That’s a no.
I hurriedly turned back to Gail. “I was wondering if I could ask a few questions about the fire.”
“Certainly—here, follow me. If we go back through the shelves, there’s a cozy spot where we can sit and talk.” Gail beckoned, then led the way through a well-organized formation of tall bookshelves—all of which stretched taller than I could reach.
Binx and April fell in line behind me. The deeper we went into the shelves, the quieter the library got. The occasional beep from the machines used to check out books grew muffled, replaced with a hushed silence of reverence that was interrupted occasionally by the sound of a book being pulled off a shelf or the crinkle of a page turning.
Gail led us out of the stacks and along a wall, pausing when we reached a hexagonal shaped room that was molded around an enormous gas fireplace and stone mantel.
It was their periodical room with racks of newspapers and magazines pressed against the wall and plush green couches arranged in the center. A man wearing bright blue robes was splayed out over one of the couches, a newspaper tented over his head. The newspaper hid his face so I couldn’t see much besides gray hair and the bottom of what had to be a very long gray beard. The paper rattled as the reader inhaled and then exhaled the loudest snore I’d ever heard. His hands resting on his chest were knobby and skinny.
Gail smiled fondly at the snorer wearing the newspaper. “Ah—I forgot, one of our faithful patrons who frequents this room is here tonight. No matter—there’s another spot we can use!”
She led us off through the shelves again, zig zagging to the opposite side of the library. She stopped at a giant bay window—which showed the inky night—and sat down on a blue overstuffed chair.
There was a couch, a matching chair to the one Gail had taken, and a coffee table arranged between the three.
Binx and April immediately claimed the couch, leaving the chair for me, but I didn’t like the idea of sitting down even if this was for a casual interview. (Occupational hazard from my slayer days.)
Instead, I awkwardly stood at the open end of the coffee table.
“There we are! Now, ask me whatever you like,” Gail said.
“Do you mind if I take some notes?” I pulled my cellphone out of a pocket.
“Not at all. Go right ahead!”
“T-thank you.” I opened my notes app, and felt my awkwardness fade away as my work mode switched on. “I know the building was closed, but do you have any idea how the fire started?”
“None.” Gail shook her head, making her oversized dangly earrings—stacks of books shaped out of clay—bob. “We have security cameras, but they’re all pointed at the entrance and emergency exits. We reviewed the footage this morning, and you can see when the fire starts—it casts light on the dimmed entrance—but that’s it.”
It must have caught on fire fast for there to be a visible difference… unless that was just when the fire got big enough to notice?
“How was the fire department notified?” I asked.
“A patron who lives close enough to see the library from his house got up to let his dog outside and saw the fire, so he called the fire department. I shudder to think what would have happened if he hadn’t seen it!” Gail theatrically shivered, but the worry that clouded her kind brown eyes was real.
I tapped away on my cellphone. “Nobody reported seeing anything else?”
“No.” Gail said. “At least no one has said anything yet. It’s possible someone might come forward since the newspaper did an article about the fire today. Unless… did the supernaturals hear something?” Her gaze flickered from me to Binx and April.
Oh, I think that means I screwed up by going straight to the serious questions. I am not good with interviews!
Binx was looking around but April gave me an encouraging smile, so I was still on interview duty despite the blunder.
“No,” I said. “I was instructed to check in with you by my supervisor—to follow up so we can have the complete story in our notes.”
“The Wizards at House Tellier won’t get in trouble for helping us, will they?” Gail asked.
“No,” I said. “Supernaturals are allowed to use magic if it means saving someone—libraries included,” I said.
Wait, that didn’t make any sense—libraries aren’t people.
Gail was delighted by my blunder. She laughed and some of the worry seeped out as she sat more comfortably in her chair. “Indeed—libraries are practically persons on their own! They have the thoughts and writings of generations.” Her smile faded, and she added. “But I am glad for House Tellier’s assistance.” I was puzzled—she didn’t sound quite as happy and joyous as she had a moment ago, then she added, “It’s the second time they have helped the library.”
I paused, my fingers hovering over my phone. “Oh?”
“Yes. They donated a statue to the library to put in the peace gardens.”
April stirred on the couch. “When was this?”
I swear it was like the skies opened up and angels wept in relief—I wasn’t the only one responsible for the questions anymore!
“In the beginning of summer—it was right as we were finishing the fundraising push,” Gail said. “The statue was destroyed in the fire, unfortunately. Thankfully, all our other statues survived.”
“What was it a statue of?” I asked.
“It was a large cube with deep cracks within it—about the size of this coffee table,” Gail said. “It was called Creativity and was supposed to represent a bursting imagination, filled so full the cube—which represented the restraints we put upon it—was cracking.”
“Did they say what it was supposed to represent?” April asked.
Based on the jagged tone to her voice, I was starting to suspect her questions were coming from her House’s hatred of House Tellier.
Oh, well. She’s still thinking of good questions.
“No… now that you mention it, I don’t believe they did.” Gail paused, her eyes crinkling around the edges.
She’s uncomfortable with House Tellier, and I don’t think it’s just because they’re wizards as she seems fine with us.
“How did they give you the statue?” I asked.
Once again I didn’t realize I hadn’t done the best job phrasing my question until it popped out of my mouth. Even Binx raised an eyebrow at this one.
Thankfully, Gail settled back in her chair. “It was very… sudden,” she said. “They showed up with the statue in the bed of a truck and dropped it off the day before we ended the fundraising.”
“Wait, they didn’t tell you about it beforehand?” April asked.
Gail shook her head. “No. We weren’t aware they were planning to give us a donation until they arrived and asked to place the statue in a prominent place inside the garden.”
That’s suspicious.
It was especially odd considering House Tellier had been vocal in its beliefs that humans were unimportant.