by C. A. Pack
“Will that be enough?” the soldier asked.
“We will have dealt with the problem by then, I’m sure,” Nero 51 answered.
“I guess we could always come back and make more if we’re still stuck in here.”
The curator glared at the soldier. That is not an option.
—LOI—
4
Johanna thought about Odyon as she guarded the cupola windows. How far did he get? He might still be here, unless he exited the library with the Eahta Frean fram Drycræft. She wondered if she would have sensed it. Probably not. She was too dazed from receiving an unexpected crash-course on wizarding from Beck. A pounding on the stairs interrupted her thoughts.
“Okay, we’re back.”
Johanna turned to see the two younger Roth siblings. “Where’s Jackson?”
“He didn’t like what Mom ordered, so he asked room service to bring him a steak,” Ava replied.
“And he’s still waiting,” Chris added.
“What did your mother order for him?”
Ava relieved Johanna of her weapon. “Chicken cordon bleu, and I thought it was really good.”
“Did they send it back?”
“No,” Ava answered. “Mom saved it in the food warmer under the room service table in case you wanted it.”
“Excellent.”
After dinner, Jackson asked Johanna to take a walk around the block so he could “work off” his steak. The sun sat low below the tree line and the streetlights came on as they walked. He took Johanna’s hand and gently rubbed his thumb over her knuckle. “I think we need a plan.”
“There’s really not that much we can do,” she answered, “until the Terrorians strike.”
“I’m not talking about the Terrorians. I mean we need a plan.”
She pulled her hand from his. “This is not a good time to be thinking about your raging hormones. We may be fighting a war soon, and I think that takes precedence.”
He let out an audible breath. “It has nothing to do with raging hormones. You talked about taking college courses. I want to take some, too. I’d like to look at a class schedule and decide what courses I want to take, but we need to make sure the library is covered. We need to coordinate when our classes will be so everything runs smoothly.”
“Where’s the real Jackson Roth? And who are you?”
“What?”
“You’re thinking so pragmatically, you sound like me.”
“Well, I was going to ask you if I could stay on living at the library after my family goes back home, but when you started in on my ‘raging hormones,’ I decided to switch gears.”
“I knew it. But you’re right.”
He twirled her around. “I can move in permanently?”
“I meant about the class schedule. We really should decide on that now. Most students have already registered for the fall semester.”
Jackson’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.”
“Let’s just take a wait-and-see approach about your other ‘plan.’”
He raised his eyebrows. “You mean you’ll actually consider it?”
She smiled at how quickly he perked up. “It’s a possibility. You turn eighteen in October, and considering you’ll be old enough to get drafted or vote, I think you’ll have the maturity to know you’ll be living here as a curator and that we’re not playing house.”
“Not playing house. Right. But I could still do this sometimes, couldn’t I?” He slid his arms around her and pulled her in for a kiss. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and they melted into one another in the twilight. The horn of a passing car broke through their sudden show of passion. “Get a room,” someone shouted out the window.
They could hear laughing as the car drove away. Jackson shook his head. “Jokers.”
“Do you hear that?”
A soft mewling sound came from nearby shrubbery.
“Yeah.” Jackson walked over and bent down, pushing the branches away. A tiny white kitten with bloody fur huddled against the stem. “It’s a kitten. It looks like it’s injured.” He reached for it. The kitten battled him with her claw, drawing blood. “And now I’m injured, too,” Jackson said, pulling his hand away.
“Move over.” Johanna crouched down next to him and chanted a few words from one of Myrddin’s calming spells. She reached for the kitten and removed it from under the bush without a problem. “She’s hurt. Let’s take her back to the library, clean her up, and see what we can do for her.”
“Shouldn’t we take her straight to the vet?”
“Now that I have a few of Myrddin’s tricks up my sleeve, I’d like to try them out.”
Jackson spoke sweetly to the injured animal. “You used to be a kitten, but now you’re a guinea pig.”
“Don’t listen to him,” she said softly to the little ball of fluff. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
After seeing the Terrorians in the Juvini town square, residents stayed indoors. Their reticence gave the Terrorian soldiers time to plan.
“We must find water,” one of them said. “And shade from the sun.”
“There has to be water nearby,” the other replied. “I say we head away from the library around that building.” He pointed east. “If Nero 51’s maps are correct, there is a water source on the other side.”
“Wait. Someone approaches.”
Four Juveniles approached the square.
“This cannot be good. They’re carrying weapons. We must summon all our strength and make a run for it. Now!” The Terrorians pulled their bodies into compact shapes and extended all their tentacles in a circle to propel them like wheels. They barreled across the square and around the adjoining school and didn’t stop until they landed in the pond. They soaked in the moisture, and when they heard the boys approaching, they slipped under the water and waited.
It would be a while before they surfaced. Terrorians—more like whales than humans—could hold their breath for close to an hour. They planned to stay under until their bodies had a chance to hydrate, and their hunters gave up the search and left.
