Revenge of the Evil Librarian

by Michelle Knudsen

  “I hate the part where I have to fight the giant demon,” Peter says. “Waiting seems kind of okay compared to that.”

  It’s just about time for the next afternoon session, so we all head to where we’re supposed to be. It would be bad to get kicked out of camp for not participating or whatever right about now.

  At dinner, Belinda rushes over with new gossip to share. “Did you hear about Jessica? The counselor for bunk eight? She got busted for drugs and sent home!”

  Ryan and Jules and I all look at one another, then stop before we look suspicious. Belinda darts off to the next table.

  Another dead innocent bystander.

  I hope the demoness hurries the hell up down there.

  After dinner, Ryan asks me to take a walk with him. He must have prearranged this with Jules, since she doesn’t try to tag along. We leave the dining hall and head out alone together along the path. By mutual unspoken agreement, we stay within the well-lit areas of the main campus.

  I’m feeling way too many feelings to possibly sort them all out. I do know that I’m scared of what Ryan is going to say. And that I’m hurt by how he completely turned his back on me when I needed him. But there’s also a lot of guilt and some anger and some jealousy all mixed up confusingly with love and longing and affection and pain. I desperately want things to be all right between us again, but given the events of the past couple of days, I’m having trouble picturing what “all right” would even look like.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through everything today on your own,” he says once the noise from the dining hall starts to fade behind us. We’re walking side by side, inches apart. Miles. Not even close to touching. “I really am. I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you when you found out about Mr. Gabriel. That’s . . . a lot to deal with. Especially by yourself.”

  This sounds like just the introduction to what he really wants to say, so I remain silent and wait to hear the rest.

  “I think you can understand why I was so upset with you, though, right?” He shakes his head, stops, turns to face me. “How could you not tell me?”

  Ah, the million-dollar question.

  “I . . . I don’t know,” I say slowly. “At first, I couldn’t tell you because you were already so unsettled about the demoness and didn’t want me to go after Annie, and I just didn’t want to add any more problems to the ones we already had. And then . . . and then things were so good, after. Everything was so good and nice and I didn’t want to screw it up. And I kept thinking, maybe it wouldn’t ever need to happen, anyway. Maybe she’d forget that humans have short lives, or maybe at least it wouldn’t happen until I was old or something. I never thought it would happen again so soon. And . . . I know you probably won’t believe this, but I was actually just about to tell you when Aaron showed up. I hated keeping it from you, and when I realized demon stuff was starting to happen again, I decided I had to tell you, even if it made you really mad at me. And then right after you told me the story of The Scarlet Pimpernel, I literally thought in my head, okay, this is the moment, this is when I should tell him. And then stupid Aaron appeared and ruined everything. And then Peter told you the rest while I was gone, and I lost my chance.”

  He’s quiet again, and I make myself wait and not just keep talking in hope that I’ll stumble upon the right thing to say to make him forgive me.

  “I can understand some of that,” he says. “But . . .” He stops, then starts again. “The last several months, I’ve felt so close to you. Closer than I’ve ever felt to anyone. And then to find out, after everything we went through together, after everything we shared, that you were keeping something that huge from me . . .” He shakes his head again. “Would you have told me if Aaron had shown up sometime during the spring semester? Or would you have gone off to the demon world without even letting me know what was going on?”

  “I’m sure I would have told you,” I say. I can hear Old Cyn raising her eyebrows in my brain, and I can’t say this is unjustified. I’m not at all sure, not really.

  “Are you?” Ryan asks. Maybe he can hear Old Cyn’s eyebrows, too. “God, Cyn. What if you went without telling me, and something happened and you never came back? Just disappeared forever, without a word?”

  “But that didn’t happen. You can’t be mad at me for something that didn’t even happen. I screwed up, yes, I should have told you, but you can’t start going down roads of imaginary scenarios and then add them to the reasons that you’re mad. That’s not fair.”

