The Library (The Librarian of Alexandria Book 1) by Casey White (surface ebook reader .TXT) 📕

archives for anything they might have done.  Any grudges they might have, any reasons they might want to use or abuse the Library.

His favorite.  Paperwork.

When he lowered the sheet of paper, though, Daniel froze.

A book lay on the desk in front of him, right on top of the other candidates’ biographies.  He stared at it, confused.  There’d been no book, before. Just moments ago, when he’d grabbed for the profile, there’d been only an empty desk and paper.  So why...

The sheet of paper in his hand drooped to the desktop, wilting.  Daniel reached out, hardly seeming to notice it, and let his fingertips brush against the book’s cover.  If he hadn’t gone looking for the book, then something else must have brought it here.

He shot a look at the walls around him, already knowing what ‘something’ must have been.

And then he turned back to the book, his brow furrowing.  It wasn’t quite like the usual tomes in Alexandria.  When it came to the Library’s books, they usually had a bit of polish to them.  A bit of pride.  This was cloth-wrapped, with the pages rough and uneven.  His fingers stroked across the exposed pages, pulling the book open from the middle and letting them fall.

Page after handwritten page flashed by, too fast for his eyes to follow.

A journal.  His pulse beat a little faster.  Journals weren’t unheard of within Alexandria - not with how many researchers had operated off-the-cuff, or lived in a time before mass printing.  But if a journal, then...whose?

Letting the binding flop back to closed, he slipped his thumb under the front cover, flipping it back.

There was no name written there, no date.  Just a stamp - a black shape, bristling with feathers and-

He hardly realized he’d pushed himself back from the table until the scream of his chair’s legs against the wood floor split the quiet.

A bird.  A crow.  The journal was stamped with a crow, which meant this was-

A woman glanced down at him, her face hazy and blurred through the fog of the centuries.  “Trust Alexandria,” he heard her murmur, her voice so familiar it hurt.  “She’ll look after you.  She’ll-

His hand snapped out, grabbing for the cloth-bound slab.  The book flipped shut, and the woman’s voice fell away.

Daniel stood there for a long moment, staring down at the journal with his heart hammering in his ears.  His legs shook underneath him.  The innocuous fabric stared back up at him, cheerful and bright.

“Why?” he whispered, fingers tightening against the book.  “Why would you give me her journal?  Why now?”

He hadn’t looked at it, back then.  He could remember that much, the little flicker of chagrin and guilt that’d lingered through the years.  At first, he’d been too confused.  Too lost to think about something like that.

After that, once he’d realized she was gone, it’d just...it’d hurt too much.  And that hurt had festered, settling deep into the cracks of his soul and wiping away the pain behind a soothing, numb veneer. He’d poked into older Librarian’s journals, gleaning scraps of information as to the best way to handle a dreamer, or to de-escalate a fight between guests, but not hers. Never hers.  Easier not to look, his thoughts whispered.  Easier to just keep walking forward.

And so he never had.

He smiled down at it, his eyes tightening.  “Am I supposed to be getting something out of this?” he said, speaking to the empty room.  “She’s gone, Alex.  It doesn’t matter anymore.”  A laugh ripped from between his lips, pealing out into the study.  “Can’t hardly remember her, anyway.  So...”

Daniel patted the journal’s cover lightly, tenderly.  “Whatever you’re trying to do, it’s okay,” he said, and took a step back.  His fingertips slipped from the cloth, floating in midair.  “I’m good.  Thanks.  But...I’m good.”

The lantern over his desk dimmed, but he’d already spun on his heel, hurrying for the door.  Maybe he would go practice some shields.  He could have the whole practice yard to himself, without the fear of guests interrupting him.  It’d be good to work his magical chops again.  It’d be even better to wear himself out a little.

The door clanged shut behind him as he fled the study, latching with a morose clink.

* * * * *

“It’s okay,” Daniel said, his tone schooled to comforting, careful warmth.  “I’m right here.  We’ll find it together.”

The old man pawing through the books hardly seemed to hear him speak, so fixated was he.  The light pouring off his skin grew brighter by the second, as though driven by his very need.  The wooden rack shook gently as he shoved another book back into place, grabbing one from a shelf higher.

“Or not,” Daniel muttered, making a face.  Dreamers were always a little bit annoying - they clawed their way into his day, after all, ruining his best laid plans - but normally, it didn’t take too long to find whatever they wanted and send them on their way.

This seemed like a different matter entirely.  Even making two full laps of this wing hadn’t been enough.  If things didn’t turn around, he’d have to try somewhere else entirely.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing away the headache building within his skull.  “So you said you’re-”

“He must’ve gone somewhere,” the old man whispered, running his fingers down another spine.  “Jimmy wouldn’t just disappear.  Somethin’ happened.  I knows it.  Always wondered, you know?”

“I know,” Daniel said, reaching up to pat the man’s shoulder.  The dreamers were corporeal enough - they had no trouble grabbing at Alexandria’s book, after all, and even if they were still rather...translucent...they’d always acted pleased enough at physical contact.

And then he turned to the shelves around them, his mask bouncing lightly from its place clipped to his arm.  “We’ll just...try somewhere else, shall we?” he said with deliberate cheer.

“What’s that?” the old man said, glancing his way.  His eyes glowed from within his pale, spectral face, little more than orbs of light.

Daniel smiled.  The sight had long since stopped scaring