Nervous of our reception, I would have been just as pleased to wait outside. Nevertheless, I followed. I trod carefully on the ice and slush, testing each step for a steady landing.
I was right to be cautious: Charlie yelped as his bad knee went out from under him. I rushed to help. He pushed himself up slowly, cursing. I checked his head, but he waved me off.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. I landed on my arm. I’ll have a hell of a bruise. Excuse me. Ow.” In spite of his protests, I steadied him as he got slowly to his feet. He grimaced as he put weight again on the knee, and glared at Trumbull. “Let’s get inside.”
With me steadying his elbow, we managed the path without further incident—though another spotter would not have been amiss.
Trumbull waited inside. I found myself shivering, unsteady, not from cold but from instinct.
“Not a very social people, are you?” I asked. She raised an eyebrow, and jerked her chin at the librarians behind the information desk, the students wandering among the shelves. I was not being sufficiently discreet.
Charlie seemed distracted by his knee. I found him a chair, saw him settled and comfortable, and went to find a reference librarian. Trumbull could follow, or not, as she saw fit.
The librarian, shockingly, was entirely cooperative. I explained that we were looking for Barinov’s donated notes, probably from a year or two ago, and she told me that they would take a few minutes to track down. She scurried off with the pleased air of a woman on a quest.
I returned to find Spector kneeling by Charlie’s chair, palpating his knee. He glanced up as I arrived. “Don’t tell me. Dawson and I are the only people here who know first aid.”
“Where would I have learned?” I asked lightly, but saw it hit home.
“I’m fine,” said Charlie again. With a look of apology in my direction, he took out his pipe.
“I suppose you can afford the pride,” said Spector. “Don’t need your legs much, running a bookstore.”
Dawson said, “I’ll find something to wrap it properly.”
“No, you won’t.” Spector smiled wryly. “You read Russian; I’m just here to look useful. I’ll find what we need.”
“Do we have something to read in Russian?” she asked me.
“In a few minutes,” I said. At Caleb’s look of surprise, I added, “One could get to like the Hall School.”
“Shall I at least get some snow?” asked Dawson. Spector nodded, and they both left on their own missions.
“Practical woman,” said Caleb approvingly.
Dawson returned shortly afterward with snow packed into a scavenged bag, which she made Charlie hold against his knee. A few girls looked at her oddly, but she ignored them. Or rather, she drew herself straighter, held her neck proud and tense, and did not look.
“I’m sorry,” I told her.
“For what?”
I looked down. “For what they’re making you do. For what you did to get us into the university.”
Her expression became bland. “It was nothing.”
Fortunately, the librarian returned before I could say anything to worsen the insult. “I have a room set up for you. This way, please.”
Charlie put out his pipe, and leaned on my arm as we followed her into a back room. The logistics of helping him gave me an excellent excuse to avoid looking at Dawson. I imagined apologizing to Anna the same way, and felt my face flush. She would not have appreciated it either.
Charlie must have mistaken my blush, for he tried to draw away. “I can make it on my own.”
“Mr. Day,” I said, keeping firm hold of his arm. “I assure you I can take the weight. In spite of which I don’t intend to carry every book box that comes into the store for the next several years; please listen to Mr. Spector on this one.” He subsided reluctantly.
Thankfully the room to which the librarian led us was not far: one of a row behind the reference section, each with a long reading table and several chairs. Three neat piles of books awaited us, along with an intriguing stack of black leather-bound notebooks.
“These are all the notes, and the books cited most often in them according to our record. If you need to see other books, or the cross-reference list, find me and I’ll track them down.”
“Thank you.” I was too startled to say anything else. Trumbull nodded at her with what might have been respect. She sat down immediately and claimed the top notebook.
I took a moment longer to ensure Charlie’s comfort, and both the cold pack’s survival and its distance from any materials vulnerable to the melting ice. When I finished, I saw the librarian still hovering by the doorway, watching me nervously. My stomach felt hollow; clearly this had been too simple. I went to her side.
“Is there some difficulty?” I asked quietly.
“No! I’m sorry, miss, I…” To my surprise, she blushed. I’ve never been good at judging ages outside of Innsmouth, but with her gray-specked hair and skin beginning to wrinkle and thin, embarrassment looked incongruous on her. “May I ask—I know it’s a strange question but—are you a Waite?”
I blinked. My lids felt tight and painful over my eyes. “Marsh, actually. But the families are related.”
She smiled, a little sadly. “I thought you might be. You look so much like Asenath.”
I blinked again. “You knew Asenath Waite?” I could not put a face to the woman who had left town when I was still a babe in arms, but her fate had been the subject of much dark rumor.
Some of those rumors were related to our topic of study. And this woman was the first I had met since the camps with memories of my town, my people. “Please tell me about her?”
We drew chairs away from the table. “She had your look, but that same—she carried herself well, attracted people to her. She frightened a lot of people, too, but I always admired her drive. She had an … audacity about her, and we always expected great things.” She sighed. “Then she got married, like any ordinary girl. He was a Miskatonic graduate, years her senior but still spending all his time with the college students, and he brought out everything that was worst in her. And then, well, you know how badly it ended.”
She wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. It was a long time ago, but she was a friend.”
“You hardly need to apologize for mourning,” I said. Neither of us had a handkerchief, and no one at the table had noticed, so she made do with her sleeve.
“Did she ever offer you salt water?” I asked, suddenly curious whether she had held to our customs even after leaving.
“Yes!” She laughed shakily. “We always thought that was strange, but she said it was a potent tool.” Her eyes slid to the books on the table.
“A magical one,” I said, and she nodded.
“She was very … she had quite a reputation.” She watched me carefully, and I did my best to look like someone who would not mock her past. “She seemed a magician sometimes, and she was certainly a hypnotist. She could catch you up with her eyes and make you feel that you were someone else, something else…” She trailed off wistfully.