Page 15 of Booked for Theft (Vigilante Magical Librarians #3)
FIFTEEN
They appealed to national pride.
Time with Bradley and dinner helped restore my sense of calm and purpose, and armed with my journal, I began digging at the past in the hopes of preserving the future. To disguise what I did, I whited out some of the information I already had and began fresh, sticking to the AD calendar for the research project and working out a historic timeline from the invention of the printing press to the critical dates I wanted to research. With luck, anyone checking the book would assume I, a librarian, had an interest in how printed books came to be.
It would take digging at the heart of my journal to discover the truth about the government’s manipulation of the past.
Partway through building my timeline, a thought occurred to me.
What if books, like what Tom Clancy had written, could provide some insights into how the past worked? Fiction often had some foundation on reality, although events, people, and places were changed for legal reasons as often as not. If I could locate enough fiction books written during the downfall of the United States, could I pluck out more evidence?
Could I find tidbits of truth hidden among the threads of storytelling?
By bedtime, I’d picked the first voter guide I wanted to distribute to the media and began the tedious process of photographing it with the laptop’s camera. We used one of Bradley’s music stands and took care to crop out anything that might identify us. At five years prior to the change in the calendar, the guide appeared to be innocent enough. However, a few bills hinted at the future to come.
One forbade the changing of the dictionary, outlawing the use of slang in schools, businesses, and public institutions, and was purported as a method of preserving American society. Those laws were stricter than the federal law dictating which version of English would be used in government. The guide had a few cons of the change listed, but I could understand why the supporters of the bill might win.
They appealed to national pride.
I could only assume the law had been passed, giving the federal government the precedence needed to tighten the rules on language, freezing American English for hundreds of years. The more puzzle pieces I uncovered, sifting through scraps from the past, the better an understanding I had of our situation—and why a group of vigilantes might decide assassinating politicians might be the only hope for the future.
If enough of the corrupted politicians were eliminated, if enough holes in the net formed, the government might lose its grip on the populace, allowing democracy to be restored. It might be possible, with enough work, to turn back the hands of time, before the doomsday clock had struck midnight, and pick a different path for our country.
Then, with a growing sense of dismay, I realized very little separated me from the assassins. I could, with just a little push, become just like them, choosing to destabilize the corrupt government through violence and death. I wouldn’t, but the understanding I could would cost me a great deal of sleep moving forward.
I went to bed in a solemn mood, and not even Ajani sleeping around my head, a warm and purring hat, was able to drag me out of my funk. Sometime during the night, the tyrannical kittens had managed to climb into bed, and they had claimed Bradley as their throne. As my fiancé slept without a care in the world, I took a few photos of him and our new pets with my phone before sneaking out of bed and starting my morning routine.
I woke him ten minutes before I was due to leave for work, informing him he had to feed the demons. While I doubted the furry beasts would flay the flesh from his bones, the possibility that they might got him on the move. Ajani led the way to the kitchen, and the kittens mewed up a storm, bounding along with adorable inefficiency.
Once I reached the library, I threw myself into my work, focusing on acquisitions while monitoring my email for more donation requests. Aware I’d be scrutinized for what went into the library, I made a list of subjects the local politicians pursued, determining that more than a few had been checking into history, too.
As I didn’t want to see more corpses show up, I grabbed my phone and dialed Beatrice’s number, tapping my foot while considering the various ways we, as a library system, could support those who wanted to pursue the truth of our government’s treachery.
“Please tell me there’s no bad news,” my fellow librarian begged.
“Ajani adopted two kittens yesterday, and due to their state as freshly rescued, they can’t come to the library yet. Ajani has to be quarantined and checked for any health issues. How does that rate on the bad news scale?”
“It could be worse, so I’ll let it slide. What can I do for you?”
“I haven’t pitched this to Mr. Tawnlen yet, mainly because I don’t want to waste his time if you think it’s going to be refused. I’d like to run a history program here. Some of our clients have been pursuing books of that nature as of late, and I think it might be a good time to start an initiative. I’m sure we have a bunch of government approved non-fiction we can fill the one floor with. It’s ready to accept books now—well, the first half of it.”
