Midnight at the Library

“Safira?” Oradine, the Head Librarian, calls out, panic lacing her words.

Instinctively, my gaze flies to the grandfather clock that dominates the library’s entryway. It’s a ghost of a clock, translucent and weightless, stretching from the ground floor to the third-floor railing, here only to tell the hour.

It’s midnight.

Why would she be in the library at this hour?

I scramble to my feet, knocking over the tower of books I’m cataloguing and sending three of them soaring upward, flying past the seventh story, until I lose sight of them completely.

“Shit,” I hiss, yanking my billowing sleeves up so I don’t trip on them, adjusting my witch hat as I peek over the third-floor railing. I’ll have to go looking for them later this week. “I’m here—”

But my words die in my throat.

She doesn’t need to tell me to come downstairs. Not when she and the Library Director are standing there in their sleep gowns, with a woman I’ve never met before and, behind her, two guards carrying a box.

I swing my hand in the air and call my broom, elegantly slide my legs over it, and glide to where they stand, talking amongst themselves in a hushed tone.

“Safira is on night duty this week, cataloguing ancient tomes,” Oradine says to the woman with the guards. The stranger gives me the briefest nod and sizes me up, glancing at one of the guards as if to say, Think she’s got it?

“Safira, this is Caroline Huntrix. She’s a Relic Hunter for the Arcane Bureaucracy,” Oradine says, and suddenly the urgency makes sense. “She needs the key to Vault 13.”

I blink, protocol taking over, though I can’t hide the fear gripping me.

“The black widow weaves its web backwards in the moonlight—”

“So the toad may dream of a shadowed moth being chased by a black cat in the dancing sunlight,” Oradine says so quickly that I barely have time to finish listening to the phrase.

I nod, satisfied with the response, then turn my gaze to Elivira, the Library Director.

“2, 6, 2, 4,” Elivira says, knocking against the oak desk in four sets, pausing between each, then doubling up another four sets.

I nod and hurry to a safe beneath the main desk, one only the librarian on duty can open. In my five years working at the library, nothing like this has ever happened while I was on duty.

The library has a protocol for a reason. In the war that split the realms, it was a safe haven for magical items being hunted by the fae. Since then, it has held important documents and historical artefacts, though every time something was brought in, it was when I wasn’t here.

My hands tremble as I reach for the key to Vault 13, the one with the most protection charms and runes.

“Lead the way, please,” Oradine says, smiling, though I don’t miss the nervousness in her shaky voice.

I do as I’m told, slipping beneath the spiral staircase that stretches thirteen stories high and dragging my fingers across the wood of the door leading to the vaults. I search until I feel the line of magic that locks it, then twist, find each tendril’s end, and join them until every strand lines up and the door clicks open.

Cool air brushes my cheeks as I step into the darkness, waving my hand to ignite the sconces that line the wall. A dim purple hue bounces off the grey stone walls.

Our footsteps echo on the cold floor as we pass each vault, their doors of varying sizes all open, all waiting for their next prey, until we reach the only locked door at the end of the hallway.

I slip the key in. A bolt of magic vibrates up my arm as I twist it and push the door open.

Oradine gently grabs my arm and pulls me toward her, letting Caroline and her guards step in. The guards carefully set the box on the ground, and Caroline leans down, whispering as she unlocks it.

“This is for you,” Elivira says, handing me a thick parchment coated with magic. Times are recorded on the left, details on the right. A logbook, I quickly realise.

“What is this?” I ask.

Oradine reaches for my hand. “You are tasked with keeping an eye on the cursed object Caroline has brought in tonight.”

I swallow hard.

“Document everything. Even the smallest of changes. Caroline has notified the Bureaucracy of her findings, but they cannot be here until six tomorrow morning.”

I nod, understanding the assignment.

But Oradine grips my hand tighter.

“The guards are leaving with Caroline.”

My gaze snaps to her. That is not protocol.

She leans in closer.

“It’s the Book of Xandros. Caroline and her team unleashed a curse when they dug it up. Nine have already died. If she and her two guards do not reach the High City before sunrise for a cleansing, they will be killed too, and then thirteen souls will have been sacrificed. Enough to bring Xandros back.”

“But—"

“As long as Caroline is safe, so are you. And even if something does happen, this vault is unbreakable. He will be trapped in here.”

A hiss fills the air, and my attention snaps back to the vault, where Caroline is placing the book on the pedestal inside, using her magic to levitate it so she never touches it with her bare hands.

She huffs out a breath as she steps back, sweat beading on her forehead, and begins reciting a curse. The runes on the wall burn to life, magic singeing my nose, stealing the air from my lungs and leaving every hair on my body standing on end.

“Only come down here to check on it,” Oradine whispers. “The less time you spend with the book, the better. Keep busy, do your checks, but nothing more. It’s only six hours. I’ll be here at six on the dot.”

The library feels even larger now that everyone has left. The soft flapping of books soaring through the air fills the silence, and the ghosts, trapped by their passions in life, glide past, oblivious to my panic and to the evil that now lies beneath the library. Still, I take Oradine’s advice.

I keep busy, cataloguing the books the local universities have asked for. When the ghost clock chimes one, my heart lurches, and my stomach seizes. But I call my broom, glide to the first floor, and unlock the basement door.

I don’t step onto the first stair just yet. It’s as if my body is protesting. But I force myself.

I’m so nervous that when I wave my hand, the sconces burst into flames, too bright for the dim hallway.

I don’t bother correcting them; I hurry to Vault 13 and shove the key in before I can change my mind. The door creaks open, louder than it did when Oradine and the others were here. I step inside. The runes glow in acknowledgement. And I stare at the book.