Lenc, the orphaned militia volunteer whom Furst had taken under his wing, counted the weapons three times before confirming Mudge’s suspicions. “Missing, one is. Angry about it, Furst will be. But tell him, you must.”
The strategist shook his head. “Under lock and key, these weapons were. Had his own key, whoever took it. Unless have it, Furst does.”
“Find out soon enough, you will. Go with you, I will, to confirm.”
They crossed the path known as the Steppingstones to Illumination and entered the library. Furst stood behind the circulation desk studying a book.
“Something to tell you, Mudge has. Confirmed it, I have,” Lenc said before he turned to the strategist.
“Missing, a weapon is. Checked several times, I have. Too, Lenc did.”
The boy took a step forward. “Three times, I counted.”
“Locked in storage, it was,” Mudge continued. “A break-in, it does not look like. Have it, someone with a key does.” His eyes widened with hope. “Have it, do you?” he asked, almost pleading.
“No. And concerned, I am, because, the taker, I may know.”
“Take it, who did?” Lenc asked.
“Just an idea, it is. Proof, I do not have. But, taken it, I believe Dungen might have.”
Mudge took off his hat and scratched his head, releasing a mass of red curls. “Dungen, why accuse?”
“My reasons, I have.” Furst glanced at the book he’d been studying when Lenc and Mudge first walked in. The same book had gone missing from the library before the problem with the Terrorians started. He had suspected Dungen then. Now that the overseers had replaced all the books that had been in the library, the book was back on the shelves.
“The curator, I am. Yet, missing from this library, this book was. Know how that happened, I did not,” Furst said, waving the book in the air. “Out of the region, it was sent, said the card file. Yet, send
it, I did not.”
“Demand it, Dungen did,” Furst continued, “and, threaten me, he did. But, think he removed it, I do. Make trouble, he wanted to. Curator, he wants to be.”
Mudge couldn’t believe the charge. “Do that, Dungen would not. A judge, his father is. A good man, Pondor is.”
“A good man, Pondor is,” Furst agreed, “but a good man, that does not make Dungen. Mad, he was, when the overseers gave me a new uniform. Even angrier, he was, when the overseers said ‘in charge,’ I am. An axe to grind, Dungen has, and, now a weapon, he has, too.”
“Proof, do you have?” Mudge asked.
Furst’s face lost all its animation as he shook his head. “Have proof, I will not, until, shot, someone is. And, me, the victim will probably be.”
Inside the Romantican library, the Terrorians had successfully vaporized every book from the cupola down to sub-level two hundred and twenty. The top floors were easy to navigate, but they found the sub-levels, with their maze-like structure, more difficult to maneuver in. And even though the sub-levels were cooler, there were no humidifiers in this library. The soldiers wore special protective clothing to protect their skin rather than the thick oil of their predecessors, after many of those soldiers were burned to death on Dramatica. How stupid these people must be, to have paper books that can be ruined by humidity, one trooper thought. Obelisks are obviously the much better choice.
The Terrorians had brought enough food with them to last twelve hours. After that, the time machine was scheduled to return with their replacements, and take them home.
Not knowing they were locked in, the troopers continued to destroy books, all the while wishing the air held more moisture.
Pru Tellerence departed Mysteriose as quietly as she’d arrived. Bel was in good hands, and bearing the sign of a Maroqi priestess would protect her identity. Pru Tellerence had added another protection charm of her own for Bel’s well-being, and before she departed had changed a pile of papers into gold leaves as added incentive for Ingur’s continued protection.
Back on Lumina, Pru Tellerence hung her new traveling cloak in the back of a closet and put her miter back on before climbing to the observation tower of the Library of Origination. She liked the relative peace she found gazing at the clear purple sky and allowed her mind to relax, but not too much, lest she unwittingly share thoughts she did not want the other overseers to know about.
Ingur’s claim that Bel had not yet demonstrated any special powers bothered her. The youngster was only three years old, but in longevicus years, that was more than three centuries. Surely Bel had had enough time to develop some special traits by now. Longevicus is just the starting point. Maybe it’s because no one has nurtured her talents or taught her how to use them. I must speak to Ingur about working with the child to help her reach her potential.
Johanna used one of Myrddin’s spells to heal the kitten and bathed her.
“She’s such a pretty little thing,” Mrs. Roth exclaimed. “Have you given her a name yet?”
“Ophelia,” Johanna said as she used the low setting on a blow dryer to fluff the kitten’s long white fur. “It’s the name of the cat I saw in the residence when Mal first tried to convince me to take over for him as curator. He said that cat’s name was Ophelia, and I commented that it was just the name I would have chosen if I’d had a cat. But then, when I moved in, there was no cat. I guess Mal didn’t want to overwhelm me.”
“I hope she doesn’t try to sharpen her claws on the books or furniture.”
Johanna looked up quickly. “Do you think she might?”
“When the children were little, Jackson’s father brought home a cat one day. He said he won it in a card game. Some prize—another mouth to feed. We hardly had any nice furniture, but I had a desk that had belonged to my grandmother that I cherished. And the cat ruined it.”