The second half would vex me, as there were a few structural issues that had been addressed, and the flooring needed to be reinstalled. That could be done while we used the other half of the room, which had been finished during my absence.
“With your donation budget, I can easily get that approved for you by the end of the day, and your boss won’t have a problem if you’re running the program. That’ll let you have a little extra variety and something to do when you aren’t luring politicians into giving us money. What’s your game plan?”
“I’d like to abuse my powers in acquisitions to turn our branch’s open floor into a full global timeline of general history, from as much pre-history data as possible to the end of the AD calendar. I will authorize the duplication of my Roman codices for use in the library as well, along with the other texts I’ve acquired. Perhaps we can find a book binder and have a public project of recreating the book, tracing the photographs I’ll take of my copies. We’ll segregate the books per the various laws, but I bet I could relocate a bunch of books around our branch onto the history floor and free up the other floors for additional acquisitions.”
“I’m sold on the idea, and I bet I can sell my boss on the idea. Your boss will do what we want because it means his branch becomes more versatile for politicians and the public. Are you game to having a discussion with the Met about photographing their old books?”
“I would love to get permission to create replicas of their books. You could send me to the Met for an entire day, and I would not complain. In fact, I would sing my praises of my best bitch for the world to hear.”
Beatrice laughed at me. “You just want to go to the museum on the library’s dime.”
A day wandering through the museum sounded like a good use of my time. “You would be correct.”
“I’ll pitch my boss and get back to you in a few hours. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
I considered the number of politicians willing to throw priceless treasures at me, debating if we could spare a section of the branch for donated antique books. “As part of the initiative, how about a section on the new floor where patrons can donate antique titles, fiction and non-fiction, to be preserved as part of the history program? I know your branch has a lot of antiques, but ours has none.”
“If you go for historic pieces, I can get that approved easily. Fiction won’t be feasible; my branch will greedily steal all the fiction titles. However, I could see some of our historic titles headed your way if you’re opening an entire floor dedicated to global history.”
I grinned at the thought of making off with some of the main branch’s priceless treasures. “Is it a sure enough thing I can start making a wish list for how to fill the floor?”
“Start with the books you’ll want to pillage from your current stock and make certain you check the circulation numbers. We’ll play the historic preservation angle and make sure you can retain copies with insufficient circulation, as you’re creating a rather unique collection.” Beatrice made a thoughtful sound. “I don’t normally suggest overtime, but why don’t we get together at your place to go over it?”
“How about we all get together on Sunday at my place? We need to do some cell stuff.”
Sunday would give me sufficient time to discuss the issue with Bradley—and see what the politicians had in store for me this time.
“You wrangle Bradley, his parents, and your parents. I’ll get everyone else. What time do you want us over?”
“Noon. Be prepared to cry. We’re going to have Indian for lunch.”
The anxiety of going to lunch with a politician crept in on tiptoes and waited for an hour before our scheduled meeting time to strike in earnest. The entire car ride and meal before my kidnapping zipped through my head, and a chill swept through me.
In the span of a few minutes, my office became a cage.
Closing my eyes failed to help. If anything, it restored the vivid memories of isolation. I began with focusing on my breathing, doing so until some of the tension in my chest eased. Once my heart no longer raced and the burn in my lungs settled, I reminded myself of several important things.
The lunch date, such as it was, would begin a half a mile away at a fast food joint, as Representative Forsythe rarely got to indulge in greasy food. His wife wanted everything healthy, and she kept a sharp eye on him.
For some reason I didn’t understand, Representative Forsythe’s wife thought I would be a good influence.
Somehow, I hadn’t laughed at the man while indicating I would love to help him break his wife’s rules.
We could handle a short enough walk before returning to my office, with food in hand, to discuss his donation, fill out the paperwork, and tour the empty space just waiting for the right books to come along and take up residency. I had handled the drive to Maryland and back—and the journey to Washington D.C.—without incident.
I could handle a short walk.
