Spectrus Chapter One

Spectrus

Chapter One

    I drifted through the lines of shelves like a ghost, following the flickering balls of blue light as they bobbed and weaved through the endless maze of books. Stacks of volumes littered the floor, loose pages sticking out at asymmetrical angles. Occasionally, I’d bump into one of the teetering stacks, sending them cascading to the floor in a heart lurching crash. Each time, I’d hurry forward as the wisp of light drifted farther away, undeterred by my clumsiness.

    Finally, as it turned around a final corner, I lost sight of it for only a moment before rounding the corner myself—but it was gone. A sign on the corner of the tall shelf told me I was on aisle Z-24. Non-fiction. A thick layer of dust lay on the shelves, the books, everything. Without the blue light, the library was dark, and sounds seemed to echo from the dimness around me. My heart began to pound in my chest, and I swallowed hard, afraid to move from the spot where I stood.

    “Do not be afraid,” said a quiet, female voice from somewhere behind me. I whirled. There was nothing but books behind me. “Hello, Cortensia,” the voice said again. My heart leapt into my throat as I realized it had come from a book on the shelf in front of me.

    My hand shook as I lifted it, trailing it over the spines of the ordinary seeming books in front of me. They were bound in leather, or cloth, or paper, most of them thick with titles like “Mechanics: For Idiots.”

    One, however, stood out to me. It was leather, and thick, the thickest book on the shelf in front of me. The spine had a single word written across it in an elegant scrawl: “Spectrus.”

    As I lifted the book off the shelf, it was much heavier than I anticipated, as if weighted. It was also warm to the touch, as if it had been sitting in the sunlight, despite the layer of dust covering the shelf in front of it, the lack of windows in this section of the library, and the fact that it was night time. I pursed my lips, sucking in my breath as I felt the book's pleasure at me selecting it from the shelf. “Good,” it crooned sweetly. “Come find me, Cortensia,” it whispered, and the floor dropped out from beneath my feet.

    I felt myself falling, the shelves of the library suspended in place as I fell through the world as if the ground had ceased to exist.

    I jolted awake, gasping, the blankets tangled around me as I sat up in bed, my heart pounding. My breathing slowed as the dream washed back over me. I could still hear the phantom whisper of the book as I held it in my hands, but shook my head. I’d been reading too much fantasy. I looked around on the bed, locating the book I had fallen asleep reading. The lamp on the table next to my bed still shone brightly—a norm, at this point. Finding the book, the bookmark miraculously tucked tight into the spine, I tossed it gently onto the nightstand, and reached for the light switch, flicking it off with a small click.

    It was at that moment my phone, plugged into the short black cable extending from beneath my bed, began to buzz, my alarm blaring a sound that I could only describe as what flowers would listen to if they had ears, through the speakers at full volume. I let my head fall backward for a moment in exasperation. I had been hoping to go back to sleep.

    I had spent the majority of the night devouring the last book in a seven part series I had been reading and rereading since forever. A tale of magic and sorcery, hidden treasure of a boy with a chipped tooth grin who couldn't stop punishing himself for things that weren't his fault—I couldn't get enough.

    Olivia Ross was an artist with pen and paper, and it was honestly a miracle I let myself sleep at all before I found out how exactly the main character, Cassie, escaped an eternal pit she had fallen into. I was sure she would survive. Despite the fact that I had only seventy-three pages left, I forced myself to hope she would find a way out as I flung off the blankets, taking up my phone and shutting off the soothing sounds of nature without looking at the time.

    I pulled my mess of long, dense red curls up and into a certifiable rat’s nest on the top of my head, wrapping it with a pink hair tie that I kept around my wrist. It was still slightly damp from my shower last night—the perks of thick hair, I thought, rolling my eyes—but would hopefully dry before the end of the day. Usually, I wouldn’t bother to care. But… my cheeks warmed as I thought of the boy with tan skin, dark curls, and the bright, white toothed smile. He’d come into the library yesterday. And the day before. He’d struck up a friendly conversation. He was polite. He enjoyed reading the “Tale Of Twin Cities” series.

    One of the first times I had spoken to him, he had smiled at me as I raved about the newest book, (before I had gotten to the part where Cassie had fallen into the pit) telling me to wait because it only got better. When I had asked him what he meant, how he could know, as the book had only been published a few days ago, he only chuckled, telling me he would tell no secrets. Before he’d left, I’d asked him his name.

