Page 31 of A Spark of Something (A Librarian’s Guide to Witchery #1)

O llie leaned up on his tippy toes and kissed Noble back, shyly saying, “See you later.”

“Later this week,” Noble assured him.

He smiled. “Bye.”

Waving as the man left, Ollie slowly closed the door before dreamily setting the alarms.

Sighing happily, he hummed as he walked up the steps. His smile dropped when he caught sight of Red and his grimoire sitting at the circulation desk.

This time the sigh he let out was a tired one. “Not tonight, please. I can’t deal with anything more today.”

“You should stay away from that man.”

“My cat doesn’t get to tell me who I date. Especially when he’s been lying to me my whole life.” His mood soured as he thought about who else had been lying.

Pulling out his phone, Ollie called his godfather, and as usual, the man didn’t pick up. When voicemail started to record, he huffed, “Listen here, Rowden, you better call me back within the week or I swear I am never talking to you again! You hear me?! Oh, and my CAT says hi!” He ended the call with a hmph, sagging a bit afterward. Even with the threat, the man likely would take weeks or even months to respond.

Glancing towards his book, he rolled his eyes on seeing it was now open. Chapter One: Oliver the ‘Freaky’ Reluctant Witch.

“You know what, book? You are an asshole!” He slammed it shut, and didn’t even feel bad about it this time.

“Oliver, this can’t be put off for long.”

“Just leave it alone, Red! Or whoever, or whatever you are!” he snapped.

The cat said nothing as Ollie flicked the lights over the circulation desk off and headed to the elevators when he noted they were still on. He didn’t look back, and Ollie was suddenly very tired.

Stepping into the elevator, he ignored Red, who sat there and stared while the doors closed between them. At movement to his left, he glanced over, sighing heavily when he found the female ghost floating next to him. “Back again?”

“It is not as if I can go anywhere,” she drawled with a small smile.

“Why are you here?”

“Well, I’m here because of you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I suppose I always was here. Not here as in the library, but as in existence. However, I never had a way to show myself. Without you nearby, I’m not strong enough to. You see, rather than being a full ghost, I am just a fragment of a whole. The way I died insured that my soul would be scattered into pieces.”

“How did I change that?”

“The magic inside you called to me, and it was enough. Suddenly, I could show myself. Not for long at first, barely a second back then. But the more time passed, the longer I could maintain a form, until you finally started to notice me.”

“So, it’s my fault you are here.” Ollie sighed.

“Not exactly, like I said, I was always here.”

“Why do you even want to show yourself to me? It’s not like I’m an interesting person.”

She laughed, the sound wispy. “To the dead, anyone who can see them is interesting. But I also think, beyond that, you are a very interesting individual. As for my reason for persistently showing myself…” She smiled. “Well, to be honest, part of it is out of boredom. You see, being that I’m a fragment of myself, I can’t pass on.”

Ollie winced at that, as the doors opened onto the third floor. Stepping out, he turned to her when she followed. She was walking yet…not, as her feet didn’t touch the floor.

“I’m sorry you can’t pass on,” he said truthfully while he eyed her.

Being mostly colorless, he wasn’t sure what color her pinned up hair had been, but based on the darker white-ish gray it was now, he could only guess possibly brown, while her skin was likely white. With large eyes, pert up-turned nose, high cheeks, and plush lips, she had a delicate yet full figured form, based on what he could tell from the dress she wore. The ghost was obviously beautiful, there was no denying that. Yet what stood out to him the most was her eyes. There was this spark of kindness in them, and he could just tell that it wasn’t a trick.

“Is there a way for me to help? There should be, right?”

She tilted her head. “You are very…kind, Oliver Cross. But sadly, it would be quite a task to find all the fragments of my soul, let alone putting them back together once you do. You see, they are attached to objects that were near me when I died, and it’s been over three hundred years. I do believe it would be nearly impossible at this point to find them, or even find out what they could possibly be. Too much time has passed.”

It would be hard, for sure, yet unless he tried, Ollie would never say it was impossible. But then again, he wouldn’t know until he did try, so there was no point saying more on it now.

He cleared his throat. “So, boredom?”

“As I said, in part.”

“And the other part?”

“I wanted to help.”

