Evil Librarian

by Michelle Knudsen

  I am trying to figure out how to get Ms. Královna’s attention, planning to give her a little check, please gesture and hope that she takes my meaning, when she turns away from the official whatevers and starts walking over to us. Walking is a loose term; she’s sort of half swimming, half balancing on her tentacles, but it’s the same general idea. Aaron is glued to her side, still radiating ecstasy like a space heater of joy.

  “I have something that belongs to you,” she says without preamble, and all at once I feel that part of me she’d pulled into her come snapping back to where it belongs. Instantly I feel tons better.

  “Thanks,” I say. “Glad to have all of me together in one place again.” And I am. Very glad. I might not have been aware of my whole roach thing before Mr. Gabriel came along, but it’s clear that not having it makes a big difference. It’s a part of me, like it or not. And actually I realize that I do like it. Because, hey, without it, I would almost certainly be dead right now, and Annie would be Mr. Gabriel’s tormented demon bride.

  “I suppose you may take that other one back with you as well,” Ms. Královna says, and for a second I have no idea what she is talking about. She gestures impatiently to a section of the wall, and I see Danielle lying there, apparently unconscious. I had completely forgotten about her.

  “Is that Danielle Hornick?” Annie says in a voice that suggests she doesn’t see how it can be but that clearly anything is possible at this point.

  “Yeah,” I tell her, and then to the demoness, “Um, yes. Thank you.” A thought occurs to me, and I glance around, trying to see what happened to the other human consorts. At least some of them are probably still alive, like Danielle is, unless they were linked in the same special demon-deputy way that Annie was. “What about —?”

  She seems to know what I am thinking. “Those others are not your concern.”

  “But — can’t they come back with us, too? I can’t just leave them . . .”

  “That was never part of the deal. I’m giving you this other one from your school. As a gift. Be satisfied with that.”

  “But —”

  “Do you want me to say that you can’t have her either?”

  “No,” I say at once. I remember how she took the first deal off the table during our initial negotiations. I hate this, but I know there’s nothing I can do. I have to save who I can. “Can you send the three of us back now, then? Please?”

  She is all business again. “Yes. My schedule is already completely booked, and I still have things to . . . do, here.” She glances aside at Aaron when she says this, with a frighteningly predatory expression. He beams back at her.

  “I, uh, hope you guys are very happy together,” I manage.

  “Oh, yes,” she says, smiling widely. “We will be.”

  She caresses the side of his jaw with one of her tentacle tips, leaving a faint trail of slime, and he closes his eyes in apparent rapture.

  There is an awkward pause for the rest of us, which I break by saying, “So how does this work, then? Do we have to do that vortex thing again?”

  “Not exactly,” she says. “The gateway to the library still exists, and I can send you that way. It won’t be as bad.”

  “Thank God,” Annie mutters. I agree with this statement wholeheartedly.

  And it turns out to be true. It’s not fun, but it’s nothing like the knives and agony of the vortex. We all hold hands — or rather, Annie and I each hold one of Danielle’s hands, since she is still unconscious, and then join our free hands together to close the circle — and then the demoness makes a hole in the air and pushes us into it. As it closes up behind us, I hear her voice faintly but very clearly inside my head.

  “See you again soon, Cynthia.”

  And then there is a very disorienting space of nothingness until we all slam heavily down onto the floor of the high-school library’s back office.

  “Ow,” says Danielle, coming groggily awake. She mutters something else that sounds like it wants to be “What the hell?”

  “You’re okay,” I tell her. “It’s a long story but you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

  “Mmnnnnnhh?”

  I sigh and make Annie help me drag Danielle to her feet. “Come on,” I say, “we’ll help you get home.”

  I have no idea how much time has passed.

  It’s still dark out when we reach the main entrance of the school, but that could mean it’s later the same night or six nights from when we left or maybe six years, for all I know. I decide not to worry too much about that right now. I’ve apparently become really good at compartmentalizing my problems over the past few weeks.

  My cell phone is still in my backpack, which I last saw under the prop table, and Annie’s is God-knows-where at this point, but Danielle has hers (I make a mental note to be appalled later that she was carrying her cell phone in her pocket during the show) and I use it to call us a cab. I wake her back up enough to get her address. It takes both me and Annie to help her to the house, and I have no idea what to tell her parents, but that turns out not to matter. They fling the door open and yank her inside as soon as they see who it is. I hear snatches of phrases like so worried and after the incident at the school and thank God you’re safe and then they slam the door.

  Annie is barely conscious herself at this point, and as much as I want to talk about what Danielle’s parents may have been referring to, I realize that now is not the time. Back in the cab, I let her doze with her head on my shoulder until we get to her house. Her parents have a similar reaction, although they, at least, actually acknowledge my presence.

  “Thank God you girls are okay,” Mrs. Gibson says. “We heard about what happened, and they said they couldn’t account for everyone and we didn’t know . . .” She trails off, holding Annie tight against her. “Well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

  “Can you get home all right?” Mr. Gibson asks me, and I’m touched by his concern, especially since he knows I only live a few blocks away and he clearly wants to focus on Annie right now.