  “I’m not sure you get to tell me what’s fair,” he says. “I’m telling you how I feel, and part of that is based on all of those imaginary scenarios. Because they could have happened if things had gone differently. And apparently you never even gave that any thought.”

  “I was trying not to think about it at all!” I know this isn’t the time for counterarguments; I should just be sorry and acknowledge how much I hurt him. But I can’t seem to stop myself. “Going down there was terrifying. I will never be able to explain to you how terrified I was. And to know that I had to go back . . . You’re right, I didn’t sit around thinking about all the ways it could go wrong. I just tried not to think about it, because it was terrifying and awful and I didn’t want it to be true. And, yes, maybe that was irresponsible. But I didn’t do it intentionally to hurt you, and I think you should give me that much credit.”

  He sighs. “I know. I know you weren’t intentionally trying to hurt me. But . . . I also know you have a tendency to decide what’s best for other people as though you have some right to do that. And I don’t like feeling like you might do that to me again. I need to have all the information and be able to make my own decisions.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He gives me a look. “You decided it was best for me not to know about your deal with the demoness. You decided it was best to go to see Aaron that second time without me and not even tell me you were going. You decided to make a deal with the very evil librarian without telling me about that, either. Which, may I remind you, almost got me killed.”

  That’s quite a list. I didn’t realize he’d been keeping score.

  He stops and studies my face. “And I’m guessing you’ve already decided not to tell Annie about Mr. Gabriel still being alive. Am I right about that?”

  In other circumstances I would be thrilled to realize he knows me so well. But not now. I look away, unable to keep meeting his eyes.

  He sighs again, unhappily. “You can’t keep doing this, Cyn. How do you know it’s best not to tell her? Who are you to make that call? Maybe you should trust your friends to decide these things for themselves.”

  I reflect silently on this for a minute.

  “Okay,” I say finally. “I know you’re right about not telling you about the demoness. And I swear, I swear, I will not keep anything like that from you ever again. But I’m right about not telling Annie about Mr. Gabriel. You didn’t see her down there when I went to rescue her, Ryan. Once the blinders came off and she really understood what was happening . . . she was out of her mind with fear. She’s still scared, at least a little, all the time. It’s taken her so long to relax enough to let William get close to her, so long to stop jumping at every shadow . . . I can’t put her through that again. Not if there’s a chance I don’t have to.”

  “There might not be a chance,” Ryan says.

  “But there might. If we start to think there’s really no chance at all, then I’ll tell her. I promise. But not before. I’m not wrong about that. I’m not.”

  He falls silent again.

  “Listen,” I tell him. “This, this conversation right now, this isn’t about Annie. This is about us. And I promise I will trust you to have all the information from now on.” Except for the kissing of Peter. Which does not apply. I take a breath. “Is that going to be good enough or not?”

  He takes a very long time to answer me. My heart passes the time by folding itself into tiny, jagged origami shapes inside my chest. I feel it st
retching paper-thin, twisting and folding again and again into smaller and more awful contortions as I wait and wait and wait. I try to stand very still and not jostle it. Too much danger of ripping it apart entirely.

  “I think so,” he says at last. I continue my practice of stillness and non-jostling as he continues. “I want to say yes, but I’m trying to be completely honest. It . . . it might take some time for me to feel like I can trust you again. You kept me in the dark for a really long time. I can’t just let that go with a snap of my fingers.”

  He stops. It’s my turn to talk now. I force myself to let my lungs and throat muscles move enough to do so.

  “I understand.” And I do. But it still sucks. I suddenly find it impossible to look at him. I look down and study some of the very interesting rocks at the edge of the path instead.

  “Cyn, I really wish I could say that we’re okay again —”

  “But we’re not. I get it.” I keep my eyes on the ground.

  “Hey.” He reaches over and lifts my chin up until I raise my eyes. “Not yet. No giving up, remember? I just need some more time.”

