The Hidden Library

by Heather Lyons

  I rub at my hair. “Yeah. About that . . . I lost my pen in the second explosion.”

  His hand drops to his side.

  I take a deep breath. “It went through the doorway, after Alice hauled Pan back.”

  “Bloody. Fucking. Hell. Could this day get any worse?”

  I wipe bloody fingers against my pants before Victor notices. “Do you think their pens are DNA coded? Todd had one on him.”

  We both glance toward the foul-smelling puddle the pen and book now lay in. And . . . yes. The day most certainly could get worse, because the pen is blackened and smoking, a piece of it missing. DNA coding is the least of our worries.

  I let out a huge sigh.

  “Well, at least we can figure out where we are,” Victor says. “And go from there. Between us, we ought to know who most of the liaisons are. All we have to do is go find this one’s.”

  “If we even have a liaison to this Timeline.”

  He nudges my arm. “A little optimism hurts no one. Besides, the ladies are going to be hot on our trail. Like Mary or Alice ever gave up on anything.”

  I squat down next to the soggy book and glance at the pages. We’re in London, by the looks of it. And . . . Hot damn. Maybe we do have a bit of luck left.

  “Do you know where we are?” Victor asks.

  I stand up, wincing once more as pain dulled by adrenaline now surges forward. “I most certainly do. We’re in 1905BUR-LP.”

  My brother’s eyes widen comically. “Are you funning me?”

  I shake my head and we both laugh. And then I flinch again as my side spasms.

  Doctor he is, my brother is practically breathing on top of me. “What the hell, Finn? When did this happen? We need to get you somewhere where I can clean you up. Is this a stab wound? Did Pan get you with that weird glowing blade?” He doesn’t let me answer, though. “Does it feel like it hit anything important?”

  Whether or not it did, I shake my head. First things first.

  “Right then. You hold on a second so I can hide this bugger.”

  Victor moves toward the body. I debate slumping against a nearby wall, but fear I may not be able to push myself up when it comes time to leave. “Search his pockets?”

  “I swear, brother. You act as if this were my first rodeo.”

  Victor works carefully, shoving Todd’s body behind a bunch of broken wooden crates. His pockets, regretfully, are empty save one blank scrap of paper. Victor keeps it anyway. And then he collects the remaining pieces of the pen so that Wendy—no, Marianne, can examine them if and when we can get back to the Institute.

  He also takes the book, wrapping both in stray newspaper littering the street and tucking them inside his coat. The action is followed by a brief shudder—shit, I would, too, if a urine-soaked book and smoldering pen were inside my coat—but there’s no way we can leave that book out for just anybody to find.

  “Let’s go find Sara,” he tells me. And then we make our way out of the alley and onto the streets.

  BY THE TIME WE make our way through the London streets, the rain is coming down so hard that it’s almost impossible to see ten feet in front of us. We’re both soaked and doing our damn best to not chatter, but London in the winter isn’t exactly the warmest of places.

  Finn is worrying me. He’s pale, his lips nearly white, and he’s shaking. I damn well know it has nothing to do with the temperature, either. I keep trying to get him to let me look at where Pan stabbed him, but Finn’s having none of that. We need to get to Sara’s, he insists. We need to get back to the Institute. I’ve got a bad feeling about all this. Todd shouldn’t have been able to get out.

  Pardon me if my bloody priority is making sure my brother is okay first.

  We have no money though, no way to go anywhere safe for me to examine him. He’s got a point. It’s not like I can pull him into a pub and rip off his shirt. Police would be called. We’d have to answer questions about why we’re dressed as we are and still looking like we’ve lived through several bombings and why Finn has not only a futuristic-looking gun on him but also a hole in his side.

  I cannot believe we landed in Sara Crewe’s Timeline—and in the past, to boot. Only, she’s not Sara Crewe anymore, is she? She’s Sara Carrisford. But honestly, what are the chances? Why here? Did Todd know that Sara and Finn once worked together? Or that Sara worked with the Society? Was this honestly a random choice?

