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Eventually, I drifted off to sleep.
I foundmyself sitting in front of my desk, in my office, with a framed painting of a forest at night on the wall. All was exactly as it was meant to be. Slumber had transported me to my favorite place, to a memory from the pinnacle of my professional era.
“A big part of being senior librarian is mentoring,” Elenor said.
I propped my cherry heels on my desk, crossed my ankles, and leaned back in my executive chair. “That’s ridiculous. Being senior librarian means cherry picking the most exciting missions. It means having the best office. It means there’s only one step from becomingthe boss.”
“Don’t say that,” Elenor chided. She looked both ways as if there was someone else who would hear, or if it would actually matter had they heard me.
“He’s not going to stroll in here,” I told her. “I’m beginning to believe the boss is a disembodied voice and nothing more.”
“He’s real,” Elenor said. “And he wants you to mentor the new guy.”
“If I invest my effort, it’ll be a waste. They always die as soon as I start to like them. Better if it’s just you and me, Elenor.”
“I’mnot going into the field. And ifyoutrained the newbies, maybe some of them wouldn’t die.”
“Maybe.” I’d tried. I’d trained two—Melissa Desario and James Callaway. Both had died in the line of duty within their first year. I carried the weight of their deaths with me, the what-ifs, the regrets. I had no desire to add another name to my list.
A tall drink of gorgeousness slipped through the doorway and stepped straight past Elenor. He was lean yet muscular, and wore his dapper suit remarkably well. His dark eyes were intent on me.
I dropped my feet to the floor and stood just in time for him to sweep me off my feet and claim my mouth with his. Stars filled my eyes. My body lit up with thrill and need. Hearts floated on top of my head, while my actual heart tried to beat its way out of my chest.
No.
This was all wrong. Silas had introduced himself by telling me he intended to dethrone me as senior librarian. He’d called me sweetheart and winked. He hadnotkissed me.
The dream shifted,delivering me to a later memory. Silas stood beside me smack in the center of a dark forest. It could have been any one of many missions.
Then I noticed the huge bird prints in the dirt. There was only one memory this could be, and it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
“This way,” Silas said. “I hear something.”
“The tracks head in the opposite direction. We follow the tracks,” I told him. Then, to remind him that even if we were forced to partner, I wasnothis mentor or at all invested in his career, I added,“I’mfollowing the tracks. You do what you want.”
I headed down the dark forested path, certain that I was right. It would be better if Silas went the other direction. He’d be out of harm’s way while I took down the snallygaster and completed the mission. Not that I cared about Silas, only about myself and my glory which would be greater after I single-handedly defeated the blood-sucking monster.
The giant chicken-like footprints twisted from the path and headed out into the forest. Fallen leaves obstructed the tracks, but given the size of the creature, there was only one direction it could have gone. Flashlight in one hand, machete in the other, I forged ahead into the darkness.
A blubbering cry echoed out in the distance.
Could the snallygaster project its voice as a distraction? Or was Silas right and I was headed the wrong way?
I continued through the narrow path, catching my dress on the pokey brush.
If he was right, and he wasn’t following me….
I glanced back in the other direction, uncertainty causing me to pause.
The cry came from an entirely new direction.
I was right. The snallygaster wasn’t moving that quickly. It was this way, I was confident-ish of it.
A few steps farther, and the metallic scent of blood filled my nose. I tightened my grip on my machete and forged ahead.
I scanned the forest with my flashlight. The light caught an eight-foot chicken with reptilian scales and wings. The creature stood still as a tree, the tentacles reaching from its beaked face holding a lifeless bird. I’d found the snallygaster exactly as expected, except I hadn’t anticipated it wearing a trench coat.
Snallygasters weren’t supposed to wear clothes. If they did, I couldn’t imagine their garb being so fashionable. It was the perfect coat.
