I open it and search for the title page.
A Lost History of the Youngest Sister.
My stomach sinks. It was on the bottom of the pile because it was the first one I picked up.
I flip through it, but my hands are trembling so much, the pages are too. And though I try to read the words, they jumble up in my mind in my state of panic.
No. No, I was this close.
I could stay longer. Read the book. But who knows how much more time would pass, how much time I’ve already lost? What use will it be reading this book if Nolan is dead by the time I surface?
I could take it.
The thought crosses my mind like a seductive whisper.
It seems like a surefire way to get eaten by a serpent who’s already made it clear that it’s been a while since its last meal. But then again, hadn’t the serpent admitted that some had escaped with a book?
They’d been cursed, of course.
I glance up at the approaching light. It’s still so far away, there’s no chance the light is illuminating me. Or my movements.
What’s one more curse?
I douse the lantern on the table, then grab the book on the Youngest Sister and stuff it into my pants at the small of my back.
When the scribe arrives, its lantern practically blinding me, I say, “I’m glad you came. I noticed my lantern going out and let myself get spooked.”
The scribe says nothing.
“I’m ready to leave now. Thank you for your help,” I say.
The scribe turns its head toward the books on the table, and I hope it’s not counting or planning on returning the books to their spots anytime soon.
As we walk through the aisles, every step sounds like a thief, every heartbeat one of a crook. I watch the shelves, thinking of how that history book spoke of the library as a living entity. The lonely, jealous sort.
Will it feel an absence when its precious book leaves its walls? Will it whisper to the serpent that there is a rule-breaker in their midst?
I shove those thoughts aside, choosing to think only of Nolan, how I have to get to him before it’s too late.
Once we reach the double doors, the being in front of me hesitates. My heart jumps in my chest, sure it senses something is off. When it turns to me and opens its mouth, an icy wind comes off its breath.
“You are welcome,” it says.
I frown, heart still pounding, confused.
“You are the first to thank me.”
My mind shuffles back through the events in the library, trying to remember when I thanked this sad creature. Nothing comes to mind, but I don’t argue.
“You’ve been down here a long time, haven’t you?” I ask.
In answer, the scribe turns back to the door, its decrepit hand lingering on the handle. “It is blind, though it goes to great lengths to hide as much. It is deaf, but you would never know. It cannot feel, except to taste.”
I don’t have time to respond before the door swings open. Before me is the serpent, slithering quietly. “That was quick.”
“Is that supposed to be a taunt?” I ask.
“No. Only an observation. The library is not pleased that you’re leaving so soon.”
