Page 85 of The Librarian Did Me Dewey

Lex glanced up at me. “You’ve a lot. You’re a living history book, and our child will love to learn.”

But part of me knew we’d have more. He loved it.

We got into the car, made a drive in silence and arrived at the library without a hitch. Something in the air felt ominous, and whether that was the curse of a Thursday or something truly off, I didn’t know.

Lex resumed his space at the circulation desk and leafed through the returns bin, settling himself into familiar routine as I took the corrections cart in back to settle into mine.

On top of my pile, marked urgent, was a book I’d not seen before. A Tale of Fire and Nothing. No author was listed, and I lifted the cover to find the card missing. A sticky note in an obnoxious orange color lay there. Page Four-hundred eight. Trapped archivist. Kinetic. Periculum. For Zeke’s immediate attention.

I didn’t recognize the handwriting, and that should have been my first warning sign as I turned to page four-hundred and six. I liked to start earlier in a chapter and work my way in. I read through as the book called to me, sucking at me so hard that I had to grip my key. I had more control than that, usually.

A quick glance at the title page and back summary told me it was an autobiography of an arsonist.

A dark splatter splashed across the page, red gleaming between two spread fingers as my heart skipped a beat and I glanced up. Half crushed in a rafter board was a fountain pen jammed a full centimeter into the wood.

Ink dripped again, and I jerked my hand, releasing the key just in time to throw me into the book. So, when the world came into view before me, I glanced up at the ink being repelled by my barriers. I could still see a faint and hazy version of the library and turned my attention to the book, wondering just what fresh hell they’d sucked me into.

I strode through an empty warehouse; a clatter of sound outside told me that commerce proceeded nearby. Dust crunched under my steps, and I glanced around at slats of sunlight coming from old paned windows lining a labyrinth series of rafters in the ceiling. Shafts of light warmed me as I passed, and the scent of decay and carbon lay beneath it. Beneath the murky debris of ages lay carbon scorching on every surface, and a final step made something fragile and complex crunch under my foot.

Bones.

A quick glance told me a cat. But as I studied the floor around me, I stepped back. The skeleton had been a single one of so very many, all arranged with clear attention to detail.

A grumbling voice broke my thoughts as something cold pressed to the back of my head. “Serial killers rarely start with humans. They always practice, first.”

The hiss of a voice made every hair on my body stand on end. “And what’s more fun to kill than the unkillable.”

I clutched for the key in my shirt with a slow motion, careful not to irritate the man behind me.

Hot breath ghosted my ear as a sharp, metallic click jarred through me.

I couldn’t die as long as I was in the library. It’d take time to regenerate.

“I wonder how your barriers will interact with the wards and your regeneration when there’s ink on your hands.” That cold voice twisted in such a way that I could feel the smirk in it.

It’d definitely freeze the book until someone higher up could make sure I hadn’t attempted to change things. It’d still separate me from Lex—but for what reason?

“Do it.” I took a deep breath as the gun trembled at my back.