Florian drifted onto the platform, sighing with contentment. “My domain.”
It was much grayer and darker than the other library—but it was massive. And there was something hauntingly magical about it.
Beams of light streamed down from the domed ceiling above, and dust motes glittered in the air. Shining golden balls of light floated near the ceiling.
There were hundreds of nooks and crannies and different sections, all crammed with millions of books. I’d been here a couple times before, and it was still a maze my mind could hardly comprehend.
I walked toward the railing, realizing that no stairs had appeared to admit me to the rest of the library like they often did. Which meant there was no way to access the books. If I jumped over the railing, I’d plummet five stories to the huge mosaic map that made up the floor.
No thanks.
I turned to Florian. “Do I have to make a contribution?”
He looked around. “It seems that the library demands it.”
Dang. I chewed on my lip.
In order to access this part of the library, one had to occasionally make an offering. The first time I’d been here, Bree and I had been in search of answers. In order to gain access and get those answers, we’d written down everything we knew about crossing Death Valley.
The library had been pleased and traded us info for info.
But this time? I’d already told the library all the good stuff I knew.
What new thing could I contribute?
Florian took his usual seat by the door to wait, and I walked toward the table at the side of the platform. It was piled high with empty books and magical pens. All I had to do was think of something that I alone knew, and then put magical pen to magical paper.
And voila!
Except….
I was fresh out of original ideas. I fiddled with a pen as my gaze traced over the table, catching sight of a box. It was ornately carved and about as large as a takeout pizza.
Muffin sat on top of the box, staring at me.
“Where’d you come from?”
Just being helpful.
Mayhem, the winged pug, flew into the room. She made a beeline for Muffin but didn’t chase him. The Cat Sìth was much scarier than Mayhem anyway. Muffin jumped off the table to join Mayhem.
Off to find some hams. He flicked his tail. Use your talents.
Use my talents? I watched him trot away, then opened the box. An array of paints and brushes sat there.
Was that new? I hadn’t seen this last time I’d been here.
A flash of white near the corner of the desk caught my eye. I leaned over and looked. Canvasses.
Clearly the library wanted me to paint it something. I had no idea what, but since I didn’t feel prepared to write a treatise on something, I picked up the canvas.
This, at least, I understood.
I propped it on the desk, picked up some paints, and squirted colors on the palette that had sat under the paint box. I chose red on instinct, putting a broad swath across the white canvas.
Most of my painting was done this way, colors flowing out of me like words. I rarely had a plan—just followed what was in my soul. Ever since I’d been little, painting had fascinated me. You could make your own reality on the canvas. In a world that had been full of fear and hiding, that had been intoxicating.
But we’d never had the money for supplies, or the time. I’d put my creativity into the buggy, which had provided our desperately needed living.
As a result, the buggy was an incredible work of art, though some might mistake it for simple machinery.
But it wasn’t painting.
Something in this spoke to my soul in a different way.
So I kept at it, imagining what the library might want. As I worked, magic began to flow through me. It started as a tingle in my stomach, then spread out to my limbs. Unmistakable, but also a bit foreign.
It was the new magic.
The prophecy or seeing or sight or whatever it was.
The magic directed my hand, taking over instinct and melding the two together. I chose brown, slashing it on the canvass. Then a lighter beige, black, white. The painting that began to form was unlike anything I’d ever painted.
I covered up the slashes of bright color, replacing them instead with a more realistic rendering of a trapdoor in the corner of the library. It was beaten and old, with the corner of a bright rug overtop of it.
When I stepped back, finished, the strangest sensation came over me.
That door was real. And it was somewhere in the library.
“Finished?” Florian asked, his voice sleepy.
I turned. As usual, he’d fallen asleep in his chair while waiting.
He stood and came closer. His eyes widened. “What is this?”
“I have no idea.” I set the paintbrush down. “I painted it, but magic directed my hand.” I could probably tell Florian about the prophecy power I was beginning to develop—we could trust the ghost.
But old habits died hard.
He leaned toward the painting and squinted. “That’s the southwest corner of the ghost library. Rarely used anymore. I didn’t realize there was a trapdoor under there.”
“Did I find it?”
“I suppose we’d have to check to see if it’s really there.” He stood upright, then pointed to the railing that separated the platform from the rest of the library.
Magic swirled around it, and the railing disappeared, replaced with stairs leading down to the next level. “The library seems to agree that you’ve contributed something of value, though.”
“Can we go check out that trapdoor? Like, now?” I needed to know. Had my power really found something that even Florian didn’t know existed?
9
“Let’s go!” Florian’s voice was tinged with excitement, and he rubbed his hands together. “An adventure! To find a secret passage.”
I grinned and followed him down the stairs, around the lower level to the left. Occasionally, the ghostly form of Mayhem, the winged pug, appeared in the corner of my vision. She must already be done with the hams.
“How are you able to say which part of this round room is the southwest corner? It has no corners.”
“I guess, mostly.” He grinned. “It’s my domain. I do what I want.”
Fair enough. He led me toward a set of bookshelves that looked just like the ones I’d painted. And there was the rug, though it was no longer as bright as it had once been. As I’d painted it in my picture.
So had my power seen into the past as well?
Weird.
Florian bent down and flipped up the rug.
It revealed only bare wooden floor.
Shit.
But relief followed. Was this good or bad, that my magic hadn’t been a real vision?
Did that mean I was going insane?
Florian frowned. “This can’t be right.”
“No?”
He knelt down and began knocking at the wooden floorboards, inspecting the edges of each piece of wood. As he worked, he hummed to himself.
I got down on my knees, joining him. As I poked at the floorboards, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to find something or not.
Then my fingertips slipped into a larger than normal crevice between the boards. The board jiggled. I pulled it up easily.
“Florian.”
He swung around from where he was kneeling, eyes brightening. “Now this is something!”
We removed the board, which made it easy to pry up the next one and the next. Soon, we’d revealed a trapdoor, long ago covered over by a false floor.
“Wow.” I looked up at Florian. “That’s cool.”
“Indeed.” He pulled on the trapdoor, but it was locked. He yanked harder, straining. His wig tipped to the side, going slightly askew.
Mayhem appeared, little wings fluttering wildly to keep her chubby body aloft, and she pulled at the back of his coat, trying to help. Then Muffin appeared, joining the endeavor with Mayhem.
I stifled a laugh. Their efforts weren’t doing much, so laughing out loud would just add salt to the wound.
“Let me try.” Some ghosts could interact with the real world, but they weren’t always very strong. I replaced Florian, pulling on the metal ring on the trapdoor. Magic sparked against my hands, and the door held fast. “It’s enchanted.”