Jess nods happily and begins to tap at the keys. “Recognize any of these titles?The Rise of Mesmerism, Reading the Tarot, Victorian Mourning Rituals. . .”
“Wait! He definitely had that last one. I remember it because of all that awful hair stuff you showed me this morning.”
Jess frowns. “He’s been in the special collections, then. Oh and – this is weird – what’s Jasmine’s last name?”
“Taylor, I think. Why?”
“Look.” Jess points at the screen and I see thatTaylor, Jasminehad been signed into the special collections earlier this morning.
By William Letki.
“Will let her in. That’s dodgy in itself – only Mum should have access to the archive rooms.”
“We are supposed to be doing research, though. Your mum mentioned the special collections the first time I met her. Isn’t that where all the rare books and stuff are kept? Maybe she told Jasmine about it, too.”
“Yeah, maybe. She doesn’t let just anyone in, though, the stuff is really valuable. It’s like a big, cold vault.” Jess shivers. “I don’t really like it in there, but needs must. . .” She rummages around under the desk before producing something the size and shape of a credit card. “At least he had the sense to put the spare key back.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Ready to enter the crypt?”
No, no I’m not, I think. But I keep my mouth shut and follow her anyway.
“This place is crazy. I’ve never been in one of these before.”
My voice bounces around the breezeblock enclosure as we approach a mammoth grey wall that stretches up towards the ceiling. Jess flips a switch and the lights flicker on fully, revealing that it is split into sections, each decorated with a large, black wheel.
Jess consults one of the laminated signs stuck on to the metal and chooses a wheel, taking hold of it like the captain of a ship. I expect a loud screech, but the mechanisms all move smoothly, obviously cared for, and the expanse of metal in front of us begins to part, creating a small, dark crevice.
“Cool,” I whisper.
“Yeah.” Jess keeps turning until the yawning space is slightly wider than the two of us and stops, tilting her head as a bell jangles in the distance. “Oh, dammit, that’s someone in the library. I better go and see what they want; Mum will lose her rag if she knows I’m in here again.”
“Again?”
“Yeah.” Jess talks over her shoulder as she hustles to the door. “She had to rescue me at Christmas. I came in without telling her and locked myself in. She completely freaked out, there’s no mobile reception in here so she thought I’d gone missing, or something, so. . . Oh, don’t worry!” Ah, so the look of horror on my faceistotally obvious. “Look, I know you’re here, and I’ll only be five minutes, OK? I’ll get rid of whoever it is as fast as I can. You make a start.” And with that she leaves the room.
I remember she has the only key a beat too late, so when I dive for the door it clicks shut in my hand. Damn it. I twist the handle but it’s like I thought – it locks from the outside. Brilliant.
She better come back soon.
I turn to face the gaping maw of the strange rolling shelves.
It really is dark in there.
“Maybe I should just wait right here.” My voice echoes and rolls around the empty space, seeming to disappear down the corridor of shelves, the books sucking up my words. Jesus, pull it together, Niamh. I straighten my shoulders and pull out my phone, turning on the flashlight. It’s not been the same since I had it fixed, they definitely used some cheapo parts, but it gives out just enough light for me to see down the row – just books, neatly arranged on shelves, nothing to worry about. I glance back down at my phone, seeing that Jess was right – no signal to speak of – and realize my shift at the museum would just be ending.
I wonder if Tommy noticed I wasn’t there this afternoon.
I physically shake the thought of him from my head and focus on the task in hand. I pad over to the first shelf. None of the books look familiar, in fact most seem to be handwritten, like diaries. I work my way down to the darker end of the wall. I have to hold the torch closer here, in order to make the golden titles flash, give up their secrets. I focus on one which I think looks familiar and ease it from the shelf, but my phone wobbles and the light is hidden for a moment.
It only takes that split second to realize the main lights have gone out.
Again.
It’s like I’m a magnet for electrical problems. I fumble the book and my phone, panic rising when I realize I’m going to drop one of them. I grasp the phone tightly, my only source of light slick under my palm, and the book hits the floor with a muffled thud that might as well be a thunderclap. The little torchlight dances crazily. I lift my head and that’s when I see.
There’s a shadow blocking my way out.
“J . . . Jess?” My voice is barely more than a croak. “Ruth?” I try again, but the same thing happens, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. “Is that you?” I whisper.
The shadow doesn’t falter and I begin to think that it’s just a trick of the light, something to do with the books and the way the big ones are stacked up. Or maybe it is Jess.