    “Finish the book,” he said with a smirk, his blue eyes glittering. “Then, I’ll tell you.”

    I’d glared at him. “I’m going to finish the book,” I said, shaking my head and rolling my eyes. “Why can’t you tell me your name now?”

    His smirk grew into a smile, and he bit his lip nervously for a moment, scratching the back of his neck. He shook his head. “Just… because. Trust me,” he said, tilting his head like a curious golden retriever. “It’ll be worth it.”

    I’d narrowed my eyes at him in irritation. At the time, I had just begun reading. Four hundred and fifty-two pages had lain between me and his name. That was four days ago. I’d intended to finish the book last night, and hoped that I could finish it at work today, instead. I worked at the St. Peters Public Library of Longwater Missouri, a small town of around twelve-thousand people, and could usually get away with reading at the ‘returns’ desk after I finished shelving the books for the day—just so long as I didn’t get so lost in the world I forgot to do my job.

    Mrs. Aubrey, my boss, was a stern looking, white haired eighty-four year old woman who walked almost doubled over due to the lump on her back. She was also sweet as candy, and made jokes that would make sailors blush. All in all, I think she was my favorite person in the entire world.

    She was also a pain in the butt when you were late. I checked the time. 7:28. Shit, I thought. It took 30 minutes to walk to the library. I must have slept through my first alarm. My stomach growled, but I ignored it as I stripped off my red tank top, and the black shorts I had stolen from an old boyfriend—I couldn’t even remember his name at this point, and cared more about the shorts than him. I replaced the clothes with a long, fuzzy sweater with a white collar and a pair of pale blue jeans. It was midsummer, a warm day in late July, and it was already hot in my room, but the library stayed cold all year long, the stone walls keeping the sun at bay and the AC in. The downside was, unless you wore a sweater, you’d likely spend your entire shift shivering.

    I shoved my feet into socks, and my socks into my thick leather work boots—waterproof, just in case of rainy days. Honestly, they were overkill for work in a library but after I had sunk ankle deep into a puddle on my way to work about a year ago, I had been determined that waterproof footwear was necessary. I had worked all day, my shoes squelching with every step, my feet aching by the end of the day. It had been awful.

    I was down the stairs and out the front door in less than thirty seconds, stopping only briefly to scratch my cat Wojack on the top of his tabby colored head, and scoop up the satchel from the table beside him. He let out a loud, low, rumbling meow as I opened the door and slid out, closing it behind me. I was instantly hit by the wave of heat, and groaned, wishing I could turn around and walk back inside. Then, realizing my hands were empty, I stopped. I saw the book “Embers and Starlight” in my mind’s eye, sitting on my bedside table. I was only barely going to make it to work on time, but... It was worth it. I pursed my lips, and turned around, jogging back up the stairs to grab my book, before flinging myself back out into the dreaded heat.

    I don’t like to brag, but if there was a competition for speed-read-walking, I’d win. I’ve worked at St. Peters Library for six years. I knew the shelves by heart. I knew the route to the library by sense of feel. My feet took me the two miles as if they had their own brain as I gazed down at the cover. It held an image of Cassie, a thin, sharp looking girl with wide, honey colored eyes and long, straight brown hair. She was falling from an open night sky, into smoldering flames beneath her. A man with pale skin and a snarl was plummeting with her, hand outstretched to her, as if he could catch her, his purple hair swept upward by the wind.

    As of a day ago, I had found out that this man was named Rain. I… couldn’t bring myself to like him. He was handsome. He was charismatic. He seemed to have Cassie’s best interest at heart. He also seemed to be pushing Ashtrin, Cassie’s childhood best friend and love interest of four and a half books, having firmly established themselves as a couple in the last book “Seas and Sky.”

    They’d had a short-lived, intensely romantic five chapters before Rain had appeared, seemingly with all the answers, and a mischievous smile that made Cassie’s heart flutter. I hated it. And now… he had wings. Of course.

    As I read about Rain swooping down through the endless pit, catching Cassie up in his heavily muscled arms, I found myself pursing my lips. Was there anything this man couldn’t do?

    He made a stupid joke about dropping in that made Cassie blush, and made me actually look up to roll my eyes. Then, I continued to read.

    Rain held Cassie close, his warmth soaking into the fabric of her work robes, warming her. The air in the pit had been icy, so cold her hands felt like icicles as she clutched them to her chest. “You’re freezing!” Rain exclaimed, tightening an arm around her. Before she could react he adjusted, holding her around the waist with one broad arm as he wrapped her body with his other. She couldn’t breathe for a moment, could feel every inch their bodies touched, a fire licking from his skin onto hers as they shot upward.

