Madam Librarian

Artie reached a tiny hand into the casket, grabbed the diary (barely), stuffed it into her coat, and walked away whistling. No one near the casket noticed – they never noticed. To a junior librarian it would have seemed like a routine job. Now the hard part: the waiting.

She shrank down, diary and all, and nestled into the hollow of a nearby tree to wait for a storm. The path could only be accessed after a storm.

Three painful days passed before the storm rolled through the cemetery and each day the diary felt heavier, hotter. The first day she felt it warm her bones. It smelled like cobwebs and charcoal. The second day it pulsed, beat alongside Artie’s heart; her fingers toyed with the tattered edges of the pages. The third day she clenched her hands together to keep from opening the book until the rainbow appeared. Not here. Not. Yet.

Her fingernails drew blood from the backs of her hands as the rainbow finally appeared. Artie clutched the book and stepped into the indigo track to be whisked away to the New Museion.

She landed lightly on the marble steps and walked briskly to the employee gate. Gatekeeper Balthasar greeted her with a nod, but he did not look at her. No one ever did. He opened the gate as she approached so she could pass in-stride.

The diary pulsed and pounded against her heart and her hands as her bare feet slapped the marble. She padded past scholars and librarians who each greeted her with heads down, past desks with scrolls and books and electric lights, past stacks and stacks of diaries enclosed in heavy glass, each pulled from the deceased, until finally — finally! — she reached her reading room.

She pulled the latch on the wall and her safeguards mobilized into place; mechanized locks descended around the room each with specialized runes welded into the iron. Familiar lights glowed in a pattern on the floor, concentric magic circles developed just for her 2071 years ago. Once engaged, nothing could get in – or out – unless the librarian inside the room pulled the lever.

Her hands ached from holding the diary. Magic circles engaged, Artie flexed her fingers. This was never the best part. She pinched her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and opened the book.

It started in the usual way: the sorceress’ Life Diary exploded open in a shower of light and a gale of foul wind. She held her breath until the room was still again. Her lungs burned, but it wasn’t anything Artie hadn’t seen from other Life Diaries. She wondered if all sorceresses found their protections in the same mana pool.

The book screamed, screeched, and howled – more rare, but still nothing new. The sounds died down and Artie turned the page.

The words on the page melted into a viscous, red liquid which poured from the spine of the book. It steamed and sizzled and smelled of blood. The floor, fortunately, did not melt away and Artie felt relieved for the first time in days.

Well that was new. She’d have to have the mages do something about the red stain on the marble. Not a problem. She turned the page.

Something reached out of the page and caught her by the throat with a shadowed hand. The sound of rustling leaves rattled into the reading room like sick laughter. A moment later most of a shadow body emerged from the book. It had wild hair and blank white eyes.

That would be the sorceress. Artie's lips twitched up.

The sound of the rustling leaves grew deafening. The shadow’s hands opened Artie’s mouth and its blank, white eyes peered down her throat. Something in Artie’s blood felt like it caught fire just as the air in her lungs froze.

Silence.

Stillness.

Solitude.

This was new. Usually they tried to run away.

Deep in the back of Artie’s mind a voice said, “Wouldn’t you like to know what just happened, chickadee?” Leaves rustled in her mind.

Not really, no.

“Oh, you’re better than that, Madam Librarian.”

How do you know who I am?

“Ah, now that’s a very good question. I won’t answer it, but it’s a good question, alright.”

This is your warning: get back in your book.

“Not a chance, lemon square,” said the voice. “In fact, I think I’ll hang around with you for a while.” The sound of dead leaves danced around the room in laughter.

Artie’s heart should have been racing. Perhaps she would have been terrified a thousand years ago. But that was a long time ago and she’d done this too many times to count now. She took a deep breath in, blew out wisps of shadow.

“Suit yourself,” Artie said to the empty room. “I did warn you.” The light on the floor changed, morphed into a deep crimson laced with veins of phlox.

A hiss replaced the rustling leaves in her mind. A wind tore through the room then died.

Artie never felt anything during the assimilation. Absorb a magic being into your soul and you would think you would feel something.

The diary thumped to the floor. Artie picked it up.

“Welcome to the library’s collection,” she said. “Please enjoy your stay.”

She released the lever; the lights faded and Artie whistled all the way to her next appointment.