Journey to the Library [The Library Saga]

by Amy Cross

  "Or he went through some kind of portal and ended up in another world," Thomas adds with a faint smile. "If only they knew..."

  "It really is him, isn't it?" Alice continues, holding the newspaper up for her brother to get a better look. "You're sure, aren't you?"

  Thomas nods.

  "Then how did he get there?"

  "The same way we did, I guess."

  "And how was that?"

  Staring at the photo, Thomas can't help but think back to his journey with Carstairs. He tries to imagine the old man still making his way across the Library in the plane, and although he knows that fuel is probably hard to come by in that kind of world, he still hopes that between them, Carstairs and the Angel might have come up with something.

  "It was all real," Alice says after a moment, with a sense of awe in her voice. "I mean, it was all really... really real."

  "Did you ever doubt it?" Thomas asks.

  "It kind of still doesn't make sense," Alice replies, "and I don't understand why Mum and Dad don't remember any of it. I mean, they were there, right?"

  "Maybe not," Thomas suggests. "Maybe they were in the car all along, and they were just used to make us keep going across the Library. Maybe without them, we'd have been stuck there. We'd have died in that car crash."

  "So you're saying that someone tricked us into believing they were there, purely so that we'd head to the horizon point and get back to the car alive?"

  Shrugging, Thomas sets the newspaper down.

  "I still don't get it," Alice says eventually.

  "Me neither," Thomas replies, "but there's one thing I know for certain. I want a copy of this. Reaching into his pocket, he takes out his phone and uses the camera to copy the image of Carstairs. "I'm going to see if he has any relatives still living," he continues after a moment as he puts the phone away. "I want to know everything about him. I don't care how many libraries I have to go to, I want to know what Carstairs was like before he went to the Library, and I want to know what happened to him on the last night."

  "What are you," Alice says with a smile, "a budding historian?"

  "Maybe," Thomas says, putting the newspaper back in the box where they found it. "Is there something wrong with that?"

  As they continue to discuss Carstairs and the Library, Alice and Thomas make their way back out into the main part of the Library, leaving the archive room empty and unattended. They have no idea that, moments after their departure, a small, round creature wearing a thick metal helmet starts climbing out from under one of the shelves. Making his way up to the box of old newspapers, he carefully removes the lid and rifles through the contents until he pulls out the copy containing Carstairs' photo. After slipping the edition into a small cloth sack that's hanging over his shoulder, he jumps back down to the floor and crawls under the shelf.

  A few minutes later, back in his home world, he delivers the newspaper to the man who requested it. Sitting on a rock near his plane, Alistair Douglas Carstairs smiles as he opens the paper and finds the page containing his obituary.

  "Darn it," he mutters after a moment. "I wish they'd run a photo that was taken after I grew the mustache."

  Bonus

  Extract from Lupine Howl

  Jess

  Humans. Dirty, rotten, stinking humans. No matter where I go, no matter how far I travel, I can never get away from them. Even out here, in the desert plains of north-western India, there's no peace. Distant booms signal a battle, possibly a spill-over from one of the many small-time turf wars that rage in the region between rival gangs. The night sky is briefly lit up by a distant explosion. Humans are like the noisy neighbor who refuses to keep the music down, turning the whole street into a living nightmare. The other species regard them with a mixture of anger and sadness. Sometimes I think the world would be better off if humans disappeared, leaving the rest of us to live in peace.

  In my wolf form, I wander across the bare rocks. It's freezing out here in the middle of the night, and my fur barely keeps me warm. Sniffing the ground, I pick up the scent of something small; a raccoon, perhaps, or maybe a desert squirrel. I'm totally ignorant of the wildlife in this area, so I have no idea what I'm smelling, but something has definitely passed this way within the last week or so. Whatever it is, though, it's long gone. I continue sniffing the trail all the way along this small ridge, but eventually I stop and glance at the horizon as there's another distant boom. Whatever those humans are doing, they're sure attracting attention to themselves, and they're doing it the only way they know how.

  Violence.

