I made it to the door before I heard the sound; a soft scuffle overhead. I looked up, even though I didn’t want to, dreading what I’d see. Belfry hung upside down from the chandelier, his ridiculous red vest brushing a dusty crystal strand. His gold chain glinted, like he was posing for a portrait of “Bat Who Takes Himself Too Seriously.”
Damn it! I knew it would be him, but when had he snuck out to get here? I should have been more suspicious when he told me he was going for a dawn flight before bed. I hissed under my breath, “Stay. Out. Of. This.”
Absolutely not,he replied in my mind, smug and bright.She’s interesting. I’m studying her.Studying her? Yeah, right. He was just looking for more fodder to gossip about across town. It was a very fortunate thing that most residents couldn’t understand him, that was a gift reserved solely for me and other familiars in town.
“I do not require your interference,” I warned him, still under my breath, my voice as low as it could go. His big ears would catch the words, but I did not need Jade to overhear. What would she think if she discovered me chatting to an overdressed bat? She’d think I was crazy, that’s what, and that was not the impression I wanted to give.
You require everything,he sang telepathically.Mostly therapy.Why? I bemoaned silently. Again, why was he like that? What had I done to deserve a bat with zero respect for authority?
I shot a pointed glance toward Jade, who was, thankfully, engrossed in a stack of ledgers and far too absorbed to notice the bat in the chandelier. “Stay hidden,” I muttered.
No promises,Belfry chirped, because of course that was the only answer I could expect. Frustration flared hot under my ribs. The last thing I needed was Jade discovering that Hillcrest Hollow’s resident vampire had a psychic bat with questionable wardrobe taste. She was already looking at me strangely, as though she sensed something off. Something other. I didn’t need to add “potentially crazy man talks to animals” to that.
With a final glare at Belfry, I stepped outside. He, of course, ignored me entirely, his focus on the figure of my distressingly tasty librarian like a bat on a mission. I strode down the steps, but the creeping unease in my spine only grew heavier.
I had checked the library early this morning and ensured there were no threats, no creatures skulking, no leftover magic stirring where it shouldn’t. But too much had gone wrong lately. There had been too many omens, too many dark dreams and whispers.
Jade was alone in there now; alone with relics, shadows, and secrets she didn’t yet know how to defend herself against. With books of power and knowledge she had no business unearthing. I told myself she would be perfectly safe. Told myself that the really dangerous books were in the basement, off-limits. She was not here for them, and she would not find them. The doubtfollowed me like a second shadow, and I hated how much it bothered me.
Chapter 8
Jade
The old front doors creaked shut behind Luther as he left, and the moment they clicked into place, my whole body loosened like I’d been holding myself rigid for hours. Thank God. At least he hadn’t vanished from the library like a ghost this time, that would have been too much for my frayed nerves.
I braced my hands on the nearest shelf, inhaling slow, shaky breaths. Dust swirled into my lungs, coating my tongue with a foul taste, but that was a small price to pay. The tension he carried with him—sharp, cold, electric—seemed to cling to my skin even after he was gone. Far worse was the echo of that moment when he leaned over my shoulder, so close I could feel the hum of his presence, the heat of him despite his cool tone, the solidness of his body behind mine.
I hated how conscious I was of it. Of him, and of the fact that I was a woman and he was very much—irritatingly—a man. A man with glacial eyes, unfairly sharp cheekbones, and a voice that managed to be condescending and elegant at the same time. A man who smelled faintly like cedar and something darker, something that whispered of old secrets.
“Focus, Jade,” I muttered, shaking myself. “Books. You’re here for the books.” Right. Yes, the books I could handle, because books always made sense. Books didn’t lean over my shoulder and make my pulse stutter like a teenager’s. They were solid, real, and they needed me.
I returned to my notebook with renewed purpose. If I let myself dwell on Luther for more than five minutes at a time, I’d get nothing done. I already had a list for this shelf: nine titles needing immediate stabilization, twelve in decent condition, and five requiring specialized treatment. Shelf by shelf, I’d conquer this place, and maybe—just maybe—prove to myself I hadn’t burned my entire life down in Boston for nothing.
Three shelves later, I was deeper into the library, walking carefully over warped floorboards and dodging an ancient globe that listed dangerously to one side. Restoring art was not my strength, but seeing that beautiful, ancient globe prickled at me to try, anyhow. It wasn’t any more right than the state some of these books were in.
That was when the feeling started: a prickling along my spine, the certainty of being watched. The crawling, creeping sensation that someone or something had eyes boring into the back of my head.
My pen hesitated over the page. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I whispered. “It’s an old building. It creaks. It smells like a tomb. Of course you’re jumpy.” Still, I glanced behind me more often than I wanted to admit. Part of me wondered, traitorously, if it might be Luther again, watching me work with that unreadable, cold stare. I refused to think about how that idea made me feel; it was not a path I could allow myself to go down.
A soft sound cracked through the silence, echoing through the abandoned library in an eerie fashion. It was followed by a light scrabbling noise overhead. I jerked upright so fast I nearly dropped my notebook. Damn it, this was the last thing I needed, I was so jumpy I was ready to bolt out of here from just a smallsound. “Rats,” I told myself firmly, hearing how thin my voice sounded. “Just rats.”
I am not a rat!I froze, my skin crawling with unease. The voice wasn’t spoken; it wasn’t heard with my ears. It sort of… arrived in my head, as though someone had whispered directly into my thoughts. My heart jumped into my throat.
“W–who said that?” I demanded, turning in a clumsy circle. Was this the last straw? Had I finally lost my mind? I mean, kicking my ex/boss in the nuts had certainly been a moment of insanity, career suicide. Now I was hearing voices...
Silence, not so much as a groan or a squeak, not even from the uneven floorboards beneath my feet. I could hear the pounding of my heart, the blood rushing in my ears. Then, cautiously: …You heard me?It was a quiet voice—sweet, somehow—but that didn’t make it any less creepy.
I blinked rapidly, wiping a hand over my eyes and touching my ear. I’d expect to see things in here—shadows looming in every corner and under every shelf. Hear things? No… It should have been a rat. I wanted it to be a rat; that would have been better. “If someone is in here messing with me, I swear...”
Fascinating,the voice interrupted, bright with interest.No one ever hears me except Luther.Luther, of course. Like that made total sense. The last thing that stiff, overdressed snob would be dealing with was voices in his head. There was no way, he just wasn’t the type. But apparently, I was. Didn’t that suck?
“Oh yes,” I muttered. “This is it. I’ve finally snapped. Mold-induced auditory hallucinations. Perfect.” It would go perfectlyon my curriculum vitae, right next to “kicks boss in the nuts.” I was doomed.
No, no, you’re not broken,the voice said quickly.Well… probably not. Wait, hold on. Why can you hear me?He didn’t know either? This was getting better and better. Although, why I expected the freaking voice in my hallucination to have answers, no clue.
I pressed a hand to my forehead. “I don’t know! I don’t even know who you are!” I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know, either, but I was in it now, might as well push through, right? Wrong. I was so not prepared for answers, answers that were never going to fit in my nice, orderly world of books, registers, and catalogs.
The silence that followed my question stretched for a long while, and I almost believed it was over, that he was gone. I wobbled on my feet as I turned back to the nearest shelf with a deep breath. Okay, focus. You can do this. It was just a flight of imagination, get back to work. I’d scribbled the first few notes down on this new shelf when: …Up here.
