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Chapter One

Lex

“Nothing, I repeat, nothing, beats the smell of an old book.” I inhaled deeply, taking in that indefinable aroma. Hairs rose along my arms and neck, tingling as if the lips of a lover, brushing so gently, teased along my skin, like every time I opened a new story.

Gio, my raccoon-eyed roommate, insomniac, historical conservationist, and general Debby Downer, sighed heavily through the paper mask on his face. “You realize that half of the scent of old books is microparticles of degraded binder and mold, right?”

I stared at the book in my hands, leaned down, and took an enormous, dramatic whiff.

He tsked and continued his work, plastic tweezers in one hand and a stylus in the other as he gently lifted, bit by bit, the cloth binding of some mundane first edition piece. Restoration work for undergrads rarely included anything uncommon or of value.

“Check your email or something. Your nervous energy is killing my mood.” Giovanni Cartari, a super senior in his field, had signed on for another semester for a chance at an internship with a museum, one that would make his career.

“Ugh, all my grades came back last night and this morning. I’m fine. All Bs and As this semester.” I turned my attention back to the old manuscript, reveling in that feeling I might never get again. The last few days left on campus before I’d have to go out into the real world…and do nothing. Probably go back to my parents’ place, loaf around in my old bedroom, let my grandmother bully me a few weeks until I scored some menial job at a school library checking out dime-store fantasy novels and fining children their milk money in late fees. Ugh.

I thought about it for a moment. “What’s a dime store?”

Gio glanced up, midway through settling his jewelry visor into place, comically boggling out his dark eyes so wide, I had no choice but to take in the striations of brown so dark they blended into his pupils, almost. Spooky in a way.

He blinked. “What does that have to— Never mind. They were the great-grandpa version of a Dollar Tree.”

“Weird. Wonder if when we’re old, we’ll call things dollar store— We already do, don’t we?” I pouted, tongue in my cheek.

“Uh-huh.” Gio lifted—ever so carefully—a segment of cloth as it peeled back, damp with some sort of paste he’d layered on.

My mind wandered as I got the urge to check my grades again. I had a horrible fear they’d make me stay another semester, find some technicality to keep me, to say, Oh no, Alexei, you didn’t pass art history! Your C in physics last year wasn’t enough! We lost your transcripts from community college! It’d happened before. Not to him, but he’d heard the stories.

I opened my phone and tapped my email app to look for the grades and froze, an unread email in my inbox: RE: Historical Librarian Assistant II- Application.

“Another rejection email.” I sighed heavily and clicked on the inevitable rejection letter to come.

“Dear Alexei Zaslavsky—” I read aloud, adding dramatic flair to my voice, some pretentious, nasally accent I couldn’t place for added effect. “We are pleased—”

“Pleased to reject you? Rude.” Gio lifted a slimy strip of something up and stared at it for a long moment before placing it on the tray and layering a plastic sheet over it to keep it damp.

“To offer you the position of Junior Librarian…” I continued reading, my heart thundering in my chest. I’d have to make my way a half-day’s drive to Indiana in some BFE town, but I continued to read as I milled over my meager savings and what I could do to procure housing temporarily, how soon I could start, and other questions of importance when one relocated.

Gio flicked his lenses up and blinked at me, his angular nose twitching beneath the mask.

“Please review the enclosed benefits and compensation packet. Please respond to this email with your anticipated start date—ideally within the next thirty days.” I stared at it. “Doesn’t leave option for me to refuse, huh?”

“In this economy?” Gio huffed. “Compensation is one warm dog turd and a ramen packet a day. We’d jump for it.”

“At least it’s warm…” I continued to read as I scrolled. “Archives manager, Isabelle Matis.”

I opened the attached document and scrolled through it. My jaw dropped as I read through the benefits. “Holy shit. I think they made a typo.”

Gio leaned over, eyes impassive until he hit the salary and choked. “Holy shit. I think they’re trying to sex traffic you! They’re baiting you!”

I swallowed hard and shook my head. “Almost six figs! I know, right?”

I kept reading over, learning the company was funded by a large European endowment and thus had to pay and offer vacation and benefits according to their standards, entitling me to six weeks’ vacation a year, full health, dental, and pension. Opportunity to travel. “Housing?” I choked.

The original endowment for the library included a few houses that had been modeled into triplexes as apartments to supplement income, and one was left open for new employees for free for the first year of work—utilities not included. Moderately furnished.

Included in the offer letter were numbers and hours to reach Isabelle, as well as Roman, the groundskeeper for the apartment, to get keys and a move-in date, and beyond that was a copy of a resume that I had not submitted. Puzzled, I read a footnote aloud. “By recommendation of Professor Neville Daum.”

Gio flinched. Professor Daum had died not a few weeks ago, right before finals, leaving us both bereft. Gio huffed and turned his head away bitterly. Professor Daum had been a light in our lives and driven us together, molded us, had been our Academic Advisor, and so much more.