Evil Librarian

by Michelle Knudsen

  “So?” he says finally. “Got any other ideas that I can shoot down?”

  I smile despite myself. “I’ve really only got the one,” I say apologetically. I proceed cautiously. “I know you hate this plan, but I really think Aaron is our best chance.”

  “It’s not a plan.”

  I don’t say anything to this.

  “Are you sure they’re going to keep killing people?” he asks after a minute. “It wasn’t just — just to punish us for the other night?”

  My smile drops away. “It may have been partly about that. But Mr. Gabriel said they need to kill people to ‘maintain the gateway,’ which I guess is how they get here from . . . from wherever they were before. He seemed pretty clear that there will be more killing.”

  Ryan shakes his head, more in frustration, I think, than denial. “Why hasn’t anyone noticed? At least three teachers have gone missing in the last week, and everyone knows that Principal Morse is dead —”

  “They still think that was a heart attack, remember. Mr. Gabriel must have done something demony to make them overlook any blood he might have been . . . missing.” I hurry on, not wanting to think too much about that. “And that sub said De Luca had some kind of family emergency . . . There’s probably some very plausible and rational story circulating about Mrs. Foster and Miss Daniels, too.”

  “It just seems so unbelievable that everything — school, life, the show — everything just keeps going while teachers are dying and people are getting their souls sucked out. . . .”

  Yeah. He is not wrong about that. And it’s not actually that people haven’t noticed at all. I’ve watched other kids stare around at the slow-moving students in the hallway, seen them try to snap their strangely unresponsive friends out of the inexplicable daze they seem to have fallen into, heard teachers whispering and wondering what the hell is going on with everyone lately. People can tell that something is wrong. They are not, on the whole, stupid. But maybe they also sense that what is wrong is not something that they can deal with or even truly believe, and so they let themselves get . . . distracted.

  The show is actually one of the things distracting people. Which would be awesome — okay, it’s still a little bit awesome — but it is also troubling. Because I feel more than a little guilty being part of something that’s interfering with people realizing what’s happening. But I also feel more than a little proud of being part of something that everyone is talking about.

  Much of it is Ryan’s doing, of course. He blows me away every time he gets up on that stage. And yes, okay, Ryan knocks me off my feet a little just by standing around and breathing. But he is amazing as Sweeney. It’s not just me; everyone can see it. Mr. Henry is practically beside himself. And word is getting around. There is buzz among the populace. Everyone connected to the show is telling their friends, and even the teachers have been getting the word. Advance ticket sales are off the charts, which doesn’t usually happen, I can tell you.

  The other thing distracting people is Principal Kingston.

  He’s been here just over a day, but somehow it feels like he’s been here much longer. He is a constant presence. His booming voice welcomed us this morning on the PA system just like he’d been doing it for years, and his energetic form is already somehow a familiar sight in the hallways. He pops into classrooms to see what’s going on; he attended last night’s volleyball game and a Model Congress session. Impossibly quickly, he is becoming beloved by both students and teachers. Perhaps on some unconscious level they take in his virile good humor and can-do attitude and obvious physical strength and leadership qualities and they think he’s going to be able to save us from whatever is happening.

  Which would be funny, if it weren’t so horrible.

  “That’s why we have to do something,” I say again, bringing us back around, full circle.

  Ryan looks at me in the semidarkness. I still have no idea what he is thinking. Why are boys you like always so hard to read?

  “You’re right,” he says finally. “We do have to do something. But not that. Not Aaron again. Not summoning more demons.”

  I suddenly remember how the demoness had him dangling there in Aaron’s apartment, threatening to rip him apart. I, at least, have my roachy goodness to protect me in some ways. He’s entirely vulnerable. I don’t know why this didn’t occur to me until now. I’m such an idiot. No wonder he hates this plan.

  Hesitantly, I try: “But if Aaron made a different kind of containment circle, one that wouldn’t let her hurt us —”

  “We couldn’t trust him to do what we asked. You know that, Cyn.”

  I do know that. “Yeah,” I say reluctantly. “But . . .”

  “Just — let’s take a little more time to try and think of something else. Okay? You’re right, we can’t just sit back and let people die when we’re the only ones who know what’s really going on. Of course not. But there’s got to be something else we can try. Give me at least another day.”

  “All right.”

  But I am lying.

  It’s not all right. And I am not going to give him another day. I appear to have decided, just in this moment, that I am going to go to see Aaron on my own, and not tell Ryan. Because I know what needs to be done, and I don’t need his permission, and I don’t need to force him into a position where he does something he’s terrified to do in order to try to prove that he’s not terrified. Which is surely what would happen if I keep pushing on this. Or if I told him I was going to go alone.

  But I will go alone. I will take care of it and that will be that. Depending on how it goes, I might tell him later. Or not.

  He smiles at me in the dimness, and I feel guilty but also certain that I am making the right call.

  I smile back. Argument over. Yay.

  “So,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “What should we do for the rest of the period?” He is looking straight at me.

