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New blood. Another whisper.

Wonder what this one can do?

Shut up, daft cunt, or he’s gonna leave us, and nobody will get to read!

I glanced about again and scooted off.

Maybe it was a new-employee prank? Radio waves being channeled by some odd, specific formation of rafters, a lightning rod channeling nonsensical vibrations my brain translated to human speech, or maybe madness from inhaling delicious old book smell—probably mold? Maybe I wasn’t meant to be alone?

A shadowed figure walked past the end of the aisle, and I bolted down to look, catching only the clip of a door shutting to a restricted section labeled Reading Annex.

Zeke?

Catlike seemed apt.

As the papers had told me, I was to not disturb that room, so I hesitated and walked away, heading back to the return bin—finding one more book. I put it away and sat back to read.

As the clock ticked by and I got up to check the bin and the library a few times. I drew myself deeper into the book, dreaming about the forest and roses.

Fairy goddesses and all that muck—I really couldn’t concentrate, imagining a hot, beastly man—probably not what the author had intended—and turned a page, my eyes scanning before—Fuck!

I backed away from the book, my daydreaming clouding my thoughts, and I stared at the page as if having an out-of-body experience.

Smack dab in the middle of the book? A whole-ass chapter that was never in the original. Belle, getting full-on piped on a bed of rose petals by the beast while the clock and his fucked-up candelabra buddy watched.

I skimmed until the candle offered some wax play and nope!

Beast was anatomically correct, though.

Canid.

I gave that a brief second skim.

Very brief.

I checked the inside cover again and wrote my name, Lex, before I returned it quickly. No interest in reading beastly sex while on the clock.

I glanced at the pocket in the book for instructions—not finding anything I needed to do if Belle got her back blown out. With as many people that had read it before, certainly someone would have noted all there was to know about the book. Though, whoever had read it last must have pressed a rose petal in the front. The half-wilted petal brought a strong fragrance with it as I brushed it off my lap and into a trash can.

So, when I grabbed some boy wizard books to peruse, finding a note inside to straight-up throw the book in the disposal bin if the author did a self-insert and to rip out any pages that told you the date you were going to die—I decided to just not.

It was either a prank, or I’d wandered into one of those libraries that you heard whispers of, haunted or spooky books. Every librarian, professor, and student I knew had a story about them. Hell, even I’d had a book that I read twice and swore there were pages I never remembered the first time. Places where I felt cold in winter scenes.

But, I did not get paid enough to handle spooky shit. I checked my job description in my email packet. Nope, no hazard pay or experience in exorcisms required.

Until someone came along and told me to fuck with it, I would remain emotionally uninvested and paranormally virginal.

And that was how my first week went. Every morning, I would put books away. I’d eat lunch, tidy up, check a drawer full of cards, maybe a second if I was feeling brave, and by the second week, Isa largely ignored my presence save for mornings.

Every day, Isa checked me for pens and ink, tidied up, went about her business, told me I was doing a good job, and left.

I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that some of the bookshelves were being moved at night to fuck with me, or there was a reorganization project going on. Of course I was curious, but any attempt to ask her about it earned a shrug of disinterest.

“Honey, they can’t sit in the same place for years at a time. It gets boring,” she told me once.

“Maybe they got lonely and wandered off to visit a friend in periodicals?” she said another.

And then there were the visitors. I’d only seen a handful of them in the weeks I’d been there.