  “Okay.” And then I make myself ask the next question, although I can only get it to come out as a whisper. “Am I still your girlfriend?”

  “Yes,” he says at once, and my heart unfolds, just a little. “Of course you are. And no more of this stupid avoiding each other or anything else. For one thing, we have to work together on this demon business. And for another . . . I missed you today. I hate feeling like things are screwed up between us.”

  “But we can’t just pretend everything’s back to normal when it’s not.”

  He smiles. “When has anything ever been normal since we first met?”

  I manage a weak half smile in response. “Good point.”

  “I think,” he says, “we should go back to spending as much time as we can together and try to get past this. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Try to get past this. Because he still hasn’t really forgiven me, and so there is still a thing to get past. Which I really do understand, and yet . . . I hate it. Because there’s nothing I can do about it. All I can do is wait for him to feel he can trust me again.

  You can not lie to him anymore, Old Cyn says. That would be a start.

  True. And I won’t.

  Except about Peter.

  Right.

  I hear her eyebrows go up again, but I ignore them. Instead, I take Ryan’s hand to see if he’ll let me.

  He does.

  My heart unfolds a little bit more.

  While we are waiting for Aaron’s three days to go by, there are two more counselors with “family emergencies,” and one camper who had some kind of nervous breakdown and had to leave.

  That last one might be real and not a demon cover-up; some kids take theater camp very seriously.

  Mr. Gabriel continues to visit me in my dreams, and every once in a while, someone I don’t know winks or smiles at me as I walk by, making me sure it’s Mr. Gabriel temporarily using someone’s body to do some bad thing or other. It kills me to just stand by and let him, but there’s nothing I can do until we’re ready.

  Peter continues to make appearances in my dreams as well. But I just do my best to pretend that’s not happening.

  And in the meantime, it’s the start of performance week. They don’t have regular tech week here; there’s one tech rehearsal, one dress rehearsal, and then three performances. The shows are staggered so that everyone is able to see all the other shows in their camp section (Lower, Middle, and Upper). I have written back to the girls, telling them how excited I am that they’re coming, and suggesting they wait for the final performance, since we’ll probably have ironed out all the kinks by then. I am still resolved to not tell Annie what’s going on. She sounds so happy in her letters and e-mails. There has been kissing with William, and he is officially her boyfriend, and Leticia and Diane are teasing her just enough to let her know they care but not so much that she’s actually uncomfortable about it. (They have admirable finesse in this area from years and years of practice.)

  I have kept my communiqués to Annie light and full of stuff about the shows and Ryan (only good things) and Jules (only bad things). I mention Peter only as smart and talented and not as attractive or liking me or having successfully seduced my subconscious mind or being a demon.

  And although I know there are bigger and more important things going on right now . . . I can’t help but notice that the shows are shaping up to be really good. Well, I don’t know much about the plays or How to Succeed . . . or Brigadoon, but Susan says West Side Story is “incredible” (this from the girl whose initial reaction to getting into the West Side Story pit was a shrug), and I’ve seen firsthand how the actors are doing Peter’s show every kind of justice. I try not to think too much about how all of these talented people might become dead very soon if we don’t manage to make Aaron’s plan work like it’s supposed to. Or how any one of them could become dead before then if they are in the wrong place at the wrong time and Mr. Gabriel kills them.

  I especially try not to think about the few who are already dead.

  I peek in once or twice at Scarlet Pimpernel rehearsals, and that one will probably be the best show of all, at least in terms of performances. As much as it pains me to say it, Jules is excellent as Marguerite. I hate watching her onstage with Ryan, but I take comfort in the fact that he’s not actually her love interest in the show, and she ends up with Percy (her husband), and Chauvelin ends up alone, so I can have him back when the show is over.

  Well, probably.

  Ryan is, as should go without saying by now, beyond amazing. I could watch and listen to him sing “Falcon in the Dive” all day long.