  Questions such as these leave me bloody nervous. Alice was right. All these coincidences don’t feel coincidental at all.

  There is no way my father would have allowed Todd to leave. Thinking about this leaves me in a panic. I sent Mary back early.

  God, please make sure Mary is okay.

  Everything in my brain races too fast. Anxiety builds up in my chest. I’ve been rotten at taking my meds lately, and wouldn’t that be just the best? Me, having a full break with reality here in Sara’s London, especially when my brother needs me most?

  “Why do you think we landed in 1905BUR-LP?” I ask shortly after we ask a drenched newspaper boy directions. We’re moving in the right direction, thank God.

  Finn doesn’t answer right away. In fact, all he does is offer up some kind of worrisome grunt before stumbling, and that only solidifies my resolve to get to Sara’s house as quickly as possible. It takes us nearly half an hour before we finally arrive, and when we do, I’m left doing a double take.

  Sara’s home is large and gray, its walls stretching a good distance on either side of a fancy door and elaborate columns. I knew she was well off—hell, everyone at the Institute gossiped like crazy when she left us to move back home and marry her (my Mary put it best, as she often does) sugar daddy. A good several dozen years older than herself, the senior Carrisford had practically raised Sara in lieu of her father, his former, now-deceased partner.

  It was nasty as all fuck, is what it was. Mary told Sara this straight to her face; Wendy backed her up. The rest of us cringed whenever we were faced with the situation. But Finn . . . Finn had her back the whole time, even though he knew she was making a horrible decision. He didn’t say anything when she basically spat in all our faces that we were nothing to her, and that the Society better keep their distance now that she was going off to be a good little wife and lady.

  And now here we are, going to see the May-December romance in full bloom, aren’t we? And I can’t very well object, as 1) I need a place to examine my brother’s wounds, and 2) we need to get home as fast as bloody possible to make sure everyone is okay. I can only hope that Sara won’t slam the door in our faces.

  I knock several times before the door finally opens. And just as it does, Finn topples backward, off the steps. I lunge and grab him just in time to see the butler staring down his nose at me.

  Right bloody prick.

  The door begins to swing shut. I kick out a boot and force it back open.

  “Excuse me!” The sod is indignant, like we’re some kind of stray dogs covered in fleas or something. “You can’t just—”

  “We need to see your mistress,” I say firmly. “Now.”

  He sniffs. “The lady isn’t at home.”

  I drag Finn along with me as I step forward. “Then we will wait until she is.”

  The butler sputters, and I’m just having no more of his prattle. I whip out my brother’s gun and aim it right at the arsehole. “I can guarantee that if Mrs. Carrisford knew you were keeping us out here like this, she’d break your kneecaps.”

  All right. That might be a tad of a stretch. Sara wasn’t exactly the strongest of fighters—she was a quiet little thing, whose shot was better than any kind of punch she could throw. But my threat must be enough, because the butler’s eyes go wide and then narrow before he steps to the side and lets us in. The moment the door shuts behind us, Finn slumps straight to the ground.

  Shite!

  He’s burning up, his pulse is weak. “Help me take him to the kitchen,” I order the butler, but then I hear my name called.


  Upon the stairs, dressed in bubblegum pink like a frou-frou doll is none other than my brother’s former partner.

  “Victor?” Sara says again, like she can’t believe I’m inside her house, dripping like that wet dog the butler fears I am, all over her shiny, pretty tiled floors. And then, “Is that . . .” Her hand goes over her mouth. “Finn!”

  She bolts down the stairs and practically knocks the butler away. “What happened?! What are you two doing here? Is he—” She yanks open his coat before I can and then gasps at the bloom of red that stains half his shirt. “He’s been stabbed! You might have opened with that, Victor!”

  So much for saying we all better stay away or else, thank goodness.

  The butler garbles, “Ma’am, these men—”

  But she cuts him off. “Groverley, help us get Mr. Van Brunt to the guest room.”

