The Winter Long
Page 29
“We’re in enough crisis for me,” I muttered, and opened the door.
The inside of the bookstore was no better than the outside. A thick layer of dust mixed with glittering pixie-sweat covered every surface, rendering the spines of the books that were stacked in haphazard piles virtually unreadable. Not that I could imagine anyone wanting to read most of them; they were all in that awkward window between “new” and “vintage” where they didn’t really hold any appeal for anyone. A mortal bibliophile might have squawked at the condition they were in, but since no human was ever likely to set foot in this store, that didn’t really matter.
We picked our way between the stacks, all of us going quiet as we concentrated on not knocking anything over. Fae can see in low light, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy, and a little care was required to reach the faintly shimmering doorway on the far wall. It would have been entirely invisible to mortal eyes. I knew that for a fact; I’d been virtually human the last time I’d been here, thanks to a bad combination of goblin fruit and my own powers. I’d only been able to use the door because Tybalt had picked me up and carried me through.
Well, I was standing on my own two feet now. I took a deep breath and stepped through, crossing from the mortal world into the Library of Stars. There was a brief, dizzying dip, and then I was standing on the clean hardwood floor of the Library, surrounded by tall shelves on all sides. I stepped out of the way, letting Tybalt and Quentin follow me through.
We were still in a confined space surrounded by books, and the faint haze of pixie-sweat still hung suspended in the air, adding a golden sheen to everything it touched, but that was where the similarities between the bookstore and the Library ended. The bookstore smelled like mold and dust and decaying paper, just one step short of despair—and not a long step, either. The Library smelled like knowledge, that strange alchemical mix that only came from combining old books, leather bindings, and care. Lots and lots of care.
The source of that care was hurrying toward us, if the sound of footsteps was any indication. I turned to see Magdaleana Brooke—Mags to her friends, and to anyone who had trouble pronouncing that many vowels—come trotting around the end of a nearby shelf. Her wings were half-spread, leaving yet another overlay of pixie-sweat on the air behind her. “You’re here!” she said, sounding almost surprised. Her archaic British accent made her sound like Wendy by way of Tinker Bell, which went well with the rest of her: short, blue-eyed, and red-haired, with a fondness for the long skirts and sensible shoes that suited her chosen profession.
“We are,” I said. I hesitated. “You did text Quentin the address, right . . . ?”
“Yes, of course, after Li Qin called, but I didn’t expect you to get here so fast.”
“We were virtually in the neighborhood,” I said. “I’m sorry we had her wake you up, but it’s an emergency, and we needed to get started researching as soon as possible.”
“You didn’t wake me, actually,” said Mags. Her wings gave a nervous twitch, spraying glitter over everything within three feet of her. “I was already up.”
I blinked. “Really? I thought Puca were nocturnal.” Mags’ type of fae, the Puca, are almost extinct in the modern world. It wasn’t difficult to believe that I might have missed a few things about them.
She shook her head. “We are, normally, but the Library is open whenever a patron requires the use of it, and as Librarian, I have to be on the premises to supervise. Li Qin isn’t the only person in this Kingdom with a Library card, you know.”
“She’s the only one I’ve ever met,” I said.
“That you know of,” Mags politely corrected. “You still owe me a history of your mother, you know. You agreed to that the last time you were here.”
“I know. I’ve been busy.” I hadn’t been, not really; I just hadn’t wanted to come back to the Library. Books have never been my thing, and Mags’ strange, bright eyes seemed a little too intense when she asked me about Amandine. I would pay my debt to her. Probably faster now that she’d reminded me of it. That didn’t mean that I was ever going to be comfortable among the high-stacked shelves of her domain.
“Luckily for you, I’m relatively patient.” She looked from me to Quentin, and finally to Tybalt. “I do have to remind you, however, that the rules of the Library apply to everyone who walks in here, regardless of their race or title. There is no fighting in the Library. Anyone who starts a fight or responds to a challenge will be thrown out. You may think you can take me. You’re probably right. But none of you can take the Library. Now come along, this way.” She turned and started off into the stacks.
I glanced at Quentin and Tybalt, who looked as confused as I felt. “Any idea what that was all about?” I asked.
“Maybe she thinks you and Tybalt are getting ready to break up?” said Quentin hesitantly.
Tybalt snorted rather than dignifying that with a verbal response. I grinned a little and followed the trail of pixie dust that Mags had left hanging behind herself in the air. It only remained distinct enough to track for a few minutes, but that was more than long enough to lead us through the stacks to the wide open space that served both as a sort of “living room” for Mags and as a central study area for the people who were using the Library. I could hear her voice as we drew closer, quietly scolding someone.
“I guess she told us about fighting because whoever got her out of bed is still here,” I said, and stepped around the edge of the last stack, moving out into the open.
Mags turned when she heard my sharply indrawn breath, which was followed by the sound of Tybalt’s low, almost subsonic growl. Of the three of us, only Quentin was completely silent. He had gone statuary still. I glanced at him, and saw that his hand was at his belt, resting on the pommel of his sword. His lips were thin and tight with rage.
Simon Torquill looked up from the book he’d been studying, but he didn’t otherwise move. That was probably the safest choice he could have made. As long as he was seated on the Library’s antique, overstuffed couch, he was about as far from looking like a threat as it was possible for him to be. If he so much as wiggled his fingers in a way I didn’t like, I was going to break all the rules against fighting in the Library.
“What is he doing here?” I intended my words to come out as a demand, angry and strident and powerful. Instead, they were a squeak, and I probably wouldn’t have been able to hear myself if I’d been standing where Mags was.