His brow rose at that. “Me?”

“Yes.”

Ollie frowned. “In what way?”

“In your journey as a witch.”

“Ah, well, I thank you, but I’m really not up to that sort of journey.”

Ollie turned with the intention of walking away, but stopped when she said, “It is not one you can avoid, Oliver. No matter how hard you try.”

Taking a deep breath, he slowly turned back. “Why not? Also, please call me Ollie. The only one who calls me Oliver is my godfather, and he just does it to annoy me.”

Though he now could probably add his grimoire to that short list of people, since it seemed intent on calling him Oliver. Of course, his book wasn’t a person… At least, he didn’t think it was.

She nodded. “Ollie then. And it’s because power, magic, doesn’t just go away. Nor will the dangers that come with having it. And failing to learn how to use it properly will in fact increase the danger for you and those around you.”

“What danger? Wait—” He held up his hand. “First, who are you? Like, your name?”

The ghost smiled sadly. “My name in life was Annabel Cane, but I’d much prefer if my maiden name of Arrington could be used over Cane.”

His eyes widened. “You… You’re that witch. Y-you were murdered!”

Annabel grimaced. “I was.”

“A-and you’re—oh, my God, you’re attached to that diary, aren’t you?!”

“I am.”

“W-who killed you?”

“It’s less of a who, and more of a what. And the answer is…witch hunters.”

His stomach dropped.

“They still exist, Ollie. It could only be a matter of time before they find you. If they aren’t already watching.”

“Watching?! Why would they be watching?”

“The Cross family is old. Old blood, old power, strong too. And let’s be real, two generations don’t just die in one day without help, not that easily at least.”

As dread formed in his stomach, and his heart picked up speed, he took a shuddered breath in an effort to remain calm.

“W-what are you…” Ollie licked his lips. “My parents and paternal grandparents died in a car crash.” Even as he said what had forever been his truth, the words sounded hollow…off…wrong…

Her expression pinched, and the pity in her eyes was a hard hit to his stomach. “Yes…of course. I was mistaken.”

“You… I…I can’t…” Ollie swallowed hard as tears began to cloud his vision. “I can’t deal with this right now. I-I’m s-sorry, but I just…”

“Of course,” Annabel murmured softly. “I’ll be here when you are ready, Ollie.”

She disappeared, but he barely noticed.

“No… No.” Shaking his head, Ollie took off at a run towards the stairway up to his living quarters.

His hand shook like crazy as he tried to hold back his tears while opening the door. He left it open behind him as he sprinted up. His hands shook just as much when he opened his front door, which he again didn’t bother to shut. Though this time it was because he found himself stopping in the doorway on catching sight of what was now on his kitchen table. Tears trailing down his face, Ollie’s stomach twisted in anger more and more, the longer he stared at his grimoire.

“Go away!” he hissed, before letting out a sob. Hurrying past it, he ran down the hall. He kept running until he reached his bedroom. Rushing to his small desk in there, Ollie booted up his laptop.

Once the browser had opened, he searched for the accident, clicking link after link. Ollie found hundreds of articles, live local news reports on the crash, the aftermath, the funeral…all of it was there…yet…

“No pictures…” he rasped softly.

Rubbing at his eyes when more tears fell, he pushed his glasses up as he did, before pulling them off all together and setting them on his laptop. He was crying too much to see anyway.

No photos, no videos…all the records were written or spoken. No accident photos, no funeral ones, no interviews. All of it was the same. Words were changed here or there, but all of it was just copy and paste, as if they were reading off a script, never deviating, never giving too many details. How do four members from an affluent local family die in a horrible car crash without a single photo from the scene?!

“No… It was…just a car crash. No photos, but…they were rich. Not even the public knew how rich… This…isn’t abnormal.” Ollie tried to lie to himself as he stood up from his chair.

Crawling onto his bed, he laid there for a moment, silently crying, before pulling his phone out with shaky hands, and calling the only person he could think to call.

“Rowden, p-please—” His words cut off on a hard sob. “Ah—please, I-I need you to call me.” He laid there crying for a moment before stuttering out in despair, “W-what d-did you h-hide from me?”

Letting his phone fall onto the bed, he covered his face, sobbing harder as his heart began to ache.