Page 11 of Demon and the Raven

Lots of nodding.

I returned to Danesha and told her I would be right back. Following them, we went through the art history area where the unsafe wood fireplace was that was supposedly going to be replaced before winter this year. I wasn’t holding my breath. Then we started down the spiral staircase to the basement, where the historical archives were, along with all the music—vinyl albums, eight track and cassette tapes, and now new sound booths where anything could be listened to. The microfiche vaults were there, as well as maps, monographs, and all the journals, magazines, and newspapers the library kept on file.

On the opposite side of the room was a door normally kept locked but that you could check out a key for, which would then give you access to a set of old, steep stone steps that led to the smaller second basement. Flanking the stairs was ancient brick that countless people had put their hands on as they descended to make sure they didn’t take a tumble. Between the wear and tear on the stairs and the erosion of the walls, the entire entrance was a lawsuit waiting to happen. Mr. Samuels believed, as did all the head librarians before him, that because the key needed to be checked out and a waiver signed and witnessed, they were protecting themselves from liability. I didn’t think so, and when I took Lorne down there one day, he concurred.

Later, when we were leaving together, I caught him shaking his head.

“What?”

“You do realize that the first time someone actually falls on those stairs of death, it’s done, right? That whole area of the library will be sealed off permanently.”

“Or until it’s renovated.”

“Sure. But when have you seen the town vote to improve infrastructure? I just see money going to beautification projects.”

He wasn’t wrong, but tourism helped a lot of businesses. “Well, we have to hope for the best, then. I mean, all of us who have used those stairs for years know the deal. I know exactly where not to step when I’m carrying a stack of books down.”

“No, no.” He scowled at me. “Don’t do that. I don’t want to lose you because you took a header in the library. That would be a bit anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

I did.

Now, following the girls, we were all careful, arriving safely at the bottom of the musty space that was also heavy with the scents of old paper, wet stone, and dirt. I loved it, but most people didn’t enjoy the cobwebs, the thick layer of dust, or the occasional loose wooden floorboard. The wiring was faulty as well, which was why you were supposed to bring a battery-powered lamp with you.

When we came around the first bookshelf that was filled with rolled pieces of parchment and leather tubes, I saw the small table surrounded by pillows and several battery-operated candles that the girls had been using.

“There, see?” Cass pointed, stopping so sharply, I almost walked into her.

It looked like a perfectly normal Ouija board to me, with the planchette off to the side.

“What am I looking at?”

“When we left it,” Delia said, coming up beside me, “the thingy—the planchette whatever—was in the middle of the board, and now it’s all the way to the right.”

As expected, I felt nothing, and walked over to the board. The planchette was clearly sitting over the word NO. “Anything could have moved that,” I declared nonchalantly. A lie, yes, but scaring the girls was in no one’s interest.

There was a waft of deep floral and green grass then, a slight hint of the sea and some kind of spice, perhaps tonka bean or coriander, that I could never quite put my finger on. Regardless, I smiled, knowing why the lovely scent was there. Glancing around, I saw something move out of the corner of my eye, a trick of the light I would have written off if I wasn’t raised to notice.

“You know,” I said to the girls, “do we think a library is the best place for a spirit board?”

Blank looks greeted me.

“I mean, I know you picked it because it’s dark and creepy,” I said, even though I could see Mrs. Radcliffe, the first librarian in Osprey, scowling at me. “You know as well as I do,” I directed my words to her, “it’s like a bad horror movie down here.”

She rolled her eyes, and I winked. As usual, that fast, she was smiling back. We had always gotten along, from the first time I saw her shelving books in the solarium when I was five and went to speak to her, unconcerned that she had no feet. Most ghosts did not, as they were not fully corporeal. She was very kind, put her finger to her lips, and left me. My grandfather had explained that while she couldn’t speak to me, we could still communicate. Once I was older, in school, if I asked questions, if I needed to find something, she would always point me in the right direction. Normally I whispered when I spoke to her. It was a library, after all.

“Are you talking to us?” Cass asked me.

“I wasn’t, no. But now I am.”

Delia took a breath. “Is there a ghost down here?”

“Yes.”

“Is she mad that we were screwing around with the board?”

“I wouldn’t say mad. I would say disappointed.”

“Oh no,” Cass groaned. “My dad never gets mad, but he does get disappointed.”