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There are even more materials in the basement of the building, but only certain patrons are allowed to descend the staircase leading down to those stacks. Fern, the assistant librarian, who’s been helping me with my supernatural research thus far, warned that there are “dangerous texts” in the subterranean sections—materials that should only be handled by experienced hands.
But how “dangerous” can a book really be? And there are also spells down there, or at least there were once upon a time.
The old journals I found in the attic confirm that my grandmother often visited the basement in search of witchy wisdom. As far as I can tell, she never found the spell to renew the shield, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. The collection is allegedly extensive, and Wanda probably wasn’t worried about renewing the shield. Her older sister, Waverly, had already married an elder ten years before and the shield was secure for her lifetime.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Annie asks as we board the tram down the mountain to Nightfall proper. We’re the only two passengers aboard this morning. The other guests went home late last night, and all the vampires are tucked inside for the day. “You don’t have to sew. You can just have donuts and coffee and chat with the girls. They’re all really nice.”
“No, thanks,” I say, sipping my coffee as the chilly breeze nips at my cheeks, promising winter is right around the corner. “I want to take a long walk on the beach. Clear my head.”
She frowns but doesn’t ask why I need to clear my head.
She also hasn’t asked a single question about what’s up with Darcy and me, a fact that’s driving me a little crazy. But I know better than to bring it up myself. That wouldn’t be normal Blaire behavior. I don’t instigate boy talk, especially if I actually like the guy. The more I care, the more I clam up, and Annie knows it.
So, I force myself to stick to chat about lunch plans and the chances of sneaking in a nap this afternoon before we get dressed for the boating trip tonight. I pretend to be excited about the moonlit sail up and down the coast—I’m not about to let Annie in on the fact that I’m dreading being trapped in such close quarters with stupidly sexy Darcy in my fragile emotional state—and wave goodbye as she starts up the steps to the community center.
On the off chance anyone is watching me through the windows, I head toward the beach, only circling back toward Main Street when I’m out of sight.
Sticking close to the tree line at the edge of the bluffs, I approach the library from behind, where I’m less likely to be observed. There aren’t many people out and about this morning—Sundays are notoriously chill around here, a true day of rest for most of the residents—but caution is always a good idea when breaking and entering.
“Or just walking right in,” I murmur as I try the back door and it opens easily beneath my hand. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I step inside, tiptoeing through what looks like a coat room and a small storage area for the librarians’ personal things before peeking through the heavy blue velvet curtain shielding the area from the main room.
I scan the stacks and the large circular reference desk in the center of the space, but there’s no sign of life aside from a single moth fluttering in frustrated circles by the window, clearly trying to find a way out.
“Hello?” I call out softly, just in case. “It’s Blaire. Just stopping by to return something. Is anyone here?”
I’m answered by nothing but silence and another desperate flap from the moth’s tattered wings. Shoulders relaxing, I step through the curtain and hurry toward the vampire lore section. I pass the moth on my way and stop to crack the window a smidge, letting the insect flutter to freedom before I close it again, ensuring I’m truly alone as I slide the book back onto its shelf.
Rubbing my hands together against the chill creeping into my fingers, I hurry over to the stairwell. There’s a red velvet rope dangling between two golden pillars at the top of the stairs, marking the area as off-limits, but when I step over it and start down the circular staircase, no alarm sounds.
The lack of any real obstacle to entering the forbidden area eases my anxiety as I hurry down, down, down the seemingly endless circular staircase. After all, if the items down in the bowels of the library were that dangerous, surely, they’d have tighter security measures in place. Just to keep kids from sneaking in and getting into trouble if nothing else.
From what I’ve seen of the supernatural kids and teens around here so far, they seem very much like the small-town kids I grew up with in Maine, a mixture of wild and wonderfully behaved, with a penchant for finding ways to spice up their sleepy lives with mischief. Their pranks and adventures are mostly harmless, however, and the adults are always there in the background, ready to step in if things get out of hand.
They wouldn’t leave the temptation of these forbidden texts so easily accessible if there were anything real to fear.
Or so I tell myself as I arrive in the dimly lit catacombs. Even a quick glance down the main passages spiraling away from the stairs like spokes on a wheel is enough to assure me this area is much, much bigger than the historical building upstairs.
Older, too, I’m guessing. The stone archways that form the tunnel supports and the rows of marble shelves look ancient, as if they’ve been here since the Middle Ages. I’m suddenly possessed by the feeling that I’m not in Nightfall, anymore; that I’ve been transported to some other realm, one that exists outside of space and time.
One that it would be very unwise to get lost in…
No one knows I’m here, after all. I could disappear into the stacks and die of dehydration before anyone thought to look for me in the catacombs.
But luckily, I haven’t washed my overalls since the gig at Sally’s place. The chalk I used to mark my drill holes for the shelves is still in my pocket. If I scratch a tiny arrow on the floor every time I make a turn, I should be able to retrace my steps—and rub the floor clean without too much trouble.
But where to begin?
“Where would I be if I were an ancient spell book?” I mutter into the surprisingly dry, silent air. This deep underground and close to the ocean, I would expect the humidity to be higher, but it isn’t, a thing that adds to the disturbing feeling of inhabiting a space that isn’t quite of this world.
No answer comes from the stacks, but my gut says to hang a right, so I do. When I reach the third opening in the shelves, I’m struck by another urge, this time to turn left, so I crouch down and make a pink chalk arrow on the floor.
Crossing my arms against the chill, I wander past more rows of increasingly ancient books. But even as the spines transform from faded canvas to battered leather, there isn’t so much as a whiff of dust or neglect. These books are lovingly cared for and preserved. Which likely means that what I’m looking for isn’t anywhere nearby. Darcy said the Blackmores brought in several witch consultants to try to work on the shield. They wouldn’t have done that without thoroughly searching the catacombs for information first.
But the maze is enormous. They could have missed a spell book if it were tucked away in a forgotten corner somewhere.
I need to head toward the loneliest, dustiest recesses of the catacombs. And I need to do it fast if I’m going to get back upstairs to meet Annie by noon at the Pug and Crone for shepherd’s pie.
Breaking into a jog, I hurry past more rows of neatly arranged volumes, putting what has to be half a mile or more between me and the stairs before I make another turn. This one I mark with a larger pink arrow since the light is dimmer in this section and I worry I might miss a small scratch on the dark gray stone.
