Page 2 of Must Love Libraries and Libations (Moonshine Hollow #2)

ERASMUS

T he spells in the witch’s codex scattered like mice across the page, each letter and symbol refusing to be pinned down.

The witch was not a dark mage, but a prankster at heart.

But even mischief could do great harm when not controlled.

That was why the council had sent me to Moonshine Hollow too many years ago to count to take possession of the codex…

and neutralize it. I had spent decades at the task, but it was soon nearing its end.

Dozens of volumes of her grimoire had been set to rest. Only one book remained. And now, only the last few pages.

“Now, now, Witch Eyreaway. None of that,” I said, stretching my clawed hands and working my gargoyle magic.

A golden swirl of magic unspooled from my fingertips as I chased the witch’s spell.

After much concentration, hunching over my desk for who knew how long, I finally locked the spell onto the page.

With the enchantment settled, I surveyed the witch’s notes. Sometimes, I could make out the intent of the witch’s spell, but not always. This spell, however, seemed to have something to do with the transmutation of metals.

“Always about something underhanded, weren’t you?” I asked the absent witch.

She was part of Moonshine Hollow legend now, but Witch Eyreaway had once menaced the little hamlet that became Moonshine Hollow with her meddling ways.

Her cottage was long gone, the timbers now part of the bookstore called, rather ridiculously, Sir Hootington’s.

But her spells, and the potential harm they presented, still haunted the pages before me.

I paused a moment to give my wings a stretch. Unfurling them, I earned a reproachful huff from Melville, the aged, pearl-white bookwyrm who was curled up in his favorite spot in a chair in the corner.

“My apologies, friend,” I told him, pulling my wings back in.

When the grand building that became Moonshine Hollow Library was built nearly eleventy-one years ago, no one had accounted for the space the gargoyle guardian’s anatomy might need for a stretch.

But it didn’t matter. My small study and bedroom tucked into one corner of the library were enough for me. I had work to do.

Closing the witch’s codex, I set it carefully back into the bespelled chest and locked it.

Pausing, I patted Melville, who was already dozing once more.

His eyes opened just a slant, and he purred softly, before going to sleep again.

I returned to my workbench, planning to fix the binding on one of the books a librarian had brought to me, but decided to check on a pair of bookwyrms who had been acting oddly the last few days.

I pushed open the door of my study, which sat just off the main work area in the library, and took in the room.

In front of me, witches, wizards, and all manner of magic users pored over the tomes held in the library.

One elderly woman read through a pair of round spectacles, one finger bobbing in the air as a pair of knitting needles hovered on the other side of her book.

As she read, she used her magic to knit.

A young wizard had stacks of tomes sitting on either side of him.

Dragon lore, from what I could see. So engrossed in his work, he hardly noticed the others in the room.

At the corner of one table, I spotted Stevenson, the most mischievous of the bookwyrms, his eyes shining as he watched a young witch work.

She turned from her book to jot something down in her journal.

As she did so, she reached into her pocket and pulled out what looked like candy. One for her…and one for Stevenson.

I cleared my throat.

Stevenson, not missing the sound, turned my way.

I gave him a knowing look.

He narrowed his gaze at me in annoyance, took the candy anyway, then scampered away and up into the great Wyrmwood tree that sat proudly at the heart of the library. Miscreant. He was always begging for food. I would need to ask the librarians to put out a sign telling the patrons not to feed him.

At the top of the tree, the other bookwyrms roosted, either reading or dozing. I saw Merlin lying on his back, a scroll rolled out before him. He’d used magic to make it hover in the air above him in just the right reading position.

Turning from the tree, my eyes went to the workers. Izelda and Tomas were at the circulation desk speaking to patrons. Aggie stood not far from me, opposite a patron who was asking her, in a rather dramatic tone, about a spellbook.

“It’s specific to lightning ,” the man told her, frustration growing in his voice. “I’ve looked everywhere . It has a blue cover, silver embossing.”

“We should look in the weather magic section,” Aggie suggested in her usual flat tone.

Aggie was a smart woman with a good mind for magical entomology.

But mostly, I liked that she was quiet. Some might even call her dull—dull toned, dull personality, dull manner of dressing.

But I preferred her to the others. Izelda, the head librarian, laughed too loudly and too often for my liking.

