Chapter
One
Winter
Istared at the mess of clothes scattered across my bedroom floor with a resigned sigh. The clean pile had migrated into the dirty pile sometime during the week, creating an archaeological dig of my wardrobe choices. Somewhere in that fabric jungle was something appropriate for work. There had to be.
"Shit, shit, shit," I mumbled around a piece of toast dangling from my mouth, honey dripping dangerously close to my ratty sleep shirt. My knee twinged as I bent to rifle through a promising stack near my dresser.
My third alarm, the "you're officially late now" alarm, blared from my phone, making me jump. I wasn't still asleep (small victories), but that didn't change the fact that I was running behind.
"I know, I know," I grumbled, silencing the shrill reminder with a swipe of my finger. "Shut up already."
I grabbed what looked like my black work slacks from beneath a sweater I didn't remember owning and hoppedawkwardly into them, nearly toppling into my nightstand when my bad knee protested the movement. Yanking them up, I frantically scanned the room for a clean blouse.
"Come on, where are you?" I spotted a promising cream-colored button-up half-hidden under my bed. I snatched it up, giving it a quick sniff test. Good enough.
As I buttoned it with one hand and finished my toast with the other, I glanced at Frank's bowl on my dresser. My betta fish swished his magnificent blue tail, watching me with what I swear was judgment.
"Don't look at me like that. Not everyone can have their food magically appear twice a day," I sprinkled a few flakes into his bowl. "Some of us have to work for a living."
I grabbed my bag, keys, and phone, and gave Frank a little salute. "Hold down the fort, buddy. I'll be back after I organize a bunch of dusty scrolls that could potentially turn me into a toad if I'm not careful."
My ancient Honda protested as I cranked the engine, but eventually coughed to life. I pulled out of my apartment complex, joining the morning commute to Arcadia University, where I'd spent the last decade of my life shelving books and cataloging magical artifacts in the library's special collections.
At a red light, I glanced at the sidewalk where a harried-looking businessman checked his watch while waiting to cross beside a seven-foot minotaur in a tailored suit, his massive bovine head bobbing as he spoke into a cell phone. A young witch in training robes levitated her coffee cup while checking her phone, nearly colliding with an elderly goblin couple who were arguing over a newspaper. Just another typical morning in the city.
It wasn't until I was halfway to work, stopped at another light, that I looked down and noticed the large purplish stainon my blouse, right at chest level where it couldn't possibly be missed.
"You have got to be kidding me," I groaned, poking at the spot. Grape jelly from last Wednesday's lunch, most likely. I'd grabbed the shirt from the "probably clean enough" section of my floor, and now I was paying the price.
The light changed, and I accelerated with a sigh. Too late to turn back now. I'd have to make do.
When I pulled into the staff parking lot, I remembered the navy cardigan I kept in my car for the library's aggressive air conditioning. I reached into the backseat, fishing it out from under a pile of reusable grocery bags I never remembered to actually use.
"Better than nothing," I muttered, slipping it on despite the muggy summer air that hit me like a wall when I stepped out of my car. By the time I hurried up the grand stone steps of the library, sweat was already gathering at my temples and down my back. The cardigan was a mistake, but a necessary one.
Malko, my boss, stood at the circulation desk with his massive arms crossed over his chest. His gray-green skin looked particularly mossy this morning, a sign he was annoyed. The troll's tusks jutted out from his lower jaw as he checked his watch pointedly.
"Ten minutes late, Ms. Winter." His voice rumbled like stones in a dryer.
"I know, I'm sorry," I tried not to pant from my dash across campus. "My alarm…"
He held up one giant hand. "Save it. New scrolls came in from the Mediterranean dig. They need organizing and preliminary classification before the professors get their hands on them."
I nodded, setting my bag behind the desk. "I'll get started right away."
"And Winter?" Malko called as I turned toward the special collections room. "Wear the anti-magic gloves this time. Professor Nightshade is still finding glitter in his beard from the last scroll you handled without protection."
"That was one time," I protested weakly, but he'd already turned back to his computer, effectively dismissing me.
I trudged to the back room, my knee complaining with each step. The humidity always made it ache worse, and the heavy cardigan wasn't helping my overall comfort. When I pushed open the door to the processing room, I nearly groaned out loud.
"A huge stack" was an understatement. Scrolls were piled high on the sorting table, some clearly ancient with frayed edges and faded ink, others newer but thrumming with contained magical energy. This would take all day, if not longer.
Sighing, I pulled on the thick dragonhide gloves from their special case, which smelled like mothballs and old magic, and picked up the first scroll. The label marked it as a weather manipulation text from 3rd century Greece. I placed it in the "elemental magic" bin and reached for the next.
For the next three hours, I sorted through scroll after scroll. Weather spells, healing incantations, transformation curses, historical accounts of magical battles, and even a few embarrassing love poems written by a lovesick wizard who had terrible rhyming skills. My knee throbbed and the cardigan felt like it was slowly cooking me alive.
