At the end of each aisle of books was a window, though it didn’t do any good to help her understand where she was. Like the lamps, the windows were made of stained-glass. It was night, judging by the pale light that was filtering in through the stained-glass windows, only giving enough illumination to just barely show the images they depicted.
It resembled a window in a church, the way it was made and painted—the way it glorified the figure in it. But the first figure she saw was of Professor James Moriarty. She blinked. Odd. Down the other aisle that was the mirror image of the first? Mr. Hyde.Veryodd. Turning, she peered around the corner, looking for anyone hiding in the shadows. No one.
“Hello?” she called again. No one answered.
Reaching for her phone, she sighed. She’d left it on the table. No dice.
Picking a direction in the massive library, she just started walking. There was nothing much else to do, besides justgo.There had to be an exit. And people. And a phone. She needed to call for help. And an ambulance. Whatever drugs that book had been laced with had really done a number on her.
She was clearly tripping balls and had wedged herself somewhere in the library, and she had to hope one of her coworkers found her.
“Is anyone there? Hello?” And she needed to also call Sidney and tell her she was alive, and while she was coming down from whatever screwed up new form of LSD that the book had been covered in, she was?—
“That depends entirely on how you defineanyone.”
Sasha froze. The voice had come from behind her. She turned, but…no one was there. She recognized the voice—she’d heard it once before. It was the voice from when she touched the book.
It belonged to the man who had been playing the piano. Sharp. Dangerous. But with a low rumble to it that set the hair on the back of her neck standing up.
The man’s accent was decidedly British, and his tone had that twist of a smile to it that promised that whatever horrible thing he was about to do to her, he was going to enjoy it agreatdeal.
“Didn’t realize that was a word up for debate,” she muttered, half under her breath. Deciding she wanted nothing to do with whoever the voice belonged to, she turned to go in the direction she had been heading.
And walked right into someone.
Taking a quick, staggering step back, she rubbed her nose. It felt like she’d stepped right into a damn brick wall! “Sorry, I?—”
The man chuckled. “Words arealwaysup for debate. That is the joy of language. Ever changing. Ever evolving.”
Sasha stared.
Whoever this man was, it was very quickly clear that he…wasn’t normal. She took a careful, slow step away from him.
No, it was very quickly clear that he wasn’t awho.But awhat.It wasn’t even clear at first what about him was so uncanny. But everything in her body told her to run.
Because something primal in her body told her he wasn’thuman.
The man—or whatever he was—was, to his credit, just standing there with his hands clasped behind his back. His hair was as black as obsidian and slicked back, though curls of it stuck out at untamed and odd angles, as though despite his best intentions, it wouldn’t obey.
He was, to his credit, extremely handsome. Like something off of a book cover. Something that she would have stared at and thought was impossible for people to achieve. He wore an expensive andexquisitely tailored, somewhat vintage style black suit, with a matching black vest, black silk tie, and white shirt. A single, dark purple rose was tucked into his lapel.
Then she realized what it was.
What about him was triggering her need torun for her life.
It was his eyes.
His eyes weren’t right at all.
Not only just the fact that they were purple, and seemingly somehowglowing,but they seemed surreal in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. Like they were somehow too sharp. Too hyper-real.
But most of all? The biggest problem with him? It was that the man screamed, with every fiber of his being—from his clothing, to his demeanor, to the glint in his eyes, to his hungry, wolfish smile?—
Hello. Nice to meet you.
I’m evil incarnate.
The man was smiling at her, seemingly patiently letting her take him in, before with a dramatic flourish of a hand, he folded one arm before him and bowed low. “Not a bad summary, I must admit. Welcome to my home, Sasha Lancaster.”
