There’s something in his tone. Something magical, something dark and living, that warps the air and reaches out and makes Mr Duke hesitate.
‘Gone,’ he says, looking at the shelves, suddenly confused. ‘In the library, I suppose. They always prized his words . . .’ He goes and sits at the desk, runs his hands over the smooth wood. ‘Yes, he was quite the scholar. All that travel they paid for, to find the origin of glowing skies, of all things. Those books of his, full of fantasy. FANTASY! And then he stumbled off into the sunset himself. Never quite believed that burglary line. He stalked danger, that man. Went all over the world just to find it! Not surprised he met a sticky end. Not surprised at all.’
I feel sick. Was this what Dad had to deal with? No wonder he was so desperate to find evidence in the face of jerks like this. I don’t like Mr Duke. I don’t think Bavar does either – he glowers at him, shadows gathering. Mr Duke stares down at his hands on the desk, still muttering to himself about fantasies, how they should have put Dad’s books in the fiction section, not in occult history.
‘Let’s go,’ I say. ‘I know where the library is.’
By some miracle I manage to bustle Bavar out of there. Mr Duke’s voice trails out after us: ‘I don’t think they’ll let children in the library . . .’
Bavar reaches back and slams the door. The brass sign wobbles and falls off. He picks it up, looks at it for a moment, then folds it in half and wedges it under the door.
‘That’ll keep him busy for a while,’ he muses, totally straight-faced. ‘Come on. Let’s get that book.’
‘Bavar . . .’
‘We’re getting the book,’ he says, standing straight, looming over everything. ‘And then we’re going to put a stop to it all.’
‘Even if it’s dangerous . . .’
‘Even so,’ he nods. ‘If we can find this book, we can do it. That’s what your dad was trying to do. We just have to see it through.’
This place is incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it. From the moment we arrived, I felt a lift in my chest that I can’t explain. Angel is silent beside me, and my ears are ringing because there’s something here. Not magic, exactly, but some kind of power. There are carvings in Latin along the walls, and gleaming columns stretching up around us, ten feet high. It’s like home, except it lives and breathes like home hasn’t for a long time. I urge Angel onward, through the wide corridors, and just hope we can do this. I can see how much she needs it – she’s holding out for it with every breath – and I feel like I owe it to her, now that I know what happened.
It’s not just me any more.
She was so quiet, as we walked through the city streets. She moved quickly, darting down alleyways, crossing roads between stationary cars. Never seen so much traffic. So many people, all rushing along the pavements, umbrellas up, heads down. She moved between them like magic, and it was difficult to keep up. Some of the people saw me. They stared, as I tried not to collide with them, and then she turned a corner and the streets were quieter, older, the buildings golden stone rising high above us.
‘Did you live here, before?’
‘On the outskirts.’
‘It’s busy.’
‘Saturday.’ She shrugged. ‘Shoppers, tourists . . .’
I wanted to ask if she has friends here, if she still sees them, but she was holding herself so tight that it felt like if I asked the wrong thing she might break. And I don’t want her to break. I don’t know how I’d fix her.
‘How does the hiding thing work?’ she asks now.
‘Concentration,’ I say. ‘And other people, a bit. If they want to see me, they’ll see me, no matter what I do. But most people don’t really want to see things they can’t explain, so it’s usually easy. I just concentrate on being small.’
‘Mary saw you, and Pete didn’t, not really, not to start with.’
‘Sometimes people want to; sometimes they don’t. Mary’s more curious than he is. That’s all.’
‘And you weren’t concentrating?’
‘Thought it’d be a bit strange if I turned up invisible, so I was concentrating on not concentrating . . .’
The library is enormous. A dull yellow light comes in through the windows as the sun sets, and shadows stretch between the green-shaded lights. It’s quiet, only a handful of people sitting at the little dark wood desks, lamps lit over clusters of books.
The woman sitting at the curved front desk doesn’t look particularly happy to be here. Angel is flitting around next to me, her fingers playing with the toggles on her coat. I think she’s too nervous to go in, but she’s not about to tell me that.
‘I’ll go in,’ I whisper eventually.
‘No. You won’t know what you’re looking for.’
‘I’m guessing it’ll be book shaped?’
She gestures at the millions of books lining the walls, from floor to ceiling and then up a spiral staircase to another floor. ‘Go on then!’
‘Well, you’ll have to give me a clue, obviously.’
‘I want to go in there and get it.’
‘OK, so how are you going to do that?’
‘Well, you’ll have to create a diversion,’ she says. I’d laugh, but her eyes are pretty sharp right now. ‘Do you think you can do that?’
‘What kind of diversion?’
‘I don’t know! Do a bit of roaring out here, or creep in and start moving books about – anything!’
‘I’m not doing that. I’ll just come in with you.’
‘How’s that going to help?’
‘Maybe I can hide you too.’
She stares at me for a moment. ‘Oh,’ she says. ‘That makes sense. Can you though? How long for?’
‘I don’t know. Did it before, at school.’
‘But I wasn’t really hiding then. This is different.’
‘Well, do you want to try it, or do you want to stand out here all day looking like you’re talking to yourself?’ I ask, folding my arms.
She scowls. ‘Let’s just do it.’
I reach down inside myself for that feeling – that feeling of being small and insignificant. It’s harder to find than usual; it’s been a busy day, and my mind is distracted by all the things going on around us. I feel bigger when I’m around her. When we’re out doing things.
‘Any time you like.’ She sighs.
I move up closer to her, extending the feeling.
‘You’ll have to stay close,’ I say. My voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere else – everything’s muffled, dark around the edges.
She moves in close to my left side. ‘Come on then,’ she says, and we move forward, a bit awkwardly, past the woman on the desk, who frowns and looks up. Her eyes search the air around us for a moment, then she turns her attention back to the main entrance. A couple of students arrive, diverting her, and then we’re in and it’s dark and kind of musty and Angel is close and warm and I get a weird, slipping feeling, but I hold on to the feeling of small and stick to the shadows, and slowly we make our way.
‘Where do you think it’ll be?’ I ask.
‘Mr Duke said something about occult history,’ she says. ‘I guess it’ll be in the reference section . . .’