  “Yes, Mr. Gibson. I’m fine. Thanks. I’ll check on Annie tomorrow, if that’s all right.”

  He nods and walks me distractedly to the door.

  “Take care, Cyn,” he says.

  The cab driver lets me off at my own house, finally, and I pay him for all three stops with money I took from Danielle’s wallet (also inexplicably in her costume pocket) and head up the porch steps.

  After the receptions we got at the other houses, I’m not surprised that my dad pulls the door open as soon as I reach for the doorknob. I am a little surprised to see my mom standing behind him, but I guess that’s only because I’m so not used to her ever being there when I come home.

  He grabs me and then does that thing where he hugs me tight enough to suffocate me and then holds me at arm’s length to look me over for signs of damage. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Can I come all the way inside, please?”

  “Oh. Of course. Come on.” He lets me by and then closes the door behind me.

  I sink down onto the edge of the couch.

  “What happened to your forehead?” my mother says, reaching out to almost but not quite touch it.

  “Oh. I don’t — I don’t know. I think I fell against a chair.” Which is definitely a very lame explanation, but they just look at each other and nod.

  “They said — they said there was some kind of chemical leak at the school following the performance,” my dad says, and even now I’m kind of amazed that he remembered there was a performance. “People hallucinating, a lot of people missing . . .” He pauses, then goes on. “They said to try not to worry, that kids may have wandered off under the effects of the hallucinations, or maybe passed out somewhere, but that they were out looking and we should all just stay home so we’d be here when you made it back.” He sits down beside me and hugs me again. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  I wonder who started the chemical le
ak / hallucinogen story. It’s a good one — covers a lot of ground, and explains away a lot of really hard to explain things.

  “Did — did anyone get hurt? I mean, really hurt?”

  My parents look at each other again. “Some teachers are missing,” my dad says, “but they could still turn up, just like you kids are still turning up. A lot of people were hurt in the confusion, but minor things, mostly, I think. Do you — do you know if all of your friends are okay?”

  My dad remembering to ask about my friends is even more amazing than him remembering about the show. “I know Annie is okay. I don’t know about Diane or Leticia or — or Ryan.”

  “Diane’s mother called a few hours ago,” my mother says. “She and Leticia are both fine. They were worried about you, of course. I’ll call to let them know you’re all right.” She gets up and heads to the kitchen.

  “I don’t know what happened to my cell phone,” I say. “I think it might still be at school. Somewhere.”

  “Don’t worry about that now, honey. We’ll sort that all out tomorrow.”

  I nod, but that wasn’t all that I meant. “I need to call Ryan. To see if he’s okay. What — what time is it?”

  “It’s late. But don’t worry about that, either. I don’t think anyone will mind a late phone call if it’s to tell someone else you’re alive.”

  It’s the first time he’s acknowledged that there was a chance I might have been not-alive. We both seem to realize it at the same time, and we sit there for a moment, just looking at each other, not saying anything. We can hear my mom’s voice speaking softly on the landline in the kitchen, but I can’t quite make out what she’s saying.

  “Go ahead and use my office phone,” he says.

  I head down the hall to his office and dial Ryan’s number, which I have memorized in the course of staring at it over and over in my contacts list since he first gave it to me. It rings until it goes to voice mail. I hang up without leaving a message.

  I try his home number next (I have to look that one up). His mother answers after one ring, which strikes me as a bad sign.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Halsey? It’s —” I realize suddenly that she might have no idea who I am. “It’s Cynthia Rothschild, from — from school. From the show. I’m a friend of Ryan’s. Is he —?”

  “Oh, hello, Cynthia. Ryan’s mentioned you, of course. I’m sure he’ll be glad to know you’re all right.”

  Something that had been crushing my heart like an iron band suddenly loosens. “So he’s okay? He’s there?”

  “He’s okay,” she says. “He’s not here. He’s at the hospital with Jorge. Jorge’s all right, too, but he’s got a bad sprain or maybe a fracture. They’re waiting on X-rays now. Ryan’s just keeping him company.”

  “Can you tell him I’m okay? And that I lost my cell? I tried calling his, but . . .”

  “He lost his, too. But I’ll tell him. Don’t worry. Thank you so much for calling, Cynthia. I’m so glad you’re all right. And of course Ryan will be, too.”

  We hang up, and I stand there in the dark for another minute. My relief at knowing he’s okay and my surprise and pleasure at the fact that he actually mentioned me to his mother at some point are fighting with my disappointment that I couldn’t talk to him. I don’t even know if he tried to contact me. He didn’t call the house, obviously; my parents would have said so.

  I don’t even know what I would say to him. “I’m sorry, I had to, please forgive me”? Part of me tries to suggest that Ryan should be the one apologizing, that we had a deal, that he shouldn’t have tried to stop me. But that part of me is an idiot. I can’t be mad at him for not wanting me to go. I can’t be mad at him for telling me he was falling in love with me.

