“Yes, they came in last week. I’ve cataloged them, but they haven’t been shelved yet. They’re in the back room.”
“Excellent.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And how is the community response to our monster-focused programming? Any… interesting feedback?”
The specific question about monsters sent a chill down my spine. “The children’s program on ‘Monsters Around the World’ was well-attended. And the display has gotten positive comments.”
She nodded slowly. “Good, good. It’s important to… educate the public about these matters.”
There was definitely something off about her behavior. Mrs. Wilson had always been particular, even a bit eccentric, but this felt different. More pointed somehow.
“Is there something specific you’re concerned about?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.
She adjusted her glasses, the fluorescent lights reflecting off them and momentarily obscuring her eyes. “Not concerned, exactly. Just… interested in the community’s awareness of certain realities.”
Before I could ask what she meant, the front door chimed as our first patron of the day entered. Mrs. Wilson straightened, professional mask firmly back in place.
“We’ll continue this conversation later,” she said. “For now, I believe Mrs. Hendricks needs assistance with the large print section.”
I nodded, grateful for the interruption but unsettled by our exchange. As I moved to help the elderly patron, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Mrs. Wilson knew more than she was letting on—about Rion, about monsters in general, perhaps even about us.
But that’s impossible, right? She’s been in Florida. She couldn’t know.
Yet as I guided Mrs. Hendricks towards the large print books, I caught Mrs. Wilson studying the mythology display with unusual intensity, her finger tracing the outline of the minotaur figure we’d placed at the center.
Throughout the morning, I caught her watching me when she thought I wasn’t looking—not with hostility, but with a calculating assessment that was somehow worse.
“Clara, could you help me with the inventory in section G?” she asked around noon, her voice pleasant but firm.
“Of course.” I followed her into the stacks, the familiar smell of books normally comforting, but now doing little to ease my nerves.
Mrs. Wilson waited until we were deep in the reference section, well away from any patrons, before turning to face me. She removed her glasses and polished them methodically with a microfiber cloth—a habit she had when preparing to discuss something difficult.
“I hope you know how much I value your contributions to this library,” she began.
Oh god, am I being fired?
“The mythology display has been particularly well-received,” she continued. “Several patrons have commented on its… educational value.”
I relaxed slightly. “Thank you. I’m glad people are enjoying it.”
“Yes.” She replaced her glasses, adjusting them precisely on the bridge of her nose. “However, I am concerned about certain… associations that might affect our library’s standing in the community.”
My stomach dropped. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
She sighed, her expression softening into something almost maternal. “Clara, I’ve known you since you were sixteen, volunteering here after school. You’ve always been a conscientious employee and a lovely person.”
The ‘but’ hung in the air between us.
“Your… friend,” she said carefully. “The one who helped with the display. The one who dropped you off yesterday.”
“Rion,” I supplied, my mouth suddenly dry.
“Yes, Rion.” She nodded, as if confirming something to herself. “While I appreciate his assistance, I believe it would be best if he remained… behind the scenes, so to speak.”
I stared at her, processing her words. “Behind the scenes?”
“We want all our patrons to feel comfortable in the library environment,” she explained, her tone gentle but firm. “Some might find his presence… distracting.”
Heat rushed to my face—not from embarrassment, but from indignation. “Because he’s a minotaur?”