  Except I can’t, since I need to help backstage at my own show. I’m not running the actual crew this time; there’s a separate show-crew group in charge of that. My job is just the design and construction of the set, and I’ll help backstage but won’t have nearly as much responsibility as I did for Sweeney. That’s okay, though. The set design was the part I was really excited about, and I think it turned out really, really well. Now that construction is finished except for a few last tweaks and paint jobs, I’ve spent a couple of rehearsals watching from the audience, and I can’t even describe the awesomeness of watching the actors doing their thing in the environment I created for them.

  When the evening of the third day finally arrives, I am both relieved and newly terrified. Although Peter has the most terrifying job of all, really. I only have to deal with Mr. Gabriel in spirit form, which I anticipate being a lot less horrible and scary than dealing with both brothers in that spider-monster body.

  We all meet out in the woods that night for Peter’s late-night summoning of Aaron. (He can’t do it in his bunk at this time of night, since the rest of his bunkmates are in there, of course.)

  Aaron doesn’t waste any time; things are apparently still hot and heavy back at home. He quickly explains to Peter how to re-create the tether, then gives him what looks for all the world like lemon-lime Gatorade in a fancy bottle, telling him to drink it just before he’s ready to fight Team Gabriel. Then he turns to me.

  “This is what you must use to force Mr. Gabriel back into the tether.” He hands me a folding Japanese fan like the kind they use in The Mikado.

  I look at it sadly. I’m not sure why I expected anything more impressive. “It’s not going to turn into anything else when the time comes, is it?”

  “Nope. That’s it. But trust me, it will work.”

  “So I just . . . fan him with it?”

  “Yes. But, you know, vigorously. And don’t stop once you’ve started, until Peter tells you that Gabriel’s fled back down to the demon world. Peter’s the only one who will be able to tell.”

  “Is Cyn the only one who can use the fan?” Jules asks. “I mean, in case something happens to her. Could Ryan or I take over?”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jules.”

  “Hey, I�
�m just trying to be prepared!”

  “That’s a good question,” Aaron says. “I didn’t think to ask. I kind of just thought of it as Cyn’s job, since she’s the one he’s after most of all.” He thinks for a moment. “I would say, if Cyn dies or something, go ahead and give the fan a try. Can’t hurt!”

  This is not very comforting to anyone, but it seems to be all Aaron has time for.

  “Good luck, you guys! Hopefully I’ll be seeing you all again at some point, and everyone will still have all their limbs and organs and heads and things.”

  He vanishes, and we all go back to our bunks.

  Shockingly, I have extra trouble trying to fall asleep.

  Peter is reestablishing the tether right now. He may already have done it. Which means Mr. Gabriel will be able to feel it. Which means I will surely get another visit from him tonight in my dreams. A not-especially-happy visit, I imagine. He likes it when we are cowering in fear and uncertain what to do. He is less excited about evidence of organized action against him.

  I consider staying awake all night, but if the fighting is going to happen tomorrow at some point, I should probably try not to be exhausted. I try counting sheep and reciting song lyrics backward in my head. Then I just curl up on my side and pretend Ryan is there with his arms around me, telling me everything will be okay.

  That’s what finally does the trick.

  But I was right about Mr. Gabriel.

  He’s there right away, no preamble, no fancy set pieces. Just his angry handsome face, hanging in the air before me.

  “I know what you’re doing,” he says. “It’s not going to work.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Don’t be fresh with me,” he says, and now he’s got arms in addition to a head, because he’s grabbing me and holding me in place. The rash has finally started to fade; I really hope he’s not going to lick me again.

  “Why can’t you just leave us alone?” I ask.

  “You know why,” he whispers. His face is close to mine, like Peter’s was in my first dream about him, his breath tickling my neck, but there’s nothing erotic about this. He’s hurting me with his grip and he smells like death and his skin is rough and scalding. “You took something that belonged to me.”