  It's been a long, long time since I was last in my human form. I haven't walked upright since I left the Scottish Highlands, since I left Duncan and the others. I wanted to get away, and that's exactly what I did: I left England and made my way slowly through Europe, scavenging for food along the way by going into small towns during the night. Eventually I reached Asia, and I made my way first through the southern part of Russia, through the ex-Soviet nations, and then on to China and finally to India. My route hasn't been precise, and I've lost track at times of where I've been. All that matters is that I've been running, and I'm still running. I just want to be alone.

  Still, though, the human voice is in my head. I thought I could shake it; I thought I could become a real wolf, devoid of human needs and thoughts. Even now, I keep hoping that the human voice will disappear from my mind, that I'll become nothing but a wolf and that I'll forget my old life. So far, though, that isn't happening. I just need to find a place where there are no human interruptions, so that I can learn to be a better wolf. I've been hoping I might find some part of this world that's untouched by humanity, some landscape where humans haven't made an impact. So far, however, it seems that humans are everywhere. Nowhere's safe.

  Lost in thought, I wander for hours and hours, picking up a few frail scents but ultimately abandoning them. I don't really know what I'm doing out here, except that I like the loneliness. I have no plans to ever go back to civilization. I'm a lone wolf, and this is my life. Even if I have to spend a thousand years like this, it's preferable to going back to the hustle of the human world. There, I'd have to think about the 'old' me, about the Jess who ran away from home and who can't ever go back, and about the Jess who got wrapped up in a bunch of adventures with Duncan before realizing that, in the end, she wanted to be alone. I'd have to resume my human form, which disgusts me. That Jess is gone now. I reject the body and I reject the name. I'm just a wolf. A nameless, lone wolf.

  As the first light of dawn starts to break on the horizon, I pick up a fresh scent. Something big has passed this way recently, and it's left a trail of blood. Forcing myself not to over-think the situation, and instead to just go with my instincts, I put my snout to the ground and follow the trail down into a small, rocky valley. I'm not exactly starved, but I could still do with a good meal, and a large, injured creature would be a good kill. The scent is unfamiliar, stifled by what seems like engine oil, but there's definitely blood. As I continue to follow the trail, I'm able to lose my human thoughts for a moment and become more like a real wolf. This is how I want things to be. Blood brings out the best in me.

  And suddenly there it is.

  Up ahead, crumpled on the rocky ground, barely visible in the shadows, there's a figure. A human figure, to be precise. I stop dead in my tracks, a million thoughts flooding my mind. My first instinct is to run, but then I realize that I should stay. After all, a real wolf would surely be interested in such a target; a real wolf would at least go and sniff the human, and perhaps eat its meat. If I want to be a real wolf, I need to start doing the things that real wolves do. Instead of running, therefore, I sniff the air to check that there are no more humans in the immediate vicinity, and then I start cautiously approaching the body. My human side is screaming for me to run, but my wolf side is curious, and it's the wolf side that's going to win tonight.

  When I get to within a few feet of the body, I realize that the human male is alive. Just abou
t, anyway. He seems young, maybe in his early twenties, and although he's barely conscious, his heart is racing. Even from this distance, I can feel his heartbeat and smell his sweat. I move around him, careful to leave a gap between us since I know full well that humans, even when injured, can be extremely dangerous. Finally, I get a better view of him and I can see that he's bleeding from his torso, and fresh blood is spilling out onto the ground. It doesn't take a genius to see that this guy is dying fast. Whatever happened to him, it was probably something to do with the fighting in the distance. He must have escaped and dragged himself here, desperately hoping to survive. He never had a chance, though. He's too badly hurt, and we're too far from the nearest hospital, and as I step around his body and look at his face, I can see that he's already looking frail. The shadow of death is unmistakeable.

  Suddenly he opens his eyes and stares at me. The shock is enough to make me step back, and once again I have an urge to run. Still, I force myself to stay where I am. A real wolf would stay. A real wolf would feed off this bountiful corpse. A real wolf would finish him off.