The inside of the bookstore was no better than the outside. A thick layer of dust mixed with glittering pixie-sweat covered every surface, rendering the spines of the books that were stacked in haphazard piles virtually unreadable. Not that I could imagine anyone wanting to read most of them; they were all in that awkward window between “new” and “vintage” where they didn’t really hold any appeal for anyone. A mortal bibliophile might have squawked at the condition they were in, but since no human was ever likely to set foot in this store, that didn’t really matter.
We picked our way between the stacks, all of us going quiet as we concentrated on not knocking anything over. Fae can see in low light, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy, and a little care was required to reach the faintly shimmering doorway on the far wall. It would have been entirely invisible to mortal eyes. I knew that for a fact; I’d been virtually human the last time I’d been here, thanks to a bad combination of goblin fruit and my own powers. I’d only been able to use the door because Tybalt had picked me up and carried me through.
Well, I was standing on my own two feet now. I took a deep breath and stepped through, crossing from the mortal world into the Library of Stars. There was a brief, dizzying dip, and then I was standing on the clean hardwood floor of the Library, surrounded by tall shelves on all sides. I stepped out of the way, letting Tybalt and Quentin follow me through.
We were still in a confined space surrounded by books, and the faint haze of pixie-sweat still hung suspended in the air, adding a golden sheen to everything it touched, but that was where the similarities between the bookstore and the Library ended. The bookstore smelled like mold and dust and decaying paper, just one step short of despair—and not a long step, either. The Library smelled like knowledge, that strange alchemical mix that only came from combining old books, leather bindings, and care. Lots and lots of care.
The source of that care was hurrying toward us, if the sound of footsteps was any indication. I turned to see Magdaleana Brooke—Mags to her friends, and to anyone who had trouble pronouncing that many vowels—come trotting around the end of a nearby shelf. Her wings were half-spread, leaving yet another overlay of pixie-sweat on the air behind her. “You’re here!” she said, sounding almost surprised. Her archaic British accent made her sound like Wendy by way of Tinker Bell, which went well with the rest of her: short, blue-eyed, and red-haired, with a fondness for the long skirts and sensible shoes that suited her chosen profession.
“We are,” I said. I hesitated. “You did text Quentin the address, right . . . ?”
“Yes, of course, after Li Qin called, but I didn’t expect you to get here so fast.”
“We were virtually in the neighborhood,” I said. “I’m sorry we had her wake you up, but it’s an emergency, and we needed to get started researching as soon as possible.”
“You didn’t wake me, actually,” said Mags. Her wings gave a nervous twitch, spraying glitter over everything within three feet of her. “I was already up.”
I blinked. “Really? I thought Puca were nocturnal.” Mags’ type of fae, the Puca, are almost extinct in the modern world. It wasn’t difficult to believe that I might have missed a few things about them.
She shook her head. “We are, normally, but the Library is open whenever a patron requires the use of it, and as Librarian, I have to be on the premises to supervise. Li Qin isn’t the only person in this Kingdom with a Library card, you know.”
“She’s the only one I’ve ever met,” I said.
“That you know of,” Mags politely corrected. “You still owe me a history of your mother, you know. You agreed to that the last time you were here.”
“I know. I’ve been busy.” I hadn’t been, not really; I just hadn’t wanted to come back to the Library. Books have never been my thing, and Mags’ strange, bright eyes seemed a little too intense when she asked me about Amandine. I would pay my debt to her. Probably faster now that she’d reminded me of it. That didn’t mean that I was ever going to be comfortable among the high-stacked shelves of her domain.
“Luckily for you, I’m relatively patient.” She looked from me to Quentin, and finally to Tybalt. “I do have to remind you, however, that the rules of the Library apply to everyone who walks in here, regardless of their race or title. There is no fighting in the Library. Anyone who starts a fight or responds to a challenge will be thrown out. You may think you can take me. You’re probably right. But none of you can take the Library. Now come along, this way.” She turned and started off into the stacks.
I glanced at Quentin and Tybalt, who looked as confused as I felt. “Any idea what that was all about?” I asked.
“Maybe she thinks you and Tybalt are getting ready to break up?” said Quentin hesitantly.
Tybalt snorted rather than dignifying that with a verbal response. I grinned a little and followed the trail of pixie dust that Mags had left hanging behind herself in the air. It only remained distinct enough to track for a few minutes, but that was more than long enough to lead us through the stacks to the wide open space that served both as a sort of “living room” for Mags and as a central study area for the people who were using the Library. I could hear her voice as we drew closer, quietly scolding someone.
“I guess she told us about fighting because whoever got her out of bed is still here,” I said, and stepped around the edge of the last stack, moving out into the open.
Mags turned when she heard my sharply indrawn breath, which was followed by the sound of Tybalt’s low, almost subsonic growl. Of the three of us, only Quentin was completely silent. He had gone statuary still. I glanced at him, and saw that his hand was at his belt, resting on the pommel of his sword. His lips were thin and tight with rage.
Simon Torquill looked up from the book he’d been studying, but he didn’t otherwise move. That was probably the safest choice he could have made. As long as he was seated on the Library’s antique, overstuffed couch, he was about as far from looking like a threat as it was possible for him to be. If he so much as wiggled his fingers in a way I didn’t like, I was going to break all the rules against fighting in the Library.
“What is he doing here?” I intended my words to come out as a demand, angry and strident and powerful. Instead, they were a squeak, and I probably wouldn’t have been able to hear myself if I’d been standing where Mags was.
