The Librarian: A Remnants of Magic Novel (The Librarian of Alexandria Book 2) by Casey White (reading list txt) 📗

James sighed.  “The real world, damn it.”

“No,” Owl said, deflating.

Leon pulled away from the creation, then, his eyes going dark.  “No?  But I thought...when we talked, you sounded pretty sure you’d be able to find something.  A clue to show you a way.”

He’d been hopeful, yes.  He’d been so damn hopeful that all he had to do was start plunging into the magical archives of the Library.  Surely an answer would present itself to him, if he only looked.

“It’s...not that easy,” Owl said instead.  “I thought I’d be able to figure it out.  But…”

“Problems,” Leon said softly.  It wasn’t a question, not really.  James and Maya were still bickering away behind him, poking absentmindedly at the case and only half-listening.

“It’s just...fucking hell,” Owl mumbled, lifting a hand to press at his aching skull.  “The more I look, the more I think...it’s not going to work right.  It’s not the same.”

Leon’s forehead grew steadily more wrinkled by the minute.  “What’s not the same?” he said at last.

Owl shook his head.  “Alexandria—the Library.  Me.  I don’t know.”

“Well, slow down and tell me, and maybe-”

“The records I can find are pretty damn specific,” Owl said, his voice rising in intensity even as it dropped lower, more secretive.  “About how the outside world’s magic works, and all that.  It’s...It’s not what I thought.  I need magic.  Whatever makes this place tick. I need apples and apples, and the outside world will only give me oranges, even if I try.”

“So you think this place is running on magic?” James said.  Him and Maya had gone quiet at last, apparently deeming the conversation worthy of rejoining it.  James snorted.  “Shit, son.  What makes you think something like magic is even real?”

Maya twisted, shooting a razor-sharp glare his way.  “James, we’re standing in someone else’s dream.  In a magic library.”

“Well, it’s pretty big and all, but-”

“James.”

James, thankfully, shut up.

Leon pursed his lips, his eyes clouded.  “So...this place is magic, and there’s magic out there.  But...it’s different?”

Owl sank back, leaning against the table as his mind spun.  “It’s like...In here, what I can do together with Alexandria...it’s so rich.  So pure.  I can do anything.”  He raised a hand, snapping his fingers.

Sparks scattered from the motion, tracing out brilliant geometric patterns through the air before flying toward the nearby lanterns.  They flared, brightening, then returned to their normal glow.

James and Maya stared, pale-faced.  Leon’s gaze didn’t falter.  “And?  I...I don’t get it.  I’m sorry.”

A groan tore from Owl’s throat.  “I...I can’t use Alexandria’s magic outside.  None of it.  I’m empty, out there.  So I need access to outside magic to do anything meaningful. But then…”

“Jesus Christ, just spit it out, already,” James mumbled.

“Alex’s magic is...wild,” Owl said.  That was the only way he could think to put it, to sum up her existence in a single word.  “But out there, it’s so limited.  All of the magic I’ve found is tied up in…”  He waved his hand, wrinkling his nose.  “In people.  Something like that.”  Row after row of books appeared in his mind, each marked by a drawing of an object.  A possession.  “It...their magic is tamed.  Limited.  Each of them can do a certain thing.”

“Maybe your thing is summoning magic libraries,” James said, smirking.

Leon shot him a dirty look, but Owl was already shaking his head.  “No.  No...more than that…”  The text of that first book flashed before his eyes, the Basics Alexandria had prepared for him.  “Their magic...it’s wild too, in its own way.”

James’ smirk turned to a scowl.  “I thought you just said-”

“Each person gets their own type,” Owl said.  It was like a pop quiz, a test on material he’d only half-learned.  No matter how much time he’d spent poring through the books there, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still completely lost.  “It changes, from person to person.”  He shook his head again.  “There’s no inheritance.  Not like that.”

“And you inherited this place,” Leon said, understanding dawning across his face.  “So it’s different.”

“Yeah,” Owl said.  “And I don’t…”  He sighed again.  “If it’s different, then I don’t know if I can use it together with Alex. Mixing our magic might not even be possible.”

“Oh,” Leon said.

The room was quiet as the trio shuffled from foot to foot, staring down at the computer.

“B-But,” Owl said.  “That’s fine.  I’ll...figure something out.  And I still don’t know if bringing Alexandria to the outside would even be a good idea.”

“You mean to the real-”

Maya elbowed James.  He stopped.

“So, yeah,” Owl said.  “It’s...It’s not a big deal.”

“Right,” Leon said, smiling faintly.  The expression seemed more sad than happy, though.  “Um...yeah.  Right.”

Oh, Owl could feel it, then.  The tension that ran in electric undercurrents through the conversation—the fabled awkward silence.  He wet his lips, casting his mind out desperately for something, anything to offer in place of more moping.  He refused to be that person dragging everyone else down.  “So, um-”

“How are things going?” James said, equally abruptly.  He’d been feeling it too, then, Owl thought with a chuckle.  “Yeah.  With Alexandria, and- and all that.”  He smiled widely, forcefully.  “Figuring anything out with- with those guests?”

Leon made an irritated noise, turning away, but Owl had already drooped an inch.  Figured it out?  His guest problem?  How the hell was he supposed to do that?  “N-No,” he mumbled.  “I...I haven’t.”

“Damn it, James,” he heard Maya mutter.

“Oh,” James said, flushing to red.  “Um.”

“That’s fine,” Leon said.  “We’ll figure it out.  And if...if all else fails...um.”

“If I can’t figure anything out...I’ll probably have to go back and negotiate with the guild,” Owl said softly.  “Alex has been pretty understanding so far, but I don’t know how long that’ll last.  She really only wants one thing, after all.”

He grimaced.  Even if the door was locked, that hadn’t stopped Alex from delivering him mail.  She’d deposited it in neatly-labeled envelopes, left on his nightstand or the end table where he set his coffee.  The letters didn’t arrive often, precisely,