    She had been falling for so long, it was surprising when golden light finally stabbed her eyes, causing her to duck her head into Rain’s shoulder, squinting her eyes shut. She felt a gentle jolt as his feet met solid earth and he let go. She fell to her knees, clutching the grass between her fingers, as if the blades could hold her to the ground. Ashtrin was there in a moment, hands on her shoulders, checking her for injuries. Satisfied she was uninjured, he whirled on Rain. “What the hell are you?” His voice was rough and ragged with fear. Rain’s wings flapped slowly behind him as he glared at Ashtrin.

    Rain smirked. “You know what I am. And, you’re welcome, by the way, for saving her life,” Rain said, shaking his head.

    I knew it. I knew it! There was no way Mr. Purple-haired-perfect-smile was human! The question was, what the hell was he, how had he found them, and why was he following them like a lost damned puppy? I’d admit, I didn’t know how Cassie would have gotten out of the pit without him, but I still didn’t trust him. He seemed to show up exactly when Cassie was in danger, as if he had some type of tell. I hope—I practically prayed to Olivia Ross—that it wasn’t some kind of ‘love of your life knows when you’re in danger and shows up just on time’ situation. Rain was nice, but he was certainly no Ashtrin.

    I made it to the library too soon, but just on time. I sighed as I closed the book, tucking it gently into my satchel, as the large, stone building came into view. There were probably 40 steps leading to it, and while I could read and walk, I’ve lost my footing one too many times to attempt climbing the stairs with my nose in a book while running late. I pulled out my phone. 7:58.

    I could do that. Easy. I charged up the thankfully empty stairs. In the evenings, especially during the weekends, the stairs tended to become a gathering place for teenagers and wanderers. In a town as small as Longwater, you didn't have many options when it came to entertainment. You could go see a movie. You could go walk around the nearest grocery store, Martha Mart. You could go sit in front of the library with your friends, or walk around Town square. Or, you could stay home and read, as I so often opted to do. My friend Charlotte, a blue-eyed, brown haired, sunshine of a person, would occasionally invite me out to hit up the local thrift stores with her, but I rarely accepted, due to the fact that they often closed before my shift at the library ended. The perks of a small town.

    It didn’t bother me much. I enjoyed the library. I liked to sit in the comfortable, plush sitting areas, reading whichever book was most important that day, sometimes until it closed, and Mrs. Aubrey came to tell me it was time to leave. Each time this happened, she’d offer to check out any books I wanted to take home with a smile, asking me about the contents. Mrs. Aubrey would sometimes joke that I wanted to read the entire library, and sometimes I felt like it myself. If words could sustain me, could keep my body fueled and sleep at bay, I would spend an eternity curled in an armchair by the window, sunlight streaming through to illuminate the words.

    The library had a pair of clear double doors that opened outward, and when I pulled the one on the right toward me I was met with a blast of cold AC. I let out a long groan of satisfaction as I melted into the cool air. The large, crescent moon shaped front desk was already manned by Mrs. Aubrey, who didn’t look up as I entered. “Calling it a bit close this morning, Tency?” she called as she straightened a stack of papers and organized the desk around her. She pointed at a black cart already set into position beside the desk, primed with around seventy to eighty books ranging from the children’s section to romance novels. Some of the books I wouldn’t even let in the same room as a child. Maudrey Odd’s “A Pale Rose At Sunset” had been the single most face-reddening book I had ever read, giving me vivid dreams for a week as I flew through the pages.

    “You know me, Mrs. A,” I said with a smile, stowing my bag behind the counter before stalking to my cart. I began to organize the books, placing Maudrey Odd on the second shelf, and bringing “The Tiger And Lilly” by Rebecca Cornish to the top. Better. A little more shuffling, and the cart was at least somewhat in order. “I stayed up late trying to finish Embers.”

    Mrs. Aubrey tutted. “And how far did you get?”

    I smiled, “378.”

    “My, my, I don’t know how you do it,” she said, a smile coloring her voice as she moved to staple some papers together.

    I blushed. “I’m just… really invested,” I mumbled, and pursed my lips. I didn’t know if I was more invested in the story, or—

    Finally, she looked up, over her cherry red glasses, her smile mischievous. “I suppose it has nothing to do with that boy.”