  My throat closes up and I need a few seconds to remind myself that he does not like me that way, and so clearly he didn’t mean that to sound the way it sounded. My nerve endings all jumped instantly to attention at his words, of course (they like to believe what they want to believe, even though I know better, and they have all kinds of ideas for what we should do for the rest of the period), and I know I will just have to try to patiently talk them down. But their influence is hard to ignore; I feel my smile go twisty before I can get myself under control.

  “What?” Ryan asks, his own smile growing twisty in response. Which (a) doesn’t help, because oh my God his twisty smile is ridiculously sexy, and (b) doesn’t mean anything, since it’s clearly just some automatic mirroring thing, not actually a sign that he knows what I am thinking and is thinking the same.

  Unless he does know what I am thinking. Unless he did believe what Mr. Gabriel said, and he knows that I like him and is enjoying how easy it is to make me blush. Can he tell that I’m blushing? It’s probably too dark in here for that. Definitely. Definitely too dark.

  “What?” I say back. “Nothing. What do you mean? I don’t know. What time is it?”

  I bite the inside of my lip to stop myself from adding any other inane comments to this already impressive array. He shakes his head, eyes crinkling, and I don’t know what that means either. It’s so easy to imagine exactly what we could do in here for the remaining time before the bell rings. Alone, undisturbed, in the semidarkness, enjoying a moment of respite from the horrible evil danger we know is waiting out there in the rest of the world. I wish so much that I had the guts to just close the space between us and kiss him.

  You can! You can! my pounding heart insists. Or maybe that’s my loins talking. It’s hard to tell them apart at times like this. They’re all tangled up together.

  You and Ryan could be all tangled up together.

  SHUT UP. My whole body is a traitorous mass of unrealistic impulses and faulty decision-making skills. Obviously, there is no way I can try to kiss him. If he wanted to kiss me, t
here would have been kissing by now. If I made a move, it would be an awkward and terrible disaster. Catastrophic. And we have to work together on this whole demon thing. Not to mention get through the rest of the show. And if I went to kiss him and he didn’t want to, I would never be able to look him in the eyes again, ever.

  But what if he does want to kiss me? What if he did mean to sound suggestive? What if that was his way of making an actual suggestion?

  But it wasn’t. I’m sure that it wasn’t.

  Was it?

  I look back at him, and I’m sure I must look as confused as I feel. He holds my gaze for another few seconds before getting up to his feet.

  “Auditorium until rehearsal?” (We have rehearsal every day now, since the show is getting so close.) He reaches down to help me up.

  I take his hand, which makes everything a million times worse, but in the best of all possible ways.

  “Sure.”

  Right before he lets go, he gives my hand a little squeeze.

  I have no idea what that means either.

  But I liked it anyway.

  We say hi to Mr. Henry and then I tell Ryan I’m going to go work on the chair. Which is partly true. I go backstage to survey the progress being made so far and to plan out what needs to happen next. But once I hear Mr. Iverson start the vocal warm-ups, I leave things in the hands of my capable minions and slip out through the backstage door.

  Then I pay a visit to Books of Darkness.

  I take the bus, which is slow and annoying, but it gives me time to think. And to recover from all that time alone in the semidark with Ryan.

  Aaron is not overjoyed to see me. He can tell at once that I want something. And I think it makes him nervous that Ryan isn’t with me. Like he can tell that I want something of which Ryan does not approve.

  “What?” he says ungraciously.

  I tell him what. There is some arguing. But I win. I have to win, in the end. Because if I don’t hold up my end of the deal, he doesn’t get to go to the demon world to live forever in demony bliss with his scary ladylove. And so he has an interest in keeping me happy and marching onward unflinchingly toward that final battle.

  He summons the demoness for me. She does not seem very surprised.

  “Hello, worm. Hello, roach.”

  I roll my eyes. “Ha-ha, once again, so funny. Seriously, that never gets old.”

  “What do you want?” she says, and it sounds as though she is really curious and not just annoyed. Maybe she is hoping I will want to make another deal.

  “There’s another demon at school. He’s pretending to be the new principal.”

  The demoness nods. “Yes, word has been getting around about that sweet setup your librarian has going on. It’s not surprising that other demons are starting to push their way through.”

  “But — how can they? I mean, if it was that easy, why aren’t they all over the place, all the time?”

  “Oh, it’s not that easy. Not usually. But your demon has already created a gateway into the school, you see. And until recently, he had it strongly warded, to prevent followers. But the wards were weakened, and now he can’t keep everyone else out. They’re starting to find their way in.”

  And I realize, again, that it’s my fault. I made Mr. Gabriel divert his attention or his energy or whatever, by trying to stop him, and that made his wards get weak, and that let the other demons start to get through.

  Demons.

  Plural.

  “Wait. You mean — you mean more demons are coming?”

  She smiles. “Oh, I’m certain of it.”

  “How many are we talking about?”

  She shrugs. “Hard to say. But there’s a limit, since all the demons will need fresh kills to help maintain their power once they get through, and if enough people die, some of your kind are going to take notice, and that could become — inconvenient.”

  I blink at her. “Well — what can we do? How can we stop them?”

