The Library After Dark: A Novel(5)

The building’s official name is the Daedalus Library, but back when I haunted its halls and rooms of rare books, the news called it the Library of Death.

Fitting, considering the last time I’d been inside, I’d left behind a dead body.





Chapter Two


Ruth

Slush seeps through the stretched seams in my left shoe, numbing the bones of my foot. My joints ache from the long walk from the bus station, my wheezing breaths puffing in front of me. Maybe I was a fool for not selling the ticket to the Daedalus Library; I could’ve bought new shoes, or maybe a better jacket—maybe both.

But money can’t buy what I need tonight.

For the third time since leaving the bus, I fumble with my faux leather pocketbook—a gift from Sam—and pop it open, just to make sure it’s still there. Tucked inside is a cream envelope that feels like silk, and that shimmery green ticket.

My lip trembles, a familiar bitterness gathering in my throat. The Riordan estate thought a free ticket to the tour would make up for everything in these last months. It was just like the wealthy to barely glance at someone’s loss and offer them the most unhelpful of—

My foot slips from beneath me.

I scrabble for something, anything, and my arm nearly snaps out of its socket as I catch something slick and cold—a light post—and suddenly, I’m laughing.

“Oh,” I gasp, catching my breath. Snowflakes drift like burning embers in the light post’s orange glow; simply stunning.

Gleaming buildings rise all around me, sparkling like mirrors. Some people hate the city, the noise and the traffic and the big blinding billboards and the cold that tourists say reaches into the hearts of New Yorkers, but I’ve always loved it. And at sixty-six, how could I ever leave it now?

“How lucky we are to be alive right now,” I whisper. I’d latched on to that saying from a play; last Mother’s Day, Sam had taken me to see it, my very first Broadway show. It’d been one of the best nights I’d ever had, because my son had wanted to share it with me. He’s so busy, these days, but our moments taste even sweeter.

I see how he looks at me now, when he thinks I’m not paying attention; it chips my heart every time. It doesn’t matter that I was never charged with anything; my reputation was ruined, my job lost. And at this age, I wouldn’t be finding another one, at least not one that would let me stay in the city, near Sam.

The anger’s still there, yes, but I can’t do this out of revenge. I need to do it for the right reasons. And I will. I’ll do it for my son, for the way he sees me. If I do nothing, I’ll have no choice but to leave, alone.

I’ll do it, with the hope that my last patient can find peace, and I can, too.

I wonder how many people will be there tonight; hopefully many, so I can fade from everyone’s attention. It was only luck my name stayed out of the papers, but women my age tend to bleed into the background anyway, there to be called upon anytime someone needs tending to. Well, unless you were Evangeline.

Tonight, it’ll be my advantage. If I use my time well, if I find what I’ve come for, then I can make things right again. And if I’m lucky, maybe get my life back.

On second thought, what if they make me leave my bag at the front?

I unzip the side pocket of my purse and slip the creased and folded paper into the pocket of my jacket—but they might take that, too, if there’s a coat check, like at the theater. I’d been terrified I’d never see my jacket again, but Sam had said people did this every day.

So better to put the paper in the pocket of my skirt, where they wouldn’t search.

If they take the map I printed at the public library, I’ll never be able to find the evidence that would clear my name.





Chapter Three


Aria

The library blurs under the carnival of streetlights and headlights, the frantic intersection between us slowing in time. From this distance, the facade looks like rippling, knotted stone, but in my mind’s eye it’s high-definition: a tangle of writhing limbs and fangs and wings, dozens of sculptured gargoyles and cloaked skeletons twisting and reaching out, as if clawing themselves free of the rock.

I’d been so distracted, I wasn’t paying attention at all to where we were.

A car horn rips awareness through me.

Without tearing my gaze from the Daedalus, I step off the ledge. Jasper’s hands catch me around the waist and my body slides against his till my feet hit the sidewalk, but I barely register it.

“Tonight the Daedalus Library is hosting an exclusive after-dark tour,” he says, stepping up behind me. “And I have tickets.”

An exhale shivers out of my lungs. “How did you—”

“Fortunately for us, my friend who purchased them is bedridden with strep.” His breath warms the shell of my ear. “So you can educate me about literature, and if you’ll allow it, I’ll get to share with you some of my favorite architecture in the city.”

The delicate fingers of my rib cage tighten.

“It’s a private tour, with drinks in the lounge,” Jasper says, oblivious. “Just you and me.”

“We shouldn’t take them from your friend,” I say, my voice impressively smooth. “Surely there’s someone else he’d rather give—”