I tucked her into bed, stayed beside her, telling her stories like I’d done when we were younger, until she fell asleep. Then, I slipped between worlds, into the soothing, muted atmosphere of the Shadow Lands.
I sighed, just like Lark sometimes did when she got all wrapped up in that fleece blanket she had. I felt centered and strong.
Home.
I really should spend more time there. But there was so much in the world of the living that I liked. My sister—when I wasn’t fantasizing about killing her. Noah. Reality TV shows that I couldn’t watch in front of Lark because she made fun of me and swore at the people on the show, despite my insistence that they couldn’t hear her.
Iloana didn’t seem to be around—which wasn’t all that odd. If I didn’t find any information at the library I’d go looking for her.
The first time I visited the library—and I’d only found out about it recently—I encountered Emily, our ancestor. She had white hair like Lark, but was a little older. She’d given me a book that allowed us to find out information about Josiah Bent. I eventually brought that book back, but Emily hadn’t been there. Neither Lark nor I had seen her in weeks, and then she sends me a message via a Haven Crest ghost? Why? Why couldn’t she contact me herself?
Was Alys the reason Emily hadn’t moved on? It made sense. I wouldn’t leave Lark, either. But the void...that was not a place I ever wanted to see again. I’d never been so scared before. Never.
I hated being afraid, and it wasn’t something I felt very often.
The library was a large, looming building with columns and a huge front door. Inside, it was all dark wood and rich colors. It felt timeless, and like all things in the Shadow Lands, its outside dimensions were smaller than they ought to have been. The library was infinite. Unmeasurable.
Today there was actually someone at the desk. That was new—not that I was any expert in the workings of this place. I approached the woman. She was tall and thin, with long thick hair that flipped out at the ends. She was wearing a lime-green minidress with white trim. Her tights and shoes were the exact same shade as her dress. Her eyes were heavily rimmed with black eyeliner that flicked up at the outer corners.
Lark would love her look.
“Can I help you?” she asked softly, smiling.
I smiled back. “I need a book on Haven Crest patients between 1879 and 1899. And I would like the book on Emily Murray and her sister, Alys.” There was no harm in asking, was there? If there were books on other people in this library, surely there was one about my ancestors. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it earlier.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said, handing me a leather-bound volume, “I can give you the Haven Crest book, but the other is part of Special Collections.”
“What does that mean?”
Was that smile stuck on her face? “It means that you can look at it here, but you can’t check it out.”
This sort of thing happened in the libraries of the living. I knew this because of Lark’s various school projects that had required trips to various libraries. But how did those rules apply here? Surely if a book went missing, another would take its place? Or was there actually an author behind these countless tomes? That was too much to contemplate.
“Fine. Where is Special Collections?”
That smile never wavered. “It’s by appointment only.”
“Then I’ll make an appointment.”
She consulted a large book in front of her. It had gold-edged pages and had to be at least six inches thick. “The earliest appointment I have available is Wednesday at one.”
The day before Halloween.
“Is that Eastern Standard Time?” I asked sweetly, wondering if anyone would notice if I jumped over the counter, wrestled her to the floor and ripped her eyes out of her smiling head.
Some of that must have shown in my face, because her smile wavered. “Yes. Would you like the appointment?”
“I would, yes, thank you.” I held the Haven Crest book to my chest and returned her stare. “Don’t you need my name?”
“Oh! Sorry, yes.”
“Wren Noble,” I informed her, but I had a feeling she already knew who I was. It was a feeling I was beginning to grow very, very tired of. It had all started around the time Lark killed herself. She was only dead for a blink, but that’s when it seemed that suddenly people—especially dead ones—knew more about us than we did, and they weren’t keen on sharing the information.
It was time for that to stop.
“Wren Noble, one o’clock on Wednesday, October thirtieth for Special Collections,” she chirped as she scribbled in the book. Her smile was back in place. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No, thank you,” I said. Then, still smiling, I leaned across the counter. “I just wanted to tell you what pretty eyes you have.”