Tomas always wanted to joke about everything.

Blessedly, Aggie never did that, even if she occasionally shared random bug facts.

“I already told you,” the wizard replied, exasperated. “I’ve looked at every tome in that section. The library has simply misshelved the book.”

“My library does not misclassify books,” I said sharply. “It’s removed for repair.”

Beside me, the stacks let out a low humph in righteous indignation.

At the sound of my voice, the wizard jumped and then turned.

“Guardian,” he said, gasping in surprise.

“Guardian,” Aggie greeted me.

I inclined my head to her, then turned to the wizard. “The stitching is frayed. I will return it to the stacks within a week.”

“Oh. Well. I see. I… Thank you, Guardian,” the man replied, looking unnerved. Not saying anything else, he turned to leave but paused when I spoke again.

“I trust you will not accuse my library or its librarians of mishandling books again, will you, Wizard Libebe?” I asked, holding his gaze with my golden eyes, ensuring my point came across very clearly.

“No. No, of course not. Right. Right. My apologies to all,” the wizard said, then turned and hurried away.

I frowned in his wake, then turned to Aggie. “Have you seen Hawthorne or Louisa May?” I asked, referring to a pair of bookwyrms who had been unusually frenetic these past few days.

“Upstairs,” she said, pointing to the balcony lofts overhead. “Magical repairs.”

“Thank you.”

Aggie nodded to me, then drifted off to attend to other business while I headed upstairs.

When I reached the second floor, I held on to the rail and looked over the library.

How much was the same, but I still saw the subtle passages of time…

changes in the clothing of the patrons, the way the head librarians reorganized the work area, statues and paintings that had come and gone.

Aside from the witch and occasional know-it-all patrons, Moonshine Hollow was a peaceful place, even if there were far more people, taverns, and noise than ever.

Turning, I made my way to the magical repairs section of the library, where I found Hawthorne and Louisa May rooting around.

Louisa May was deep in the stacks behind the books, but I saw a flash of her golden scales.

Hawthorne, however, was perched on the very top of the shelves, looking into the storage nooks and crannies.

His sapphire-colored scales glimmered in the mid-morning sunlight.

I watched them for a time, my mind considering.

“And what are we doing?” I asked, causing both of them to pause their efforts and turn to me.

Hawthorne looked me over, decided whatever he was doing was more important, then went back to rooting.

Louisa May, however, slipped off the shelves.

Bookwyrms were the size of and had the agility of cats, even if they were small dragons.

While wingless, their magic allowed them to fly, giving them the ability to be quick and slippery, often a bad combination when they were up to no good.

Louisa May, however, was perpetually sweet.

Flying to me, she landed on my shoulder and then nuzzled my chin.

“I think you are brooding,” I told her. “Am I right?”

Louisa May trilled happily in reply.

“I see. Looking for a place to nest. If I can be of assistance, you must let me know.”

The bookwyrm clicked to me, gave me a nuzzle once more, then returned to her hunt.

“The tree really is the safest place, my friends,” I told them.

Hawthorne clicked at me in disagreement.

“Too much noise, perhaps,” I replied. “That, I can understand.”

Leaving them, I went to the rail and looked out once more.

“Too much noise. That is a sentiment I know well,” I said, my mind going back to the conversation I’d had with Izelda and Elder Theodonna earlier this week.

The elders were determined to host some grand party to celebrate the library’s eleventy-first birthday.

I had made it very clear that it was not possible.

They would have to have the birthday celebration at a community center in town.

But not here. Never here. And yet, the elder had been…

insistent. And now, apparently, a party planner was coming to talk the matter over.

I frowned.

What was there to talk about?

The library was a place of quiet, peace, and scholarly study, not the place for cake and a brass band.

It wasn’t happening.

Ever.

And that was all there was to that.

I tugged at the cuffs of my jacket, realizing that the stitching had begun to unravel.

Well, the garment was three hundred years old, a gift from a past librarian, so I supposed it was natural.

The black velvet had faded to gray and was worn in places, but the frock was still comfortable, even if a little outdated.

It merely belonged to another time. A bit like its owner.

Alighting from the second floor to the ground floor, using my wings to lower me, I ignored the startled expressions of the patrons—even the knitting needles had stopped to look—and made my way back to my study.

There, my work, and my quiet, waited.