The Library of Shadows

Working the late-night shift would have been way easier if Este didn’t have a real reason to be afraid of the dark. Tonight, she walked through the first floor’s stacks with a flashlight in her back pocket and a packet of salt in her front. With each step, Este peered through the shadows for shapes that didn’t belong.

The salt was technically Posy’s idea. She’d mentioned it at one of their Paranormal Investigators meetings, and Este wasted no time confiscating packets of Morton’s from the cafeteria. She was pretty sure it was only supposed to work on ghosts, and she wasn’t exactly sure what kind of spiritual monstrosity the Fades were by technical definition. All she knew was that she’d begun seeing them in all her nightmares, and she’d never expected the reality of her own futile mortality to come dressed in Juicy Couture.

Este tiptoed down the main staircase, arms loaded with books she’d found in a return carrel, and nearly body-slammed Posy.

Her roommate shuffled a stack of papers in her arms. Tonight, she wore a navy baseball cap that had been embroidered with a flashlight shining a woven yellow beam—the logo for the Paranormal Investigators. And she was . . . dusty.

“Where did you come from?” Este asked.

“The archives.” Posy’s chest puffed out with pride even as she swiped a layer of grime from her cheek. She fell into step with Este as they walked back to the circulation desk. “Ives escorted me inside for some research I’m doing with Dr. Kirk.”

“How was it?” Which was the simplest way Este knew how to ask, Was it a near-death experience?

If Posy tried to smile any wider, her teeth would’ve fallen out. “Amazing! I found so much good information about the library’s history. I totally get why you love it there.”

Este loved the archives about as much as she loved dog-eared pages. Not exactly a compliment.

“We missed you last night at trivia,” Posy said. “Shep carried the team. I swear, no one else in the state of Vermont knows as much about ancient sports as he does.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry I couldn’t go. I just don’t have that much free time with this archival assistant stuff, you know?” Este drawled. She skimmed through a few items to check for damages before scanning them in on the computer with a satisfactory beep, beep, beep.

“Any luck finding Mateo? I can’t believe you haven’t seen him again.” Posy slumped into the spinning chair behind the circulation desk next to Este. “I know he’s here somewhere. I feel it in my bones.”

“Don’t you think he’d keep to himself if he knew he had a whole mob with pitchforks after him?” Este focused on skimming, scanning, and beeping through the pile of returned books instead of the way her roommate’s eyebrows narrowed, determined.

As if sensing her disdain, four students settled into one of the study tables across the floor. Mateo, Luca, Aoife, and Daveed watched Este, waiting with their hands clutched beneath their chins. Not a subtle bone in their undead bodies.

She turned her back to the ghosts, leaning intently toward Posy who was rhapsodizing about the ethics of the afterlife. The words glazed together, and the next time Este glanced over her shoulder, the ghosts had vanished.

Hallelujah.

But then, movement flared in her periphery, and the ghosts reappeared at a closer desk. Posy was too preoccupied with spinning her chair in lazy circles as she talked, thinking out loud about the sociopolitical implications of her ghost-hunting club, to notice the actual ghosts right in front of her. Este couldn’t focus on her drifting sentences, distracted by Daveed apparently beatboxing, his hands cupped against his mouth as he bounced to a rhythm Este couldn’t hear from across the atrium. Luca danced in practiced steps, swinging her hips like a flapper. Aoife managed to ignore all of it with a book on her lap, and Mateo . . .

Well, Mateo was staring right at Este.

Her stomach double knotted at the sight of him. With his crescent-moon smile and that dangerous look in his eyes. With his arms crossed against the broad expanse of his chest. With his leather satchel hanging heavy, The Book of Fades probably tucked safely inside. If Posy saw even a glimpse of Mateo, she’d recognize him faster than Este could say Dewey decimal system.

Mateo ripped a page from a notebook and wadded the paper into a ball. Aiming with one eye closed, he cocked his arm back and launched his makeshift missile toward the circulation desk. It fell short, but only barely.

Este flashed her eyes wide, a warning, and Posy’s voice brought her attention back to the circulation desk. “So, what do you think about being treasurer?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Of the Paranormal Investigators. Arthur heard from Julia who heard from Dawson who was in choir with Mr. Liebowitz when he said that college apps are prioritizing students who are active in clubs, so now Bryony wants to be VP so that she can get into Yale—which is totally haunted, by the way. And I could appoint Arthur as marketing director, and Shepherd doesn’t need a fancy title because he’s obviously going to school on a lacrosse scholarship, so he can be secretary. And then you’ll be treasurer. If you want.”

“Posy, I—” Este fumbled. “I’m sorry, but I can’t right now. I really have to get back to work.”

