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He nodded toward one of the empty chairs. Jenny, as a figment of Landen’s imagination, was technically the same as an Imaginary Childhood Friend. And that being so, the Wingco was able to see her. He described her as “amusing and charming, but with a streak of melancholy.” It made the whole “Jenny is not real” issue a mite confusing, but if you considered that the only person who could see her wasn’t real either, it helped.
I thanked the Wingco and left him to Mr. Snuffles.
Aornis’ ability to alter memories was tiresome, and the mindworm she had given Landen gave me especial reason to despise her. Still, at least after looking at the security images at TJ-Maxx, we had something to work on. We’d find Aornis, no matter where she was hiding. And, being a mnemonomorph, she could be hiding just about anywhere.
12.
Tuesday: Library
The SLS was the Special Library Service’s, the elite forces charged to protect the nation’s literary heritage, either in libraries or in transit. It had taken over many of SO-27’s duties when the latter was disbanded, and its commitment was never in question. All members had sworn to “take a bullet” in order to protect their charges, and an average of three a year did. The SLS was the most respected law-enforcement group in the nation, often featured in movies and on its own TV series. Recruitment was never an issue.
Mobie Drake, Librarians—Heroes of the New Generation
It was one of those crisp late-summer mornings, when a drop in the temperature gives the air a sharpness like frost on a beer glass, and the leaves, which had clung desperately to the trees throughout the summer, were now begin
ning to fall upon the ground. I’d missed all this in the BookWorld, for although we had mornings that matched the description, you didn’t really witness them—just the description. In fact, residents of the BookWorld would comment on a beautiful morning in that sort of odd metalanguage they often used: “What a beautifully described morning!”
Friday was working the early shift for the rest of the week and so was gone by the time we came down, and Tuesday was, as usual, not keen to go school.
“We’ve discussed this before,” I said in my mildly firm mum voice. “You’re going to have a normal childhood whether you like it or not.”
She pulled a face. “I have some work to do on the defense shield.”
“You’ll go to school, my girl—even if only for the morning. Just remember not to take the dopey teenage thing too far.”
“No flashing?”
“Right,” I said, “and especially not to Gavin Watkins.”
She gave a loud harumph and, without another word, got up from the breakfast table and stomped upstairs to get ready for school.
“Do you think we’re doing the right thing?” asked Landen, sitting down at the table.
“I don’t know,” I replied, staring after Tuesday. “Whatever we do, it’ll probably turn out to be wrong.”
“Hurt yourself?” he asked.
“Where?”
“On your face. It looks like someone thumped you.”
“I assure you no one did,” I replied, although I had noticed it myself, as well as several skinned knuckles and two broken fingernails that I had no memory of breaking.
“And that bandage?” he asked, pointing to my wrapped hand.
“Oh, that was a burn,” I replied hastily—on a saucepan.”
I poured some more coffee. I hadn’t burned myself, of course. I had simply covered up the tattoo on the back of my hand that read JENNY IS A MINDWORM so that Landen didn’t see it and go off on a furious rant. What was confusing to me was that I was the one with the warning tattoo—it would have made more sense on Landen’s hand.
“I’d better make sure Jenny is ready for school,” he said, rising.
“She’s ready,” I said, “and . . . just doing her homework. I’ll ensure that Tuesday looks after her on the bus in.”
I repeated the instructions to Tuesday in case Landen was within earshot, and Tuesday acted out her part by saying something to Jenny. I let Tuesday out of the security gate, made sure she was safe onto the school bus, then returned inside. The Wingco was in the kitchen when I got back.
“Was that Imaginary Childhood Friend of any use?” I asked. “Mr. Snuffles? Not really,” admitted the Wingco. “The trouble with ICFs is that they are invented by children and so don’t have a large vocabulary or sophisticated worldview. It’s an ongoing problem—most of the time we talk about sibling rivalry, the price of sweeties and how repulsive spinach is. Still, I’ll keep at it. Oh, I managed to get some information.”
“And?”
