The Library (The Librarian of Alexandria Book 1) by Casey White (ebook reader 8 inch .TXT) 📗

“Got it,” Owl said, the image of the statue again swimming before his eyes.  Olivia fell quiet again, letting him work.

He let the silence press in around them again, soaking in the warmth of the fire against his back and Olivia’s leg against his.  As far as mornings went, it was pretty good.  Whatever shampoo Alexandria had magicked up for her, it smelled enough like mint ice cream to hover right at the edge of tantalizing.  He wrinkled his nose.  Draw, damn you.  You’re supposed to be distracting her, not getting distracted yourself.  He furrowed his brow, looking back to-

To the drawing of Alexandria.  The real Alexandria, the truth she kept hidden in her underbelly, surrounded by blood, books, and a well of what certainly looked like magic water.

His hand jerked, leaving an ugly gash marring the otherwise-perfect curves of the statue’s thighs.

“See?” Olivia said.  “I told you to loosen up.  Idiot.”

“Y-Yeah,” he managed, chuckling nervously.  “Oops.”

A swipe of the eraser and the black mark faded.

Okay.  He had half a statue - that was all.  There’d be no way for anyone to know what it was without having been down to Alexandria’s heart themselves.  But he didn’t want to draw her face.  Something like that belonged to him and the other Librarians.  He wasn’t sure why he felt so strongly about that, but oddly, he found he did.

A new idea flashed through his mind.  He blinked - and then relaxed.

Well, he’d wanted to distract Olivia, hadn’t he?

“Told you you could help,” he said, coaxing his hand back into motion.  “Just yell when you see anything to critique.”

“Mmhm,” was all she said in response.

It ached, but he forced the divine-worthy silhouette of the statue from his mind.  Another time, Alex.

He could almost feel Olivia’s frustration simmering down as the morning calm settled back in.  Her fidgeting slowed, stopping entirely, and with a final exhalation, her shoulder pressed against his.

“Not bad,” she said at last, still barely louder than a whisper.

“Thanks.”

“You weren’t kidding about having time to kill.”  Her elbow tapped against his side.

“I was not.”  A bead of sweat dripped down his spine.  It was harder than he’d expected to sandbag.  There was a definite difference between being bad at art and being intentionally, plausibly bad at art.

“Well, don’t be afraid of the damn thing, now,” Olivia muttered.

He chuckled, drawing out another line.

Again, the quiet fell, and again, he let it.  It was easier, when they didn’t have to talk.  When he could focus on the gentle grinding of the pencil’s tip against-

“I can see it,” Olivia murmured, shifting against his side.

He sighed, but didn’t stop drawing.  “What can you see?”

“The Library.  Alexandria.”

“Well, I’m glad.  She’s kind of a big place.  If you couldn’t see her, I’d say-”

“The appeal of it, you idiot,” Olivia said, kicking the leg of his stool. “It’s quiet here, y’know? It’s nice.  Peaceful.  I can see how you’d get a lot of personal projects done somewhere like this.”  She leaned forward, bracing her elbows against the bar.  “Again.  A little jealous.”

“Peaceful is what she wants you to call her,” Owl said.

“Oh?  What would you say instead?”

“Desolate,” he mumbled, before he could stop himself.  He chuckled.  “Lonely.  It’s a ghost town around here most days.  Hope you’re not afraid of ghosts.”

Olivia made a face, her eyes darkening.  “I guess,” she said at last.  “That does sound...eerie, in a way.”

“A little.”

“I did wonder, though.”

Was she planning on trying to talk the whole time?  Owl bit back a sigh.  “About what?”

He was still looking at the drawing, first and foremost, but he saw her eyes flick up to his mask.  “About you,” she said, more quietly.  “About Alexandria.  About what you do, when there are no guests.  I didn’t...I didn’t think about you still winding up here, even when we’re not around.”

Owl kept sketching, not gratifying her with a look.  “She likes to be tended to.  Guests or no.”

“Yeah.  I get that.”  She nodded, her hair falling in a mess about her face.  “I can see how you’d end up having a lot of time for stuff like this.  Shouldn’t have been surprised.  But...that sucks.  It’s like you’re-”

With a noise halfway between an exasperated hiss and a strangled, muttered curse, Owl turned - and before she could pull back, got two fingers on the far side of her chin.  “Let me see for a minute,” he said over her protests, turning her face so that it caught the glimmers of firelight without her hair in the way.

Olivia subsided into a quivering heap right on the edge of explosion, her eyes fixed on the lenses of his mask.  He grinned behind its clay.  Figure it out, did she?

“Sorry,” he said, turning back to the drawing and starting to work.  “You did say you’d help me.”

“That’s not what you asked for,” she mumbled, her face going red.  He chuckled, but kept drawing, his hand moving faster and more surely.

If he couldn’t draw Alexandria, then he needed someone else to draw.  How convenient for him that a suitable model was sitting right beside him.

It was rough - it was just a sketch, after all - but her profile started to take shape under his pencil.  The statue’s pose was out, even besides for her face.  Something generic, then.  He did smile, though, his expression softening as the sheets of her hair started to take shape in shades of grey and black.

Olivia was silent, at last - but he could feel her watching.  Waiting.

Finally, she couldn’t keep it in anymore.  “Your perspective is off,” she muttered, just a breath of noise barely audible over the fire.

Owl arched an eyebrow.  “Excuse me?”

“The angle.”  She jabbed a finger toward the drawing’s collarbone.  “It’s a little off.  If you give me the pencil, I can-”

“It’s not off.”

She sat back on her haunches, eyes flashing.  With humor, he hoped.  “Well, if you want to be wrong, that’s on you.”

Owl opened his mouth, ready to fire back and start the game in