We ought to petition for one once Brom is up and running.”
I survey the lab—multiple refrigerated cabinets with glass doors line the walls. Inside are bottles and vials of all shapes, sizes, and colors. “Are these all from different Timelines?”
She rises to her feet only to lean against the gleaming white counter. “Pretty much. There are some from here, though. The Society has been collecting samples as long as they’ve been visiting Timelines.”
“What about the Wonderlandian ones you collected?”
“Over in refrigerator seven.” She motions toward the far wall. “I hope to start working on them soon. The SleepMist that took me and Finn out is totally intriguing. Plus, I’ve still got to work on synthesizing the venom from your spider soldiers that came home with us. They are such sweet little things
.”
Intriguing is definitely not the word I would have chosen to describe what the Queen of Hearts’ soldiers did to my colleagues at the Society. Infuriating is a bit closer, in my opinion. “And here I was thinking you were all about plants.”
“Plants make drugs.” She’s smiling again. “You can thank my interest in botany for leading me to my degrees in chemistry and pharmaceutical sciences.”
Ah, yes. As I’ve recently learned, Mary’s purpose in the Collectors’ Society is multifaceted. In addition to helping collect catalysts, she’s sent to various Timelines to collect plants, medicines, and drugs for research. As she once informed me, “You never know when such things will come in handy on future assignments.”
It’s something I’m hoping holds true. “Do you have anything in here that might compel an unwilling person to loosen their tongue?”
She walks over to where I’m standing and places both hands on my shoulders. “You are a woman after my own heart. I most certainly do have something in here that will do as you request—several somethings, actually. And I will happily supply you with any and all of these concoctions.”
“A few months back, I saw on a television program that there’s something called a truth serum.”
“Locally, you mean?” She waves a dismissive hand between us. “Sodium thiopental is unreliable. It’s used to relax people, yet even relaxed, there are those who can lie, distort, or embellish with the best of them. Its reliability is movie stuff.” A slim beaker is extracted with a clear fluid within. “Now this bad boy is book stuff. I nicked it from a recent yet futuristic Timeline, and it’s bloody fantastic. The only problem is, I’m having trouble synthesizing it. There are certain chemical compounds found within that Timeline that I’m unable to reproduce yet. I suppose this will just give me a reason to go back and get more.”
I take the vial from her. Its label reads: TRUTH SERUM. “This is not sodium thiopental?”
“Oh no. This does exactly what it says.”
“I’m terribly disappointed it doesn’t have a clever name.”