The Library of Shadows

The missing chapter from The Book of Fades was bound in the back of Este’s storybook.

She recognized the text immediately, ancient and meticulous. Her stomach clenched as she fanned through the pages, and Este could read them without translating them from Latin, without squinting through the ivy blossom nectar, without even trying. The language of the dead was more legible to her than it had been all semester. The words ran together, spindly sentences next to sketched diagrams, all of it in thick, black ink.

For weeks, these words had been within reach. The reason Mateo had felt so real any time he was in her dorm was because of these pages, the tether to his soul stronger in their proximity—it had never been the ivy at all.

This chapter didn’t look particularly special at first glance—What had she expected? A resurrection checklist?—but there had to be something here worth protecting. Fingers crossed, Mateo would know what to make of it.

She didn’t have any other choice but to go back to the Lilith. She’d be that much more likely to end up skewered by the Fades’ fake nails, but Mateo was waiting for her. And since Ives had the book, who knew what she could do to him if Este was even a minute too late. Este would save him, even if it was the last thing she ever did.

Este closed her eyes and sent a silent plea to the patron saint of books to forgive her as she ripped the pages out and folded them into a tight square, shoving them deep in her pocket. When she stood, blood rushed to her head, and she held on to the post of her bedframe until it passed. Her body was running on fumes and scraps of bacon from breakfast.

First: defeat the evil, immortal librarian ruining her life.

Then: consume an egregious amount of frozen Tater Tots because that was basically the only thing left in her freezer.

Este halted by the front door. She’d left her coat discarded on the floor of the senior lounge, but a thundercrack snapped the sky in half and reminded her that she wouldn’t make it back to the Lilith like this without the pages getting drenched. Posy’s coat had disappeared from the hanging rack by the door, prepared for a brisk week of sidewalk cafés and window-shopping. Este needed something that would protect all of her. A poncho or a tarp or a—

She’d emptied the contents of her closet, shoving it into duffel bags and suitcases, and left behind splotches of peeled wallpaper, a few rusted racks, and a burgundy stain in the woodgrains that Este hadn’t questioned for the sake of her own sanity. In Posy’s room, she checked the usual places—the back of her desk chair, the hook on the closet door—but Posy must have already packed her rain slicker and her peacoat.

Instead, Este found a pile of paisley. The printed sheet wasn’t a poncho, but it would work in a pinch.

Posy’s ghost costume dragged across the floorboards as Este raced down the Vespertine Hall staircase and out into the frigid gales. Her sneakers splashed in wading puddles, soaking her up to her ankles and leaving a muddy rim along the hem of the sheet.

Hazy through the gray storm, the Lilith’s spire was a dark streak along the darker skies. Every light inside the library had been extinguished. Each window was a black eye, watching her with every step toward the doors. Plastered to the carved panels, a sign read: Closed for Maintenance. When she tugged on the handle, it didn’t budge.

“Dammit, Tammy,” Este said to the storm and the wind and anything else that would listen. She jiggled the handle again. Nothing. Then, there was the scratching sound of a window sliding open.

“Este, is that you?” Posy’s stage whisper was unmistakable. Her head jutted out one of the classroom windows above.

Este shouted, “You were supposed to be eating a baguette right now!”

“And you’re supposed to be opaque in the sunlight.” Posy clamped a hand down on the brim of her Paranormal Investigators hat so that it didn’t fly off. “I don’t think you’re really in a position to judge.”

“You can’t get in.” Another head popped into view. Arthur. “They evacuated the whole library.”

Este’s squinted expression was questioning enough for Posy to add, “We hid in the storage closet.”

“We?” Este asked.

Two more faces appeared, Bryony next and then Shepherd. The sight was enough to make Este’s chest cavity feel like a butterfly sanctuary, fluttering and filled with light. She never thought she’d be so glad to see the two of them in her life.

Este held a hand up to shield her eyes. Droplets clinging to her lashes made their faces all swirl together, one stacked overtop another, and they all wore their PI hats over their brows. “Can you come unlock the door, or are you just going to leave me stranded out here?”

“We can’t,” Bryony said, and Este tried not to roll her eyes at her signature sass. At the back of her brain, she wondered how Posy convinced her to ditch their trip to Paris at the last minute, but maybe Bryony and Posy were more alike than she realized. Neither of them could turn down a good ghost story.