  “Kitchen,” I correct. “I need to examine him.”

  She nods grimly. “Listen to Dr. Frankenstein. Let us get our guest to the kitchen immediately.” Raising her voice, she yells, “Mrs. Groverley! We need towels and hot water. A needle and thread!”

  “But . . . ma’am!”

  Her already high-pitched voice ups a whole octave. “Now, Groverley!”

  Finn moans softly when we pick him up, but he does not open his eyes. Bloody hell. We wind our way through the house, bursting through the kitchen. The cook and the kitchen maid both squeak in surprise, and then blanch when Sara swipes every last bit of food and cutlery straight off the island. Groverley and I slide Finn upon it, and I curse silently that I didn’t have time to bleach the surface. Sara’s got Finn’s shirt spread open, and we both go still when we peer down at his skin.

  Mottled purple and red streaks form a hellishly large, vivid starburst around the wound.

  “What . . .” She swallows hard. Turns as pale as he is. “What causes something like that?” And then, with fright, “What have you two done?”

  I don’t know what to tell her. Or to say. Or, fuck, do—because I have no idea. Not one bloody idea. What do I tell her? Peter bloody Pan did this with a glowing sword? I get down to business, though. The cut . . . It didn’t hit any major organs. And it’s gone clean through his side, a perfect open hole in his body. Christ. What am I going to do? I’m in Nineteenth-Century England. It’s not like I’ve got a ton of medical options at my fingertips. Or, hell, antibiotics, which he desperately needs. Does Sara even have a thermometer?

  My emotions scatter. I realize I’ve missed my latest dose of protocol. And now I’m scared shitless I’m not going to be able to focus enough to save my brother.

  As the housekeeper bustles in with strips of cloth and a whole sewing box of needles, I lean down and say my brother’s name. I say it even louder, not caring that I sound like I’m about to start yelling my bloody head off. When he doesn’t answer me, I press my fingers against his throat. His breathing is shallow, his pulse even weaker.

  I peel back one of his eyelids, and then, in horror, the other. The cook drops the pan of water she was bringing to us and shrieks.

  Finn’s eyes are completely black.

  Curious as to who was featured or mentioned within The Hidden Library?

  Here’s a list of some of the people and the books they came from.

  Abraham Van Brunt (AKA Brom Bones); Katrina (Van Tassel) Van Brunt

  Featured in the short story The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, found within The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. by Washington Irving

  Alice (Reeve) Liddel; the White King; the Mad Hatter; the Caterpillar; the Cheshire-Cat; the Queen of Hearts; various other Wonderlandian animals & peoples

  Both from and loosely based upon Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

  Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There by Lewis Carroll

  The Hunting of the Snark by Lewis Carroll

  Anne (Eliot) Wentworth

  Persuasion by Jane Austen

  Cat(s)

  I Am A Cat by Natsume Sōseki

  Catherine (Morland) Tilney

  Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

  The Earnshaw and Linton Families; Heathcliff; Nellie Dean; Joseph

  Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

  Elizabeth (Bennett) Darcy

  Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

  Emma Knightley

  Emma by Jane Austen

  Gwendolyn Peterson (AKA Wendy Darling); Peter Pan

  Based loosely upon Peter and Wendy by J. M. Barrie

  Henry Fleming

  Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane

  Dr. Heidegger

  Featured in the short story Dr. Heidegger’s Experiment, found within Twice Told Tales by Nathaniel Hawthorne

  Mr. Holgrave

  House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne

  Huckleberry Finn; Tom Sawyer; Becky (Thatcher) Sawyer; Judge Thatcher; Jim; The Widow Douglas; various other St. Petersburg residents

  Both from and loosely based upon The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain

  Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

  Tom Sawyer Abroad by Mark Twain

  Tom Sawyer, Detective by Mark Twain

  Jack Dawkins (AKA The Artful Dodger)

  Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens

  Marianne (Dashwood) Brandon; Elinor (Dashwood) Ferras; Colonel Brandon

  Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen

  Mary Lennox

  The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

  Professor Otto Lindenbrock

  Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne

  Sara (Crewe) Carrisford

  A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett

  Sherlock Holmes; Dr. Watson

  A Study in Scarlet by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

  The Sign of the Four by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

  The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

  The Valley of Fear by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

  Sweeney Patrick Todd; Rosemary Nellie Lovett

  Based loosely upon A String of Pearls: A Romance, most likely written by James Malcolm Rymer and Thomas Peckett Prest

  Victor Frankenstein Jr.

  Based loosely upon Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley

  Much gratitude is sent out to the following people who helped make this book the best it could be: my editor Kristina Circelli, my publicist KP Simmon, my assistant Tricia Santos, Victoria Alday for designing another gorgeous cover, and my formatter Stacey Blake. Further appreciation is sent to Bridget Donelson and Nicole Friedrich for proofreading.

  Jessica Mangicaro, Andrea Johnston, Vilma Gonzalez, and Tricia, I am deeply grateful for all the time, feedback, and love you’ve given these characters and their stories.

  To the fab members of my street team, the Lyons Pride, I adore you all and am forever grateful for your support. (in no particular order) Ana, Tricia, Kathryn, Vilma, Megan, Jessica, Amy, Christina Marie, LeAnn, Rebecca, Kiersten, Meredith, Maria, Ivey, Whitney, Daniela, Caitlin, Tracy, Sarah, Enrica, Ethan, Leigha, Nicole, Cynthia, Heather, Cherisse, Autumn, JL, Bridget, Lindy, Gina, Brandi, Jessica, and all the rest . . . you guys rock.

  As always, no book of mine can ever be written without the love and support from my family. To my husband and children, all the love and gratitude to you guys for putting up with me sitting in front of the computer for hours upon end. And to my parents, I am eternally grateful for your support. Thanks for installing a deep love of books and reading into me at an early age.

  All the thanks to you, too, sweet reader.

  “Each of us here has a story, but it may not be the one you think you know . . .”

  “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

  From the author of the Fate series and The Deep End of the Sea comes a fantastical romantic advent
ure that has Alice tumbling down the strangest rabbit hole yet.

  After years in Wonderland, Alice has returned to England as an adult, desperate to reclaim sanity and control over her life. An enigmatic gentleman with an intriguing job offer too tempting to resist changes her plans for a calm existence, though. Soon, she’s whisked to New York and initiated into the Collectors’ Society, a secret organization whose members confirm that famous stories are anything but straightforward and that what she knows about the world is only a fraction of the truth.

  It’s there she discovers villains are afoot—ones who want to shelve the lives of countless beings. Assigned to work with the mysterious and alluring Finn, Alice and the rest of the Collectors’ Society race against a doomsday clock in order to prevent further destruction . . . but will they make it before all their endings are erased?

  An enthralling mythological romance two thousand years in the making . . .

  “Heather Lyons’s The Deep End of the Sea is a radiant, imaginative romance that breathes new life into popular mythology while successfully tackling the issue of sexual assault. Lyons is a deft storyteller whose engaging prose will surprise readers at every turn. Readers will have no trouble sympathizing with Medusa, who is funny, endearing and courageous all at once. The romance between her and Hermes is passionate, sweet and utterly engrossing. This is a must read!”–RT Book Reviews

  What if all the legends you’ve learned were wrong?

  Brutally attacked by one god and unfairly cursed by another she faithfully served, Medusa has spent the last two thousand years living out her punishment on an enchanted isle in the Aegean Sea. A far cry from the monster legends depict, she’s spent her time educating herself, gardening, and desperately trying to frighten away adventure seekers who occasionally end up, much to her dismay, as statues when they manage to catch her off guard. As time marches on without her, Medusa wishes for nothing more than to be given a second chance at a life stolen away at far too young an age.