For a fraction of a second, something like hurt dashed across Posy’s face, but she shook it off quicker than Este could name it. “Totally, yeah. I’ve got a million old newspapers to read anyway. Just . . . think about it, okay?”

On her way out of the library, Posy walked past the ghosts who were now playing a raucous game of musical chairs without giving them a second thought. Aoife was losing by the look of it. Este found herself gravitating toward them, right as Luca knocked Daveed out of the only remaining seat, claiming her triumph by crossing her legs and her arms like a queen on a throne.

“You cheat every time,” Daveed groaned from where he’d landed on the floor.

Luca beamed, as unapologetic as it could get.

“I want a rematch,” he said. “Este can referee.”

“I don’t think so.” Este cocked her head toward the pile of tomes on the circulation desk. “If you’re going to hang around all night, why don’t you do something useful like help me put all these books back. It’s going to take forever, but it’s not hard. All you have to do is—”

“We know how to shelve books,” Luca said with a tut. “I know it’s been a while, but we all used to work here. You knew that, right?”

Este’s gaping mouth was proof enough that her critical-thinking skills had shorted out. She clamped her jaw shut and pried it open again. Nothing.

“Dusted shelves,” said Aoife.

“Stamped borrowing cards,” Luca added.

Daveed said, “Raced the rolling ladders. I’ve never lost.”

“Archival assistants,” Este said. “All of you.”

“It’s true. But things are different these days,” Mateo said.

For a moment, Este thought she saw sadness flicker behind the deep tides of Mateo’s eyes when he looked at his undead cohort, the afterlife companions he didn’t choose and didn’t ask for. They’d become friends, and they’d become family. What had that first decade been like before Luca had been sacrificed, ten years trapped alone in a place that no longer felt like home?

But then, like a reversal of a drama mask from Melpomene to Thalia, a grin spread across Mateo’s face, the kind that made the skin by his eyes wrinkle. “They don’t even use cataloging cards anymore. Let’s get to work. Everybody, grab a stack of books on your way.”

One by one, the other ghosts blinked out of vision. Invisible Aoife at least remembered to push her chair in. At the circulation desk, piles of books lifted from the mahogany table as if of their own volition. Three hefty anthologies rose into the air with a flourish, circling through the air with an expert juggler’s hand—Mateo’s, most likely.

They manifested again on the fifth floor, and Este trailed them toward the far edge of the library where two rolling ladders rested at the helm of the atrium. Thank goodness Ives’s door was closed and locked this late at night, the light inside extinguished.

“Hop on,” Mateo said, setting his books on the ground next to the ladder.

Este scanned through the call numbers on her books. “I don’t think I have anything that goes up there. Everything’s mostly ground level.”

“Not to shelve,” Aoife said. She tied her black hair back into a ponytail. “To race.”

“Oh, no,” Este griped. They had work to do. Was she the only one taking this seriously?

Mateo beamed. “Oh, yes.”

“Stop buggin’. It’s easy,” Daveed said. He stretched his arms over his head, rocking from one side to another. “If you’re on the winning team.”

Mateo pointed upward where the rolling ladders attached to the frame. “The tracks go all the way around the floor, one on the north side and one on the south like parentheses. You and Luca get on, we push, and the first one around the atrium wins.”

The heap of books in Este’s arms suddenly felt heavier. “There are a million other things we should be doing right now. What happened to shelving the books?”

“It won’t kill you to take a break.”

“Or looking for the pages?”

“Este.”

“There are dictionaries to dust, interlibrary loans to file, holds to pull—”

“Climb the ladder, Logano,” Mateo urged.

Este’s shoulders sagged. Her tone softened. “Your life’s on the line, remember?”

“I’m perfectly aware.” Mateo bent forward, hands on his knees, and said, “But have you considered, Este dear, that just once you might try to live a little while you’re actually alive?”

She tried to argue that she had lived plenty, thank you very much. Had he ever watched the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta from the side of the highway or sipped gas station hot chocolate in Aspen? But Mateo rattled the rolling ladder on its hinges, and Luca was already halfway to the top of hers, so Este dropped her books and scrambled upward, knuckles white against the creaking rungs.

Daveed gripped Luca’s ladder and bent his knees, ready to sprint. “Hope you’re ready to eat my dust, Radcliffe.”

Aoife stood between them, wielding a feather duster like a checkered flag. “On your marks. Get set. Go!”

Este’s stomach lurched as Mateo launched into a run. “Slow down!”

From the bottom of the ladder, Mateo laughed. “Do you want us to lose?”

The bookshelves were little more than a whirl of colors, their jewel-toned bindings all blurring together as they sped past. Laughter bubbled out of her, and she held tighter to the rungs as they took the first curve. It felt like floating, weightless.