Shepherd clarified, “That library lady is guarding the front.”

On cue, the front door’s lock unlatched, and Este dove for the shrubs to hide herself as the hinges yawned open. If her side could speak, it would have been screaming a string of curses, each one ruder and louder than the last. Brambles shredded through the paisley costume, pricking her skin as Ives stepped out.

Her falcon eyes scanned the perimeter but never once looked down. The rest of campus was mausoleum quiet as icy rain splattered against the cobblestones. Ives had no reason to believe there was a junior hiding in the bushes. Este held her breath, staying perfectly still, until the door closed behind the head librarian.

Posy jutted her head back outside. “You’ll have to come in another way.”

Este’s arms felt like overcooked spaghetti noodles and reaching the second story window looked like a Herculean task for which she was ill-prepared, but she couldn’t think of a better option, and the pages in her pocket were dangerously close to disintegrating to a fine-print pulp.

The only way out was through, and the only way through was . . . up.

Her fingers searched for grooves in the Lilith’s facade, fitting into the mortar. Fragile flesh ripped around her waist as she twisted to grab Posy’s outstretched hand. Her side was not happy with her, but if she could make it a little farther.

Her hand should’ve gripped her roommate’s, but instead her skin slid through Posy’s. Este plummeted back to the muddied ground. Every ounce of air in her lungs was knocked out with a whoosh. The costume tangled around her body a little too like mummification linens.

“Are you okay?” Posy called.

“Do you have anything that isn’t alive that I can reach for?” she asked from her pitiful place on the ground. “I forgot that I’m halfway haunted.”

Everything hurt. Everything was wet. And if she didn’t find a way inside soon, everything would be over. She lay there, unmoving, as Posy ducked back inside the classroom. Este nearly submitted to the swallowing soil, resigning her bones to become worm food, when a lacrosse stick poked out the window.

“Grab on!” Shepherd yelled.

With a moan, Este hopped to her feet and reached, reached, reached, but her hand missed every time. “Can you lower it?”

Posy turned back, saying something to the others that Este couldn’t make out over the howling wind and the pounding rain, and then Posy hooked her legs around Shepherd’s waist, extending down and down again until the lacrosse stick bobbed within grasp.

Posy lurched downward as Este caught the stick, eyes wide, but they didn’t fall. The handle was solid in her hands, but slippery. Coated with rain, Este’s white-knuckle grasp nearly skidded right off the pole, but she laced her fingers through the netting and kicked her feet against the Lilith’s wall. Shepherd reeled Posy back inside the window until Este clamped onto the windowsill and hiked herself up and over.

She lay flat on the floor, sufficiently soaked and her body throbbing. Between labored breaths, she huffed, “Thank you.”

A wad of fabric dropped on her stomach. “Get changed,” Posy said. “I don’t know if the living dead can get pneumonia, but I don’t want to find out.”

Este pulled herself up until she was sitting straight, and for the first time, she took a good look at the Paranormal Investigators. Not only did each of them wear the caps sporting the familiar flashlight logo, but they’d tucked themselves inside a matching set of purple coveralls. Their names were stitched in gold over the breast pocket.

“Plumber chic,” Este said.

Posy smiled. “I was going more for Ghostbusters.”

Este spread out the coveralls on her lap, brushing over the back panel. Paranormal Investigators had been embroidered around the beaming flashlight. When she flipped it over, she found her name. A bubbling joy spilled into every part of her.

“I thought you’d have kicked me out by now,” Este said as she traded her ghost costume and drenched clothes for soft, dry cotton. Modesty was the least of her concerns right now.

Posy rattled her head left and right. “Once a PI, always a PI.”

After she buttoned up, Este fished the soggy pages out of her pants pocket and carefully spread them flat across the nearest desk. They were damp around the edges, fragile and flecked with rain, but the ancient ink didn’t run—Este wasn’t even sure if it could—and the pages didn’t tear. It was more than she could have hoped for.

“I have to get these to the fifth floor,” she said.

Arthur laughed. “You really do have a death wish.”

Este turned to Posy for reassurance. If her roommate was still mad at her for pushing her away, it didn’t show. Posy had a tape recorder strapped to her belt, an electromagnetic field reader clutched in one hand, and a headlamp looped over the brim of her hat. This was her Super Bowl.