  Now she laughs, pointy teeth flashing. “You cannot stop them, my dear. If they can push their way through, they’re going to. There’s nothing you can do about that.” She seems to notice my distress. “But don’t worry. Most of them are minor demons. As long as none of them are real contenders for the throne, our deal will still be good, and you will still get to bring down your librarian demon and save your little friend.”

  This is not at all the conversation I’d hoped we’d be having. I know she said before that she couldn’t stop Mr. Gabriel from killing in general, but I thought — I don’t know — she’d have some tips or something, at least for stopping Mr. Gabriel and Principal Kingston from killing people left and right, day after day. I am realizing that I have perhaps been a bit naive.

  “But — but you’re saying that in the meantime, more and more demons will be showing up and sucking out people’s souls and killing people?” Why does she not see that this is a problem? “We can’t just sit around and let that happen!”

  “Not really much you can do about it, I’m afraid. Just try to keep your head down until after the show on opening night. That’s when things will be . . . happening.”

  This is how Alice in Wonderland must have felt. I mean, yes, Alice seemed to take events pretty well, all things considered, but still. Every conversation she had in that book made less sense than the one before, and eventually all connection to reality was basically stripped away to nothing. These conversations I have been having with demons make me feel that way.

  “Opening night? You mean, of Sweeney?” That can’t really be what she means, but I don’t know how else to interpret it. “How do you even know about that?”

  “Oh, everyone knows about that. That’s half the draw, I think, honestly. All demons love Sweeney Todd, you know. And it sounds like your boyfriend is really amazing. I can’t wait to see it.”

  I am trying very hard to come up with something to say when the demoness winks out and is gone.

  I spin around to look at Aaron.

  “Sorry,” he says. “I can’t hold her here. She was done talking, I guess. They’re not big on good-byes and stuff.” He doesn’t seem put out by this, however. If you can still want to be with someone who sticks her finger-claw remotely into your guts and makes you bleed, I guess you don’t really sweat the little things like good-byes.

  The show is still a week and a half away. That’s a lot more time for killing and soul-sucking and additional demons. There has to be something we can do in the meantime. There has to be.

  I look at Aaron.

  He is gazing lovingly at the circle where his demoness had been. Or her likeness or projection or whatever.

  I already know he is not someone I can trust. I try, halfheartedly, to convince myself that maybe I can. I mean, he wants me to survive and carry out my part of the bargain and all that, right? He’s not going to mess with that.

  But he might. He might make some other deal, or he might just get overexcited and screw things up again. I can’t risk it. Which is really too bad, because he is the only person I know who knows anything at all about demons.

  And then I stop, and stand there, frowning.

  I have just been struck with a really unpleasant idea.

  I take a cab back to school and even get in some actual work before rehearsal ends. Ryan does not seem to have noticed I was gone. He gives me a ride home, and on the way we talk about how great the show is going to be and pointedly avoid all other topics.

  The next day at school, before homeroom, as has become usual since Annie stopped speaking to me, I sit with Diane in the hallway that everyone calls the band wing, which is next to the auditorium. Diane, as a clarinet player, has a legitimate reason to hang out in the band wing, but no one really needs a legitimate reason to be there. It’s just one of those places people go. Mostly the theater crowd and the band crowd, but occasional other random people, too.

  We sit on the floor, our backs to a row of lockers. We’re just sitting, not
talking, which is something I can do with Diane that I can’t do with many other people. She does a good companionable silence. We’re both kind of lost in our own thoughts, staring into space. We both notice the shoes that have stopped in front of us at about the same time.

  “Excuse me,” a polite voice says. “Can you tell me where the office is? I seem to have gotten turned around.”

  We look up. A middle-aged woman smiles hesitantly down at us. A new sub, I’m guessing. Diane points left.

  The sub turns to follow the direction of Diane’s finger, squints, then turns back. “Um, thanks.”

  She leaves.

  I watch her walk to the end of the hallway and ask someone else, who also points left. The woman wanders off. Just before she disappears from view, two more unfamiliar adults walk by, a man and a woman this time, from the opposite direction.

  As they pass the junction with the band wing, they turn their heads. Slowly and simultaneously.

  They are looking at me.

  Invisible fingers seem to crawl up my back. I shudder involuntarily.

  “You okay?” Diane asks.

  “Uh, yeah. Just a chill or something.” I smile reassuringly at her before looking back down the hall.

  The strangers keep their eyes on me until they cross out of my line of sight.

  I count three more unfamiliar faces in the next ten minutes.

  Then there’s a familiar one.

  “Hey,” Ryan says. This is new. I don’t usually see him in the band wing in the morning. Usually he’s off hanging out with his friends (his other friends?) in the cafeteria or the school yard or wherever they like to go.

  “Hey,” I say back, squinting up at him. “What’s up?”

  Diane suddenly remembers something she needs to do somewhere else. Before she goes she makes kissy faces at me behind Ryan’s back until I successfully glare her away.

  Ryan slides down next to me, taking Diane’s place against the locker. For one crazy second I think maybe he’s going to say something about us, about how he doesn’t just want to be friends, about how he really wanted to kiss me in the sports closet yesterday but didn’t quite have the nerve.