She dared a glance down to where Mateo gripped the ladder, wind whipping through his curls. Seeing him like this—buoyant and boyish—steadied her. He was laughing, his face shining like an Edison bulb. She hoped it never turned off.

They rounded the next corner, sailing toward the finish line where Aoife stood as judge. Daveed and Mateo were keeping nearly identical paces, and Luca’s giggles wafted through the air as they sped toward each other. Mateo burst into one final sprint as they neared the finish line, but it wasn’t enough.

The duster waved in a figure eight as Aoife proclaimed, “Daveed Hewitt, our undefeated champion, reigns supreme!”

Luca slid back down to earth, but Este clung to the rungs for a moment longer. With her bird’s-eye view, she could see the entire library—every chandelier glistening, every crooked corner of the bookcase maze. A new perspective.

From here, she could see the circulation desk and the study tables in the center of the atrium. Shadows webbed over the third-floor corridor that led to the archives’ double doors, and a shudder ran the length of Este’s spine. She could still feel the biting cold of the Fades’ black tendrils around her ankles, her wrists.

The Fades don’t usually leave leftovers, Mateo had said. But they hadn’t stripped her soul from her body and hadn’t left more than a mark on her waist. Their black mist had evaporated when it tried to seep out into the light of the library. That must have been why they hadn’t kept chasing her. They’d only ventured out onto the third floor during the storm, when the moonlight had been stamped out by clouds and the candles in the study room had extinguished.

The Fades were contained to the darkest parts of the library.

Posy had just come from the archives—had she seen them? As quickly as the thought entered Este’s head, it evaporated. No way could Posy have seen the Fades. If she had, she either would’ve been shredded like rotisserie chicken, or Este would’ve gotten an earful about how it was going to be the front-page story on her blog. In fact, she’d still be downstairs listening to it.

Este was about to slide down the ladder when she realized where she’d ended up. Section AY was dedicated to reference texts that ran the gamut from almanacs to yearbooks. “Hey guys, did we finish pulling books from my dad’s circ history?”

“Dean Logano was a prolific reader,” Aoife answered below. “So. No.”

Trailing her fingertips along the spines of almanacs, Este hovered over a title she recognized, an almanac. Poking out of the pages was a crimped corner of cardstock, and Este plucked it out.

At the top, a smudged handwritten title read The Book of Fades. Este’s breath hitched. It was a borrowing card. Last names lined the left side, dates on the right. The ink was a red so dark, it almost looked black. Almost looked like it had been written in blood.

“Ew, ew, ew, ew.” Este couldn’t drop the paper slip fast enough, and it floated down to the ghosts. When she scrambled down the ladder with the almanac, they all huddled around where it landed, face up.

“Is that what I think it is?” Luca asked. She crouched so low that the hem of her white dress skimmed the floors.

“A biohazard? Yeah.” The taste of copper wouldn’t leave Este’s mouth just looking at the letters. She read down the list, a lilting cursive in shades of dark red. The names were ones she recognized, each belonging to the library’s ghosts. Radcliffe and van Witt, and then later, Godrich and Hewitt. The names of the ghosts who had since left Radcliffe to find rest peppered in between.

A final name capped the list at the end. Logano.

Mateo cleared his throat and nodded as if he could read every trace of emotion on her face like the lines in a play. “The Fades are under the command of the Heir and this . . . this must be how they choose the sacrifice. Immortality comes with a cost. A blood oath.”

“Talk about unsanitary,” Luca said with a squirm.

From the slant of the L to the loop of the O, there was a finality in the writing, like doing a crossword puzzle in ink, knowing you had all the right answers. Este’s dad had been marked as the next sacrifice.

“That’s why the Fades disappeared for thirty years after my dad dropped out. He was the only sacrifice they could take, so when he left, so did they.” Este’s hands slicked with sweat, and her tongue scraped against the roof of her mouth, Sahara dry.

Mateo opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but the evidence was splayed out in front of them.

“It’s me. The Fades came back because I’m here, a piece of my dad’s bloodline to complete the ritual, like the book said. It’s why they attacked me but no one else.”

The silence of the ghosts sealed her suspicions, and the realization left her light-headed.

No one else would get hurt. Posy and the Paranormal Investigators, prodding into things they barely understood . . . they’d be fine. It was her the Fades wanted.

She could still leave. Should leave. She could pack her bags and run out the university’s iron gates and never look back.

But, for once, leaving had its risks, too. It would mean stranding the ghosts without the answers they needed, the missing pages still at large, thanks to her dad. And if she gave up now, she’d never learn what he’d known. From beyond the grave, he’d led her here. How could she walk away from him now?

Her voice was barely more than a breath. “That means I’m next.”