“Jackson never talked about having any pets. What happened to the cat?”
“One of them must have left the door open when they went out to play, and the cat got out.” Mrs. Roth’s voice dropped. “I found its body lying in the road. A car had run over it.”
Johanna hugged Ophelia to her breast. “That’s terrible.”
“We had a funeral in the backyard. Jackson made a cross out of two flat pieces of wood and wrote ‘R.I.P. Cat’ on it.”
Johanna made a face. “Not the name? Just ‘Cat’?”
“That’s all we ever called it. Just…Cat.”
They both turned when the entrance to the library opened. Jackson walked in carrying a five-foot high tower with several levels of carpeted shelves and a cave-like tube about halfway up.
Johanna shook her head. “What is that?”
Mrs. Roth smiled. “I was just telling Johanna how Cat ruined Maimeó Margaret’s desk. And I guess you remembered, too.”
“What I remember is you crying when you saw it. And I knew if that fur ball ever hurt one of the books here, Johanna would never forgive herself. So I got a…” he set down the tower, picked up the tag that was attached to it, and read, “‘Multi-Level Cat Scratching Post.’ She can climb up on all these different shelves and hide out in the tube when she wants to be alone. And it’s got these balls on a string hanging from this thing on the top that she can bat with her paws. Hopefully, it will keep her occupied.
“And, look,” he took a small package out of his pocket, “the pet store owner gave me some catnip, too.” Jackson sighed. “I was going to pick up some cat food, but I wouldn’t have been able to carry it. As it is, I had to leave my bike chained up in front of the pet store and walk back with this.”
Johanna grinned. “You’re going to make such a good daddy.”
Jackson smirked at his mother. “I guess that makes you a grandmother. I think your first official duty, Granny, should be driving me to the grocery store for some food and then dropping me off to pick up my bike.”
“Oh, would you please?” Johanna begged.
The cat whimpered and held out a paw toward her.
Mrs. Roth shook her head but couldn’t hold back the smile. “How could I say no to that? I just need to go get my keys.”
“So, what do you think?” Jackson asked, looking around. “Should I stand the tower next to the wall by the stone stairs, or put it here next to the circulation desk, where it will get more light from the widows on the halo level?”
“I was going to leave her up in my apartment, but I guess it might get lonely up there during the day. Still, if you put it right next to the desk, it might make it too easy for her to wreak havoc with my paperwork.” She walked around the main reading room. “Let’s move that table from the middle of the floor and place it there. She’ll get plenty of sunlight during the day and will be able to see nearly everything that’s going on in the library.”
Mrs. Roth walked out of the hotel suite with keys in hand. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah.” Jackson turned to Johanna. “I’ll move the table when I get back, okay?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she said smiling.
He did his best Terminator impression. “I’ll be back.”
—LOI—
5
Johanna placed Ophelia on the upper level of the scratching post when the phone rang. “Don’t fall,” she warned the kitten. While Johanna wrote down the particulars of a book request, Ophelia crawled inside the carpeted tube and closed her eyes.
Jackson and his mother walked in just as Johanna finished packing the book order. The Roths carried in an overstuffed princess bed for the kitten and enough food to feed her for weeks. “Mom got Ophelia the bed as a present.” It looked like a small four-poster bed with curtains on three sides and a puffy mattress for Ophelia to sink into. Oddly enough, it almost looked like a miniature version of Johanna’s bed. “Where is she?” Jackson asked.
“The last time I saw her, she was taking a nap on the scratching post.”
Jackson wandered away in search of the kitten.
Mrs. Roth gestured toward the food. “Do yo
u want to keep half of these down here, so you can feed Ophelia during the day?”
“I hadn’t thought about it. How often does a kitten eat?”
“Three or four times a day while they’re little. Twice a day when they get older.”
“Okay. Let’s keep a bunch of cans behind the circulation desk. I guess I should bring down a dish for her food.”
“No need.” Mrs. Roth removed a plate and matching bowl for the kitten.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I didn’t. Jackson did. I think he’s taking his parental duties very seriously.”
Johanna could hear Jackson calling Ophelia’s name. “My guess is he’s intent on waking her up.”
He returned to the circulation desk a few minutes later. “The cat’s not sleeping in the tower. Where else do you think she can be?”
“Ophelia,” Johanna called out as she headed toward the reading room. She continued to call the cat’s name as she checked under the furniture and behind every shelf.
After a while, Jackson and his mother joined the search with no luck.
“Did you look in the closet in your office?” Jackson asked Johanna.
“No. The door is closed and I doubt Ophelia can open it.”
“I guess I was thinking that’s where we found…the other you.”
“I can turn doorknobs that Ophelia might find troublesome.”
“Ophelia,” they both shouted out, going in opposite directions.
Chris bounded down the cupola steps. “What’s going on down here? Who’s Ophelia?”
Mrs. Roth brushed back a lock of Chris’s hair as she spoke. “Johanna and Jackson found a kitten. But she seems to have wandered off. So, they’re looking for her.”