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

Or a dragon! He waggled his fingers, remembering the way Jean shot sparks at him so easily. Strong and imposing - and magical.

His eyes drifted to Jean’s mask, though.

Crow. Crows were birds. He’d seen them in books and on his computer, even if he’d never seen one fly into the Library’s courtyard. Jean was a bird. He stared at the mask mulishly, his thoughts whirling. If Jean was a bird, he wanted to be a bird too.

A bird...

His eyelids drooped, and for a moment, he saw it again - a dream, a fragment of...something more.

He saw the room stretch out before him, lined with bookshelves so like the ones in Alexandria, only cheaper. Even from where he sat, cross-legged in a circle with people his own size, he could see they were plastic and cheap metal, not carved wood and stone.

A poster hung from the ceiling tiles overhead, bright and vivid even in the muted, faded colors of his mind’s eye. There was a bird there too, cartoonish and round. Books were piled up under its wings, and it smiled down at him with a wink and a cheery saying he couldn’t quite remember.

“An owl,” he heard himself say.

“An owl?” Jean said. He blinked, and the long-distant library was replaced with the studio. Her eyes were on his, shrewd and assessing. “That’s your choice?”

Daniel hesitated again, but something about it felt right. It was a bird, and it was...it was his. It was right. He nodded. “I think so. Yeah.”

She waggled an eyebrow at him. “Are you copying me?”

His face flushed, but she only laughed. “An owl, eh?” Jean said, leaning back in her seat. Her eyes rose to the ceiling, her lips pursing again. “That was a symbol of Athena, back in the days of her cult. It’s old.”

“Is it?” Daniel said, perking up.

She nodded. “Goes back for ages. Normally, the owl is shown as a symbol of knowledge. Wisdom, learning, all that. And, uh...”

“And?” Daniel prompted, leaning closer. A smile spread across his face.

She winced, shrugging one shoulder halfheartedly. “Occasionally it’s used as a sign of bad luck.”

His eagerness turned to ash in an instant. “O-Oh. That’s bad. I didn’t- I can-”

“It’s fine,” Jean said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry so much, Daniel. There have been Owls before, in the records. You’re not the first to take that name on.” She rolled her eyes at the chagrin that passed over his face. “And that’s not a bad thing either. Settle down.”

“Okay,” Daniel mumbled, squirming in his seat.

Jean leaned forward, letting go of him to reach across the table, and he quieted. She picked out tools one after another - metal blades and needles, with wooden paddles. None of which he recognized, of course.

She certainly seemed to be familiar with them, as she began shaping and carving the clay around the form. “About the rest...do you understand, Daniel?”

“About staying hidden?” he said. She nodded. “Yeah. I think. I don’t want them coming here. Bad people. So I just have to wear this, right?”

“Right,” she said, curling her blade around the outline of another feather. “You have to mind what you say, too. And wear your overcoat. And-”

“I get it,” he groaned, slumping lower.

She laughed, but there was a reservation to the sound. “Good. Just...remember that much. And hand me that.” She pointed to another implement.

Daniel hurried to grab it, passing it over. She murmured her thanks, leaning back over the mask. “Now, watch closely. I’ll show you how, but next time you’ll be on your own.”

On his own?

Why?

Again, the warning bells went off in his head, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Not when she was smiling faintly, her face bent over and framed by her hair.

He couldn’t ask, and so he sat, waiting, and watched her work.

* * * * *

Unlike the rest of the building, the entrance of the Library was lined with grand, open windows. Daniel shifted from foot to foot, following behind Jean.

Behind Crow, he corrected himself. She’d donned her coat before she woke him, with heavy leather falling almost to her knees and a hood pulled up until not even a wisp of hair poked through. Her mask went underneath, buckled in securely.

She glanced down at him, her steps slowing. “Well?”

Right. Right. He fumbled at his hip. She’d shown him how to strap his mask to his coat there, conveniently carried around in case the need arose. The buckle caught under his nervous, unsure fingers. Another pull and a tug, and it came free.

Before he could press it to his face, though, Daniel slowed. The mask glowed in his hands, all brilliant whites and soft, tawny browns. She’d called it a barn owl, when she handed it to him. She’d even put lenses in the eyes, dark circles of glass that’d obscure even the slightest trace of him from sight. She’d thought of everything.

The world went black as he turned the mask over, pressing it to his face.

And then it all came back, surging into color and light as the mask’s padding brushed his skin. Owl exhaled, listening to the air whistling through the mask’s slit.

“Buckle it in, kid. Don’t just sit there staring,” Crow said, crossing to him with a groan. She crouched before him, tugging his hood higher and grabbing for the straps.

He rocked back on his heels, listening as she explained it. Now and again, he nodded, feeling the unfamiliar weight hanging from his face.

Another moment, another breath, and she stood, stretching. “G-Good. Okay, then. Keep that snug, from now on. Got it?”

“Yeah,” he said, starting to grin before remembering she couldn’t see it. “I got it.”

“You’d better.” She turned on her heel, squaring off against the Library’s massive double-doors. They rose half again as tall as her, inlaid with silver and gold in intricate whorls and loops.

A keyring jingled at her side. She pulled it free, grabbing at one without so much as glancing down. Into