I had no reason for fear.
But anxiety was not a sensible demon. I understood this, and I understood that the episode would lead to a round of therapy to cope with the trauma of my kidnapping. To remind myself of the benefits of my disappearance, I spent a few minutes staring at my foot.
As warned, it hurt when the weather changed, but it was a passing pain, a dull ache compared to the throbbing agony I’d once endured. In time, I might forget enough about my suffering to be bothered by the remnant consequences of the crash.
But then again, in time, I might not carry many reminders of the time I had put Bradley’s life ahead of my own. I would never regret my choice, however.
A world without him wasn’t a world I wanted to live in, although moving forward, I would be working to make sure we both survived. If I could choose us, I would.
Once I calmed enough I thought I could handle talking without sounding like a mess, I grabbed my phone and began the tedious process of notifying Bradley I suffered from anxiety and needed a reminder I walked the stretch of road where I’d meet a politician often and could handle the task without needing to suffer from a meltdown.
As expected, my phone rang a few moments later.
“Do you need me to walk with you?” Bradley asked before I had a chance to say a word.
“You just want a cheeseburger,” I accused.
“I mean, I am not saying no to a cheeseburger with extra cheese. I’m sure the politician you’re going to be cajoling money out of isn’t going to mind me, your most handsome fiancé, walking you around. If any reporters catch us, it just helps our cause. People like trying to prove couples aren’t legitimate nowadays.”
“Ridiculous,” I muttered.
“While I agree with you, it is what it is. I’ll be at the library within fifteen minutes. That will give us enough time to walk to the restaurant, right?”
“Yes, it will.”
“Sit tight, and if your anxiety gets worse, just go find Mickey. If he can handle your best bitch at her worst, I’m sure he is qualified to deal with you.”
I managed a laugh over his commentary. “Thanks, Bradley.”
“Glad to help—and I’m eager to escape the stock market hunt for a little while. I am uncomfortable with one of my investments. I feel dirty.”
“Bought low and it’s about to sell higher than you expected?”
“So dirty,” he complained before hanging up.
I returned my phone to my purse, exhaled, and got up to tidy my desk while waiting. At the ten minute mark, I meandered to the lobby, where Mickey defended the entry against rogue patrons. I went to the large desk, slumped against it, and whined.
“Don’t look at me for sympathy. You decided to bring a politician over today,” he stated without looking up from his work. “Beatrice just called, and our boss is in his office crying. I think it’s from joy, but I’m not sure.”
“I pitched a plan for an empty floor, and Beatrice promised to get it approved. I’ll be heading a global history program, and we’ll be workshopping to create a duplicate of my codices as the opener project. She’s going to try to get me access to the Met’s antique books for replication workshops. I’m going to be stealing from his stacks for my collection and reorganizing the entire floor.”
“I see. He’s crying from a mix of joy and horror, then.”
I nodded. “It’s a reasonable reaction. When I go home tonight and get a chance to think about what I’ve done, I’ll probably cry from a mix of joy and horror as well.”
“Janette, are you actually capable of crying?”
“Rarely.” I lifted my chin and faked a sniffle. “Spicy food has made me cry recently. And I’m struggling to process the last week or two. I’m sure I’ll actually cry over that soon enough, which will alarm everyone, myself included. I’m not good at crying, unless it’s from pain or spicy food, Mickey.”
“Trust me, we all know. Beatrice is worried because she feels that if she sheds actual tears, you should too. She got angry she started crying over a politician, Janette.”
Right. When my best bitch and I weren’t waging war, we were people with real emotions we often tried to hide. “Our reputations would be irrevocably ruined if we are caught crying by anyone other than our partners. As such, it is allowed in the rulebook for you to see her cry. Bradley is allowed to see me cry, but thus far, I’m limiting my tears to when it’s dark and no one can see me and when I can blame spicy food.”
Mickey sighed. “Does that rule apply to us men, too? Because I might have cried some over the situation.”
“It does. In fact, men score bonus points when they demonstrate they are capable of emotions.”