  "Waiting for me to die, huh?" the guy whispers. He has an American accent, and his voice is weak, as if he barely has the strength to open his mouth. "It's okay," he continues, taking slow, measured breaths. "I might as well be of use to someone after I'm gone."

  I keep my distance as I try to work out what to do next. Despite having been a werewolf for quite a while now, I've never eaten human meat. It's considered acceptable in werewolf culture to consume the flesh of humans, but since I was born human and only became a werewolf later, human meat isn't very enticing. I guess that this is maybe one of the last big hurdles I need to overcome. If I refuse to eat humans, I guess I'll always be human, at least in part. I need to bite into a human, and this is the best opportunity I've had for a while. Maybe this is a rite of passage, something that I need to do if I'm ever to fully embrace my wolf side. Why, then, am I so reticent?

  "Not long to wait," the human whispers, rolling onto his back. He lets out a grunt of pain, as blood continues to pour from the wound in his chest. Staring up at the sky, he seems somewhat contemplative. I guess he's accepted that he's going to die, which is unusual for a human; most of the time, especially when they're young, they scream and fight against their final moments. This guy, however, seems surprisingly calm. He's just waiting to die.

  "I guess you don't get many of my lot out here, huh?" he continues. "You're lucky." He turns to look at me. "You're beautiful, you know that? I've seen a few wolves in my time, but never one like you. I swear to God, I'd give anything to know what you're thinking. You've got such beautiful eyes."

  Still keeping a safe distance from him, I walk around and sniff his feet. A thousand different smells flood my senses: motor oil and dynamite and money and women and the blood of other people. This guy's been around. He smells guilty.

  "I wish I'd been like you," he says eventually. "Being a human was no good. I spent my whole life chasing money, and look where it got me. Dying in some shitty canyon out in the middle of fucking nowhere." He smiles, even though he's clearly in a lot of pain. "I'm a long way from home. I've been out here doing things I shouldn't have been doing. I tricked and conned a lot of people, and I got rich for a while, but eventually karma caught up with me. I was double-crossed, and now she's dead." He pauses for a moment, grimacing with pain. "I let her... I let her..." He closes his eyes, and it's clear that the end is near. He's got just a few minutes left.

  I wait.

  I don't know why, but I want to wait while the human dies. It's as if, in the cold light of dawn, I expect to be able to see his soul when it leaves his body.

  "I let her down," the guy whispers eventually. "She trusted me, and..." He pauses, and it's clear that he doesn't have the strength to say anything else.

  After a while, he starts to groan a little, as the pain gets worse. Mostly, he ignores me and stares up at the sky, waiting for the final moment to come. He's not bleeding so much now, but there's so much blood already on the ground, there's clearly no way for him to survive. It's a miracle that he managed to drag himself this far, and I can't help wondering why he's dying alone out here. Still, that's none of my business. I'm not a part of the human world anymore, so I shouldn't be interested in their affairs. He's just another dead human to add to the pile.

  As I sit staring at the man's face, it takes a while before I realize that he's dead. I watch his body as the sun comes up, and after a while I step closer, remaining cautious just in case he turns out to have a little fight left in him. I push against his face with my snout, but he doesn't respond, and I can no longer sense his heartbeat. Leaning closer, I look into his wide open, glassy eyes and all I see is my own reflection. Whatever happened to this guy, it's over.

  Forcing myself to ignore my human fears, I lean closer and use my teeth to pull his shirt open. I need to prove to myself that I'm a real wolf, so I have to eat food when it arrives. I place my teeth against his arm and bite down hard, but I pull away as soon as I taste blood. No matter how hard I try, I can't bring myself to eat a human. Realizing that it'd be futile to keep trying, I turn and walk away. I don't know how long it'll take, and maybe I'll never get there, but I have to keep working if I'm to entirely suppress my human side. One day, I'll be able to eat a dead guy with no trouble. After all, humans are a huge feast, filled with meat and blood. For now, though, there's clearly still a part of me that's holding back. Breaking into a run, I race across the desert, trying to go so fast that I forget all my fears. I failed today, just like I failed yesterday and the day before, and just like I'll fail tomorrow.