The last entry noted a bent corner on the top left, and it’s still there. I know I mustn’t touch it, so I stand as far back as I can and study it. A deep brown leather binding with a clasp. A medallion hanging from it, along with dried nightshade flowers slipped into the clasp.

I stare and stare and stare.

Until it looks as though the book takes a breath.

I flinch and rush from the vault, slamming the door shut, sprinting up the stairs, closing and re-locking the basement door, and I don’t stop until I reach the main desk. I’m panting, my hands trembling as I log the time and the event. When I’m done, I press my back against the oak desk and slide down it, trying to steady my breathing.

For the next hour, I try to find the books that flew up after I knocked them over, soaring through the expanse of the library on my broom and getting so close to the glass dome that I can see the stars and planets.

When the clock chimes two, I don’t move right away. Instead, I stay suspended in the air, drawing strength from the moon goddess above and asking for protection.

The sconces are still lit from before, and I don’t correct their brightness, because I need it. I slip the key into the lock and open the door. But I don’t need to step inside this time to know what is different about the book. It is floating, inches above the pedestal.

I promptly close the door and leave the basement. Recording the events.

Now I’m following Nancy, my favourite ghost. She can’t see me, trapped in a loop of memories. She scans the bookshelf where she died, looking for a book that had been taken out an hour before her death. It was a freak accident. One of the students in her class was practising potion-making when he mixed crushed pixie wings into the potion instead of whole ones, creating a poisonous gas that killed everyone in the library. It’s why no food, drink, or potions are allowed in the library now.

Nancy has been here for three centuries. She reminds me of my sister. We lost her when we were very young, and I was too young to remember her, so Nancy is who I picture my sister growing up to be.

The clock chimes three, and I draw in a deep breath. It’s almost over.

Unlocking the door a third time isn’t as nerve-wracking as the first. The book no longer floats, but the brown leather has darkened, and cracks have formed, light seeping from them, as if it’s about to burst.

“Don’t you dare,” I warn. “Not on my watch, at least.”

To my surprise, the cracks recede, smoothing over, though the colour stays dark. I straighten, staring at the book. Did… did it just understand me? Or is it a coincidence? I don’t stay long enough to find out. I hurry out and document the change, but I leave out one detail: that I spoke to it. I’m smart enough to know that admitting a cursed book responded to my voice would get me into trouble.

In the fourth hour, I decide to reorganise the desk. I can’t concentrate on cataloguing anything, and the desk does need work. I hum as I work, trying to fill the silence so I don’t think of the book. My humming turns into mumbled words, and I’m so caught up in the song that it takes me a moment to realise someone else is singing with me.

My voice dies. But the deep, rhythmic male voice does not.

I swallow hard as I scan the library, looking at the ghosts, wondering if they’ve always been able to sing and speak and I’ve simply never heard them. But I know, deep down, where that voice is coming from.

The clock chimes four, as if confirming my suspicions. The closer I get to the basement door, the louder the voice grows. I glide my hand over the lock, slowly intertwining the magic. When the door opens, the voice grows louder. I follow it, knowing exactly where it leads. When I open the vault, the singing stops.

Goosebumps ignite over my entire body.

At five o’clock, the sky is brightening. Books stretch from their resting places, and the ghosts fade into nothing. The silence isn’t as deafening. One more hour. I can do these last two checks.

Vault 13 is eerily quiet. The door creaks open, its metal hinges groaning in the cool air. The book looks the same as it did last time. I stare at it to make sure, circling the pedestal. Nothing. No feeling of dread. No sound. No changes. It’s as if the book is simply ordinary. But I can’t help feeling that this makes it even more unnerving.

So… I decide to do something foolish.

“You’re up to something, aren’t you?”

Nothing changes. But I get the feeling that the book is smiling at me. Not menacingly, either. More like an I can’t hide from you, can I? kind of smile.

“You sure there’s nothing else you want to scare me with?” I ask.

Still, nothing happens.

I step out of the vault and stare at the book from the doorway to be sure.

Then I seal everything back up.

After logging the five o’clock check, I leave notes for the next librarian about the books I abandoned and promise to finish tomorrow evening. Then I pick up the mouse treats and walk along the shelves, tapping them gently and leaving a trail of treats to wake the mice and start the dust-bunny hunt. I’m on my third pass when a gust of wind rushes toward me. I brace for impact, but it’s a gentle breeze, just enough to blow a few dark curls from my face.

I let out a breath and look up at the clock.

5:45.

I stare at the staircase where I know the basement door is. It’s still too quiet. And I really don’t want to, but I know I have to.

I set the mouse treats down and head to the basement door. I should probably wait for Oradine, but something doesn’t feel right. I thought I’d be ready to be done with this book. But something is calling me. Something tells me I must be the only one to do the final check. So, for the seventh time, I trace the magical tendrils and open the basement door.

My heart pounds as I take my first step, and it doesn’t subside with the second. Or the third. Or the fourth.

The key feels heavier as I slip it into the lock, turn it, and wait for the faint click. I take a deep breath and push the door open.

My breath hitches, then comes out ragged as I take it all in.

Because inside Vault 13 is no longer a book…

…But a man.

Skin the deep black of polished obsidian. Eyes of flaming orange, so bright I feel them before I meet them. My heart stutters at our eyes colliding. Dark smoke rolls off his skin and coils around every inch of him.

He’s beautiful, the way a wolf is beautiful from a distance. And he’s completely naked, his body carved from strength, every line cut sharp, muscles shifting in places I didn’t know muscles even existed.

But then again, what else did I expect from the demon of wickedness?

He turns slowly, hair cropped close to his head, a mischievous glint in his gaze.

His voice is both gravel and velvet. Silk and velcro. Smooth and rough. Breathtaking and unremarkable. Dangerous and safe.

“Thirteen souls, now mine.”