Page 72

“I wanted to climb a mountain. Looking forward to camping next month.” He rubbed his hands together and grinned before dishing up some vividly red cold soup my mother had busted out for the hell of it. “Oooh, borscht. You really want to show off for Ezekiel.”

Zeke spooned some up for himself and then me before reaching for a dish with boiled eggs. “I love borscht. I’ve had Russian friends.”

He glanced around after breaking up the boiled egg in his soup and lifted a hand as if he were looking for something.

“Need anything?”

“Sour cream?” He glanced up and mother hand waved him off. “We’re having brisket, so no dairy.”

“Oh, right. Yes. Gotta remember that.” He didn’t apologize, and I liked that about him, no needless simpering.

“I mean, I could pull some out for you if you wanted… I mean, we won’t, but—” Mother said it in that I will accommodate you despite it not being our thing way.

“Honestly, was looking for it out of politeness. It’s just as good without.” I took a bite of my soup—sans sour cream.

“Alexei, eat an egg. Your face looks thin.” Mother pouted as she spooned an egg onto my plate, and I thanked whatever deity resided over the archivists for her not noticing my belly and giving me hell for filling out. Well, not hell, but that weird I notice it comment that ultimately means nothing but makes you self-conscious. My mother spoke without thinking often, but never maliciously. I loved that about her.

I nibbled at the egg politely, chopping it into my borscht while Dad talked about some new game expansion models he got—eventually praising Zeke for helping. “You picked good, Alexei!”

My cheeks warmed and I smiled. “He’s pretty neat, isn’t he?”

“He’s sweet. A little jumpy, but we’ll wear him down.” Mother wagged her spoon at Zeke and went back to sipping away in an uncharacteristic silence.

“So, Alexei, you don’t talk too much about work. What’s the library like?” Mother glanced up at me expectantly.

I cleared my throat and daubed at my lips with a napkin, making sure any errant drops of the vivid beet soup went away. “Honestly, big old haunted library. I swear you hear voices in all the corners. The shelves are ladders high and Zeke and I don’t cross paths but a few times a day. Low traffic, but the requisitions keep me really busy. So many misprinted books in their collection. Like, they’re always cataloguing new mistakes and new things.”

Mother listened in that not really listening way. My enthusiasm was enough for her.

“That’s good to hear.” She went back to sipping as Zeke did the same.

I barely had a bite in my mouth once more before my dad spoke up, asking if we had any copies of old game manuals. And with confidence, I could say we didn’t. “No, those don’t make it into our collection because it’s mostly classic literature. The newer stuff goes to other branches.”

That, and when I’d asked about it, I’d been told that those manuals were a disaster often best kept under wraps lest a Requisitor pull out an ultimate death dragon, a necromancer lich with world domination on the mind or something we couldn’t explain away. The last evil lich that escaped managed to get elected… So, we were wary. I mean, there were classic books we could do that with, but gaming manuals had unimaginable consequences because of the sheer, calculated value of those creatures and the staggering number of them.

“They’re not exactly that new. Would go well with some Lovecraft.” Dad swallowed hard and cleared his throat as Zeke stiffened at the mention…

“We don’t keep any Lovecraft in our branch, either. Mostly due to his opinions.” Zeke didn’t elaborate, but the blank looks on my parents’ faces turned to me for answers.

“Lovecraft was a rather prolific.” I took a small bite and put my spoon down. “It’s a little awkward putting his stuff on display after reading some of his poetry and background.”

“Like?” My mother blinked up in surprise. “I know they’re wild reads, but is it all that bad?”

I pulled out my phone and did a quick search before flipping the screen around to her about his cat’s name and his infamous poem.

Her face twisted into a nasty frown. “Nevermind. The things you learn. Ew.” She shook her head.

“Pretty big antisemite, too. Despite being married to a Jewish woman.” Zeke twisted his lips. “Probably contributed to his divorce… That and the fact he looked like a Habsburg toddler hiding a marble in his mouth while refusing to spit it out.”

I glanced at Lovecraft’s photo and it really did look like he was hiding something he wasn’t supposed to in his mouth while the photographer held out their hand asking him to spit it out. “Oh, sheesh, I see it.”

“I know, right?” Zeke’s laugh made my soul almost glow; I swore it. The bite on my neck, hidden right out of sight, tingled, another sign of our growing bond.

Still, I put my phone away in my back pocket—resisting the urge to put it in my hoodie pocket where I had to deal with some weird guilt about cellphone radiation and developing babies. I didn’t want the kid to have a third ear or something weird.

Mother and Dad shot us polite smiles as we ate, chatting idle about the library, all the normal parts of Isa, and Jess’s presence—training me to work on a new categorization system, or so we said. There were things we had to keep straight, and even if I did say I worked for a magical library full of possessed books and had a power to slip into stories and bring things out, they’d probably urge me to seek help.

Though, I had some irrefutable evidence on the horizon that something was different, at least. We still had no idea how we’d eventually broach the topic of baby.