“You talk a lot of bullshit for someone who is fighting not to cry,” my fiancé stated from behind me.
Damn. I ignored him, looked Mickey in the eyes, and said, “I will schedule in some quality crying time for when our new kittens are being particularly adorable.”
“That seems reasonable. What brings you over, Bradley?”
“Someone is having an anxiety attack over having to go to lunch with a politician, so I’m going to escort her to the lunch and bring her—and the politician—back safe and sound. Ren will be following us, as will two of my father’s goons.”
I narrowed my eyes, crossed my arms, and pondered how to get revenge on the man I’d foolishly agreed to marry. “How did Ren get here so quickly? Isn’t he at home doing paper pushing things for you?”
“He lives a few floors down from us,” Bradley confessed. “I might have helped him with the acquisition.”
I heaved a sigh, my irritation over my failure to notice blooming. “Seriously?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you he moved, but Ren couldn’t handle being far away, not after your disappearance, and it was easier to just buy him a condo in our building. It also makes securing his place easy. We’ve been hiding his car in the lot so you wouldn’t notice.”
“How do you hide a car?” I asked, turning to face him.
He dared to smile at my disgruntled expression. “Dad is having some of his illusionists test new methods. So far, it’s been working pretty well. One time, you walked right past Ren without seeing him. I knew he was there, but you did not. Dad’s been having a great time proving some theories of magic that haven’t been studied.”
“We have a date this weekend to do cell work, so you can dish out some of those secrets.” I regarded Mickey with my saddest eyes. “I have to go have lunch with a politician, Mickey.”
“You’ll be all right, but I’m going to go tell the boss you’re having anxiety issues over the lunch dates. We’ll make sure someone goes with you to everything so you’re not alone or an easy target.” Mickey picked up the phone, pressed a button, and held it to his ear. “Sir, can you come see me at the front desk? Nobody else can take over my spot right now. Janette’s about to leave to pick up her lunch date.”
I sighed.
Bradley snickered, took hold of my hand, and gave a squeeze. “I’ll return her and her pet politician shortly. Tell Tawnlen I want a few words once you’ve lured him over.”
Mickey raised his thumb in acknowledgment.
Well aware that Bradley would drag me out if I didn’t cooperate, I headed for the door. “My pet politician?”
“You have them all eating out of your hand, so it seems fair to address them as your pet politicians. Just don’t scratch them behind their ears to find out if they’ll purr. I’ll get jealous, and after getting jealous, I’ll become sad that you aren’t scratching me behind my ears to see if I’ll purr.”
I translated his commentary to mean he needed some form of affection once we got home. “You should set up the tub for us tonight so we can read and soak. After today, we’re both going to need to unwind.”
“But will you scratch me behind my ears to see if I’ll purr?”
“I have ways of making you purr, and they don’t involve your ears,” I assured him. “You can pretend you’re a housewife, and you’re choosing to wear something nice for when I get home. But as you’re an untraditional housewife, you’ll dress in a nice suit.”
“Is the suit going to survive?”
I considered my mood and shrugged. “I’m making no promises.”
“I foresee a highly enjoyable evening, and should my librarian make it through lunch without additional anxiety attacks, I would be forced to reward her nicely.”
I eyed my fiancé, aware he lived in a different world when it came to rewards. “What sort of reward?”
“A Saturday afternoon outing to get an idea of what we want for our new fancy car. I already evaluated my stocks and sold the ones that are good selling prospects to pay for the venture.”
Life would be good on Saturday, assuming I survived the meeting with Representative Forsythe. “I’ll do my best.”
“You always do. Now, chin up. You have the advantage, and if someone does something stupid, you can give them a demonstration on why they are right to avoid crossing you. I recommend striving to beat your record.”
I raised a brow at the viciousness of his suggestion. “I mean, I’ll try. I’m out of practice, but if someone tries something stupid, I’ll use them as a warmup for future attempts.”
“Excellent. Show no mercy. We can worry about names in the aftermath. And yes, I absolutely am armed and dangerous. If anyone looks at you wrong, I’m more than willing to race you for the kill.”