  But I can’t really be sorry for what I did, either. I’m sorry I had to hurt him, but I’m not sorry I went after Annie.

  Will it matter that I kept my part of the deal? That I came back?

  I hope so.

  I go to see Annie late the next morning. She’s still in bed, but her parents send me right back to her room anyway.

  “Hey,” she says weakly when I knock on the doorframe. She’s propped up against some pillows, a book lying unopened beside her. Above the blankets, I can see that she’s wearing pink pajamas with little cats on them.

  It hits me all over again how much I’ve missed her.

  “Can I come in?”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Of course, you freak. Get over here.”

  I close the door behind me and go over to sit on the edge of her bed. For a moment we just look at each other. I’m not sure what to say, or how to begin. But before I can even try, she reaches over and grabs my hand.

  “I don’t even know how to try to tell you how sorry I am,” she says, looking into my eyes like she wants me to be able to see right through them, directly into her mind and heart. “Or how grateful. Grateful is not even close to the right word for what I’m feeling, Cyn. I can’t even —” She laughs awkwardly, but even this faint shadow of her normal Annie laugh is like music to my soul. “How do you thank someone for going to hell and back to save you from — from yourself?”

  “I don’t think it was technically hell,” I say. “I mean, not the hell, at least. Maybe a hell.”

  She punches me in the thigh with the hand that’s still holding mine. “It was hellish enough, whatever it was.” She shakes her head. “Don’t try to make light of this, Cyn. I can’t.”

  “Okay,” I say. I can’t make light of it either, really. “But I’m sorry, too.”

  She stares. “For what?”

  “For not saving you sooner. For not being able to — to talk sense into you before it got too late.” These are not really the things I’m trying to say. I don’t know what I’m trying to say, exactly. “For letting you disappear like that.”

  “It’s not your fault, Cyn. Jesus. You tried! I remember — a lot of it’s weird, kind of fuzzy and not-real, but I remember. I remember thinking you just couldn’t understand, but of course I was kind of, uh, not quite myself, I guess.”

  “Do you — do you miss him?”

  She stares harder.

  “I mean, what you thought he was. The part that you wanted to believe in. The last time I saw you with him, in the library . . . you looked so happy.”

  She’s quiet for a minute. “A little,” she says at last. “Not really him, of course. Not who he was underneath. But that feeling — I miss feeling that way. I miss having someone, loving someone. Being loved. I mean, I know it wasn’t real, but it felt real. Losing that . . . hurts. Even though I know it wasn’t true. None of it was true. But my heart doesn’t seem to really get it.”

  “I’m sorry, Annie.”

  She shrugs halfheartedly and tries to smile, although it’s not very convincing. “Hey, everyone goes through breakups, right? I’ll survive. I just — I wish I could have it for real, you know? With an actual human boy. Who wouldn’t want to turn me into some kind of monster.”

  “You can. You will!”

  She shrugs again. “Maybe.”

  I grasp her hand a little tighter. There’s something else I need to ask her, and it takes me a minute to work up to it.

  “How much of what you said was true?” I ask quietly. “About how people see you, how you feel . . .?”

  She looks down, and I wait.

  “Some of it,” she says. “I mean, I wouldn’t have chosen any of what happened if I’d been in my right mind, obviously. But what I said about feeling trapped, about not being . . . not wanting to be that person that everyone thinks I am . . . that’s true.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  She bites her lip, still not looking at me. “I don’t think I really ever admitted it to myself before. It didn’t seem possible that things could ever be different, and so I didn’t let myself really think of how much I wished they could.” She sighs, and it’s as though I can see her set
tling back into accepting this, putting on her old beliefs like some uncomfortable dress she hates but feels like she has to wear anyway.

  “Hey,” I say. She still doesn’t look up, so I poke her with my free hand. She glances at me from under her lashes but still won’t quite meet my eyes.

  “Things can be different,” I tell her. “Christ, Annie, I don’t think either of us could possibly go back to being exactly who we were before even if we wanted to.”

  She appears to think about this for a minute. “That’s probably at least a little bit true,” she admits finally.

  “It’s a lot true, you moron. Um, are you aware of what has been going on over the past few weeks? Allow me to recap for you: Crazy impossible things have happened. Demons invaded our school and one of them tried to steal you away to be his terrible child bride. The world has things in it that we never knew were there. We know things that most people don’t even come close to suspecting. We have been through things that most people could never, ever believe. We went to hell and back, dammit! We are so not the same people we were before. We can be — we can be whatever we want to be now.”

  As I say this, I realize I believe it. Not that I didn’t like who I was before. But there’s no way I’m just going to cast aside the things I know about myself now, the discovery of what I’m capable of, of what I can do. I want to be this new person, the one who has made it through all of this alive, and is still remarkably mentally sound despite it all.

  “Annie,” I go on, very seriously. “You cut class, like, every day by the end. All of them. You are quite obviously no longer the sweet, rule-abiding girl I knew before. That ship has sailed, my friend.”

  She laughs again, and this time it’s almost her real laugh. But there’s a tinge of fear to it as well.