  Will I always be like this? Will I always be part-human? No matter how I live my life, will the old Jess always be in my mind, holding back my wolf side? I don't want to be half and half. I want to be a wolf, nothing more and nothing less.

  Jonathan Neale

  I'm woken by voices.

  Opening my eyes, I realize that it's the middle of the day and a blazing sun is high in the bright blue sky. I'm still on the rocky ground, but there's a jeep parked nearby, and several men are standing around it in a circle, arguing about something that I can't quite make out. I recognize them, though; these are Bogg Stabbs' men, or at least they're the mercenaries he hired to do his dirty work. Unfortunately, this time I'm the dirty work. These idiots were chasing me yesterday, and one of them got lucky when he threw a hand grenade in my direction. I remember the explosion, and the agony in my chest, and...

  Sitting up, I look down at my chest and see that my clothes are covered in dried blood. There's no pain, though; I reach under my shirt and feel that the skin is smooth and healed, as if the massive damage from the grenade has been completely undone. Something's definitely not right here. I know what happened yesterday. I should be dead; in fact, I feel as if I remember dying. I ran across the desert last night, desperately hoping to find safety, but eventually I collapsed.

  And then I met a wolf.

  Taking a deep breath, I realize that I definitely saw a wolf in the moonlight. She, and I think it was a she, sat with me while I was dying. It felt almost as if she understood what was happening to me. I said a few words to her, but then everything went black. I don't know what happened next, and I can't be sure that the wolf wasn't a hallucination, but now I seem to be totally healed, as if the injury never happened. I can't help rubbing my chest, searching for some sign of the wound. It has to be here; a grenade exploded just a few feet from me, and I remember the feeling of my torso being shredded by flying metal. People don't just heal like this. I should be dead; I remember dying.

  "Hey!" shouts a nearby voice.

  Looking over at the jeep, I realize that the men have noticed that I'm awake. Grabbing their guns, they hurry over, arguing among themselves. I don't speak their language, but I imagine they're surprised to find that I'm alive. As they quickly circle me, keeping their guns pointed at me the whole time, I can hear the panic and surprise in their voices. Fear, too. These are undoubtedly
superstitious men, so they probably interpret my miraculous survival as some kind of sign from above. If I was them, having chased a man day and night for almost a week, I'd be pretty pissed off to find that even after I think I've killed him, he just won't stay down.

  I feel a cold anger start to rise through my body. These are almost certainly the same guys who killed Maria, which means they deserve to die. I just need to come up with a way to get at them, but unfortunately they've got me surrounded. If I die, at least I have a chance of seeing Maria again. If there's an afterlife, she'll be waiting for me.

  As I wait for them to finish me off, I realize that the world seems different somehow. It's as if all the colors are brighter, and all the smells are stronger, and every sound is a million times more distinct. Hearing a series of repetitive thuds in my mind, I glance around and realize that I can the heartbeats of the men who are surrounding me, and I can sense their fear. There's a -

  Suddenly a boot slams into the side of my head, and I fall down to the ground.

  "You're still alive, huh?" asks a nearby voice. I recognize him immediately; it's Cushing, one of Bogg Stabbs' top men. I guess it's a compliment that Stabbs sent Cushing to finish me off. I'd have been insulted if he'd just sent a bunch of local thugs without adding one of his trusted lieutenants to oversee the operation.

  "Impressive," he continues, walking slowly around me. "That's quite a skill you've got there, Mr. Neale. Not many men could take a grenade to the torso, lose half a gallon of blood, and then sit up a day later looking as if nothing happened. Would you care to share your secrets with us?"

  I wait as Cushing turns to the other men and says something in another language. There's muffled laughter all around me. I guess they're gonna taunt me a little before they finish the job, maybe even torture me. Fortunately, I've been trained to resist anything they try. They can kill me, but they'll never get any information from my lips.