    I blanched, and felt my face go even hotter. “W-What?” I squeaked. “No! I—I just—I like—”

    Mrs. Aubrey began to laugh at me, and went back to her work, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Young love,” as she shook her head.

    Cheeks on fire, I decided to take care of the non-fiction first—to get as far from Mrs.Aubrey and her too-correct assumptions about why I’m running through the final book in my favorite series. It was because I loved it, I told myself, grabbing the handle of my cart and heading for the elevator. It was because Olivia Ross was amazing, I continued to say to myself as I hauled my cart in behind me. It was because I had to know how it ended. Not because of a boy. Never because he won’t tell me his name. Definitely not because his face popped into my head every time I looked at the cover. No. Definitely not.

    I pressed the button labeled LL2, which meant ‘Lower level 2,’ the lowest level in the library. It housed non-fiction, self help, religious materials, and our vast collections of ‘vintage’ media. IE, any magazines and newspapers from the last eighty years. Longwater Missouri didn’t have much to offer, but our library was one of the largest in the state. It was, in all honesty, the only reason to come to the town.

    The old elevator clanked and buzzed as it descended, making my stomach drop as it always did. I hated elevators. But I couldn’t exactly drag my cart down the stairs. Besides, I reminded myself, it hadn’t broken down since last September, and even then it only got stuck between the first and second levels. Thankfully, I had not been onboard at the time, had not been one of the 3 people forced to crawl out on their bellies as the firemen held the doors open for them. The chances of it happening again, I told myself as the door buzzed slowly open, were statistically low.

    I pushed my cart out, and shivered, despite my sweater. The lower levels were always the coldest. The lights down here were dim, and the one above the elevator bank flickered slightly, as if there were something wrong with the electrical. As I stepped out into the lobby, it flickered and popped, making a loud crack. I jumped halfway out of my skin, practically screaming, “Shit!” I let out a long, low sigh. I’d have to remember to tell Mrs. Aubrey about that.

    Placing my hand on my heart for a moment and shaking my head at my own jumpiness, I made my way around my cart. I only had a few non-fiction today. A few self help, and a cookbook. I made my way to the cooking section, placing “Modern Breakfasts” by Trinity Stolk on the shelf between “Ancient Eggs” by Edwin Stoan and “Food for the Soul, Thought for the Mind,” by Mancy Stuntry, and then moving on to the self-help section.

    It wasn’t until I took a closer look at the book in my hand that I remembered my dream. “Mechanics: For Idiots.” I laughed a little to myself, shaking my head, as I placed it back on the shelf next to "Neuroscience: For Idiots.”

    It had been a strange dream. Wandering through a library that wasn’t unlike my own, more dust, more dark. Stacks of books on the floor. Mrs. Aubrey would kill me if I left stacks of books on the floor, I thought as I pushed my cart back toward the elevator bank. That’s when I heard it. I quiet tinkle, like a quiet tap of the key of a piano. But there was no piano on this level, or in the library. Cold ran down my spine as I turned toward the sound. It continued.

    Tink…tink… and then a higher pitch. Tink! The notes continued, playing softly and slowly, until I recognized a song. It was playing music. Classical music. My mind wanted to call it Mozart, or Beethoven, but I had never been able to tell the difference, even with them clearly labeled, much less with my heart trying to pound its way out of my throat. My mouth went dry. I felt frozen to the spot. My dream rushed back to me, and I thought about bolting. But… I looked at the signs on the shelves in front of me. X-21, X-22, X-23, X-24. I pursed my lips, and took a deep breath, leaving my cart by the elevators as I moved forward through the shelves, to the next row, the music growing louder, faster.

    Z-21, Z-22, Z-23, Z-24. I swallowed, making my way to the shelf. It was darker here. The light in this row had burned out as well. I followed the music to where I knew it was coming from. A thick leather bound volume on the middle shelf, at eye height. “Spectrus.”

    I let out a shaky breath. There was a reasonable explanation for this. I have shelved these books for six years. I have probably seen this book before, shelved it before, knew where it went, and just dreamed about it for… some reason.

    I reached for it, and as my finger touched the spine, I heard it speak, as it had in the dream, the voice papery, like the turn of a page, “Hello, Cortensia. It’s good to see you again.”

    I jerked my hand back, felt the blood rush out of my face. “No,” I said out loud, holding up a finger on each hand. I took a step back, pointing one finger at the book, letting the other hand drop. “No,” I said sternly, and turned, walking away.

    I could have sworn I heard the book laugh.