“Arthur’s right. I don’t know how we’ll get up there without being seen,” Posy said, “but we’ll help any way we can.”

A lightning strike like a street race gunshot jolted them into action. Este gently refolded the stolen chapter and tucked it safely inside the deep pockets of her coveralls. Posy doled out ghost-hunting gear like a hot dog vendor at a baseball game until everyone was fully loaded.

“Ready?” Este asked. This was it. When everyone nodded, she didn’t walk toward the classroom door. Instead, she skirted around the edges of the room, pushing on each wall panel until one gave. The pocket door slid back into its catch, opening to a dark hall. “After you.”

As they stalked through the service hallways, Posy lighting the way with her headlamp, Este caught everyone up to speed—the red herrings and the riddle, the true Heir and the mark of the Fades on her skin, the missing pages in her dad’s book. Saying it out loud made her feel like she really had a chance.

The corridor led them right to the fifth floor like Este knew it would. She’d learned the ins and outs of the Lilith, every winding passageway, every labyrinthian floor, every alcove and atrium balcony. Este peeled open the hatch just enough to peek into the staunch darkness. So far, so good.

Este said, “The senior lounge is on the other end, back behind the dictionaries. That’s where we’ll meet up with the ghosts.”

“We get to meet them? Real ghosts? Live ghosts? No, wait. That’s an oxymoron.” Posy froze, nothing but her mouth moving. Este wasn’t even sure if she was breathing or if that part of her brain had malfunctioned.

“I always knew there was something weird going on over there,” Arthur said.

Posy’s lips were blabbing a mile a minute. “I need to document this. I could set up a tripod to record heat-sensing video. Arthur, you brought the high-sensitivity microphone, right?”

Bryony reached into the fanny pack she’d strapped around her hips and handed Posy a pair of geothermal goggles. “Here, so you can see them.”

“You won’t need those. Trust me.” Este intercepted the goggles. “Pose. Pull it together. You look like you’re going to burst a blood vessel or seven.”

Swatches of bright, burning red splotched Posy’s porcelain skin. “Sorry, it’s just that this is the biggest moment of my entire life.”

“Well, it might be the last moment of mine, if we can’t—”

Her sentence was cut off by the distant wailing of the Fades. They sounded hungry, harshness marring their words. Bryony perked an ear upward, listening. With a sinking stomach, Este recognized the glazed look in her eye.

Thwacking Bryony on the shoulder with the goggles to break the seal the Fades had on her, Este asked, “What are the chances that Mary Poppins fanny pack has earplugs in it?”

“One hundred percent,” Bryony said with a thick swallow. She pulled out a new pack of earplugs and dished them out to everyone. “Always thought we’d use them for banshees.”

“If you hear singing, put them in. If the Fades come near, our thermometer readings will nosedive,” Este said, quieter now. “Shepherd, you keep an eye on average temps. Bryony and Arthur, you two keep an eye out for Ives. Posy, your EMF reader has never been wrong. If we get separated, use that to find the ghosts.”

Este took the first step onto the fifth floor. The storm outside had only grown darker. Heavy winds lashed against the atrium ceiling as they slinked through the stacks.

“Sixty-eight-point-eight, sixty-seven-point-two,” Shepherd whispered as they tiptoed.

Every dropping degree made Este pick up her pace. By the time they turned the last corner, the green door to the lounge coming into view, she was sprinting. She blazed into the room, skidding to a stop in front of the ghosts.

Luca, Aoife, Daveed, and Mateo huddled around the chalkboard, turning at the commotion. Behind her, the Paranormal Investigators were hot on her heels, each of them wide-mouthed and stunned silent. Este wedged in the middle, the bridge between them.

“Posy, Arthur, Shepherd, Bryony,” Este said, “meet the Radcliffe disappearances.”

For a long moment, the ghosts watched the Paranormal Investigators, and the Paranormal Investigators stared back at the ghosts, blinking like they weren’t sure if they were hallucinating. Este must have looked the same way a few weeks ago.

Posy’s voice shook when she finally said, “Big fan of your work.”

Mateo stepped forward. “What’d you find, Este dear?”

Reaching into her pocket for the pages, Este smiled. “Who’s ready for resurrection?”