The Library After Dark: A Novel(73)

When I worked at the Beinecke, all six stories of the library’s tower could flood ECARO-25 into the air to extinguish any fires that might occur in the stacks. That chemical wasn’t ideal to inhale, but it wasn’t fatal.

But before they updated the system, the previous one used carbon dioxide to keep the oxygen in the building from combusting—and with that one, if the dispersal was quick enough or the carbon dioxide percentage too high, it was fatal to inhale. And that’s to say nothing of the other older systems that used highly toxic gases.

Considering what we’ve uncovered about Evangeline Riordan, I’m not convinced that she would’ve updated to the safest option.

It’ll be fine. Piper won’t fall victim to either of those things because there is no electricity, so the systems are offline. As long as I can open the door before she runs out of oxygen, she’ll be fine.

“Piper.” My raised voice ricochets in the empty library. “Piper.”

Her fingers contract and she shifts, rolling her head toward the fire. Her short dark hair fans over the floor beneath her, a dark splotch spidering over her forehead and down into her ear—blood. My pulse spikes. She’ll be fine. She’s not supposed to be here. She doesn’t deserve this.

She sits up, one hand at her wounded forehead as she looks around in a daze. Blinking, she focuses on the burning book, the smoke writhing above it.

“Hey,” I shout, pounding the glass. “Over here.”

She’s getting to her feet now, slender legs trembling as she leans against the wall. She glances at me in panic, her mouth forming my name.

“Put the fire out,” I bellow, jabbing at the fire. “Put. It. Out.”

She nods, glancing around wildly. Then she strips off her sweater-vest, leaving her in a short-sleeved button-down, and drops to her knees beside the burning book. After a slight hesitation, she clamps her balled-up sweater over the flames, as if trying to catch an insect.

The room falls dark.

Piper’s pale face appears in the window, lips forming words I can barely hear. Her pale eyes are wide, her breath ghosting the glass.

“Slow your breaths,” I enunciate. “You’re in a hermetically sealed room.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together and she looks so unbelievably young. The shock I felt at seeing her walk through the Daedalus doors, her camera around her neck, rolls through me again. She shouldn’t be here.

I wave away what I just said, and mime breathing, in and out. Then I mouth Slow.

She’s still perplexed but nods, miming back breathing slowly.

“How did you get in here?” I ask, pointing to the door and lifting both hands in a shrug. “Who did this?”

Her head moves in tiny shakes, her fingers grazing the blood at her temple, matted into her hair. She stares at the red on her hands, and then her gaze drifts up to my hand against the glass, as if seeing it—and the blood over it—for the first time. I’m fairly certain what she says next is Oh my God.

My gaze catches on something a few feet away, something shiny.

Her Nikon, smashed into black shards.

“Where is Wes?” I shout at the glass. “Wes?”

She shakes her head again.

Something bites at my core. I’ll deal with that later—for now, it’s impossible to know how long Piper’s been in here, how much oxygen she has left. I need to get her out of this room before she suffocates.

“Aria,” I bellow, trying to project my voice back across the foyer to the Fairy Tales and Folklore room.

In the silence that follows, I hear voices.





Chapter Fifty


Saskia

After Jasper’s heavy footsteps pass the alcove I’m crouching inside, I hold my breath, waiting for the second pair of steps.

A thief. What was he thinking? Even with my expertise, never would I have chosen this library to steal from. I am not here by choice, that is certain.

But Aria’s reaction now—thrilled, perhaps?—is most puzzling. I hoped she would follow Jasper, but I can’t afford to wait any longer. I’ll have to confront her.

I slip out, one hand on the bookshelves to guide me through the winding path in the dark.

At last I’m between the two trees leading to the final exhibit, where a small fluorescent light blooms upward—a flashlight, pointed at the ceiling. A shimmer of pink, like fish scales—a girl’s silhouette leaning over a glass case.

I suppose I could try to render her unconscious, but how would I know how to do that? After a brief hesitation, I clear my throat instead.

A blur, and then she’s facing me. I inhale sharply. She’s fast.

“Saskia.”

“Aria.”

“Did you get help?” She’s searching my hands for a weapon. I have none, that she can see.

“It didn’t seem wise to split up.” My eyes fall to the case behind her, and the ancient book residing on it, and my spirit lurches toward it. After so many years of waiting, of watching, of training, here it is.

The Dark Hearth Tales, in the flesh.

The book rests on the glass rather than beneath it. Next to it are a pair of thick gloves and a black case.

“Did you touch it?” I demand, hurtling a step forward. “Did you see it?”

“The cover’s arsenic.” Aria waves her hand, swollen through the strips of gauze, and a shudder goes through me. “Been there, done that, thanks.”