Page 8
Jules
The Library
“Oh, you’re not in Kansas anymore,” I murmur as I stop in front of an enormous statue at the end of one aisle.
It’s a man, or something . I mean, it looks familiar, but not.
The statue is just breathtaking, commanding of all my attention. So damn majestic, I feel tears pricking my eyes.
He has horns and wings and so many muscles, I feel kind of pervy, gaping at it the way I am.
“I wonder who you are,” I whisper, then continue on my journey.
The scent here is strange but pleasant—old parchment and polished stone, with something faintly floral, like the ghost of lavender.
The deeper I go, the less the air feels like it belongs to me.
It gets heavier. Denser.
And the little warning bells I was just starting to believe didn’t work anymore start ringing inside my head.
That’s when I see her.
A woman—tall and thin, graceful, with luminous bronze skin and crimson hair that spills down her back like wildfire.
She stands on a ladder, shelving books like she’s done it a thousand times, humming something soft and eerie under her breath.
Her eyes flick toward me.
Black. Fully, entirely black.
Like ash, like onyx.
I freeze.
She frowns. Worried, maybe? Or just surprised?
I’m not sure. But I’m tired of talking to myself, so I go for it.
“Hello,” she says, her voice like cool water poured over hot metal. Soothing, but startling.
“You must be the hoo-man Lord Alaric brought here.”
“Um, I guess,” I say, blinking at the elegant figure high on the ladder. “And you are?”
She slides down the last few rungs and lands without a sound, bowing slightly with one hand over her chest.
“My name is Shade , mistress. One of the Eyrie’s stewards.”
Her name fits.
There’s something smoky about her. Not dark, not threatening. More like dusk in motion.
Her skin is luminous gray, eyes like polished ash, and her hair spills in a sheet of crimson fire down her back. She moves like she could vanish between shadows without a trace.
I stare. My heart’s thudding harder than it should be, and not because I’m afraid.
“Forgive me for asking, but what are you?”
She smiles. Just a small tilt of the lips, not entirely warm, not entirely cruel.
“A Demon, of course. Nightfall’s premier population comprises Demons.”
Of course. Like that’s just a thing now.
She tilts her head, studying me with those ink-black eyes.
“And you’re a hoo-man, yes? Here to be our Lord’s viyella ?”
“It’s human,” I correct gently. “And you can call me Jules.” Then I blink. “Wait—what was that you just said? Your Lord’s what ?”
“Pardon, mistress, um, Lady Jules?” she tries, awkward now.
“Just Jules,” I say again.
But she looks uncertain, like calling me anything less than nobility might get her smote by a lightning bolt. So I let it go.
“Anyway, you said I’m Lord Alaric’s what ?”
“Oh, um…” She shifts like she’s suddenly realized she’s said too much. “I don’t think it is for me to explain, Lady—I mean, Just Jules.”
There’s a soft humming sound at the back of her throat, something melodic and strange, and it somehow calms me.
Like the magic in her voice is designed to soothe skittish humans.
She turns to resume stacking books on the rolling cart behind her.
“I will continue with my duties, if you please.”
“Wait,” I say, reaching out and touching her arm without thinking.
She goes completely still.
I quickly pull back, realizing I’ve broken some unspoken rule.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. I just,” I murmur and exhale. “Can we talk? Just for a bit?”
She looks down at where I touched her, then up again with something almost like surprise. Then she gives a small nod.
“Sure, Just Jules. We can talk,” she says carefully. “If I may work while we do? There is much to be done.”
“Of course! I can even help,” I offer, eager for connection.
Something normal.
Even if it’s between a human and a gray-skinned Demon steward with a lullaby for a voice.
Shade shakes her head with a ghost of amusement, but doesn’t shoo me away.
I take that as a win.
“I suppose it is confusing,” she murmurs, gently shelving another book. “Being in a new realm.”
“That’s one word for it,” I say. “Another is terrifying. A third might be shocked by all the beauty here. I mean, are all Demons hot-as-hell, so to speak?”
Shit. Did I just stick my foot in my mouth?
I wait for her anger, but instead, Shade simply hums again. And this time I swear it’s almost a laugh.
“You mean you find our Lord attractive?”
I shrug, lips twitching. “I mean, you are only the second person, er, Demon, I’ve ever met, and you are stunning.”
“Thank you,” she says, eyes wide. “And Lord Alaric? You find him stunning also?”
“Oh, well, he’s not not hot.”
“The temperature is quite cool,” she frowns.
“Oh, yeah, I know. I mean hot as in like sexy, attractive,” I explain, blushing.
“I see. Well, he is famed among the servants,” she says diplomatically. “Though no one has ever seen him quite like this before.”
“Like what?”
Her eyes flick to mine, unreadable.
“Determined.”
A shiver trails down my spine.
“So, um, how long have you worked here? Is Alaric a good boss? My old boss sucked,” I mutter.
“Boss? Lord Alaric is fair and just. I’ve been in his employ since I’ve come of age,” she explains.
“I see,” I reply, but of course, I am lying. Still, I don’t want to give up my new friend, so I walk while she shelves books, and I ask questions.
“Your duties? What are they?”
“Well, I tend the library. And sometimes I work in the kitchen. I also have sentry duties.”
“Sentry duties? Like in the army?” I am clearly confused.
“All the Eyrie’s attendants are trained in the art of war,” she replies.
“Wow. How often do you have to fight?”
“Whenever it is needed,” she replies and shivers race down my spine.
“So, um, this room is huge. I’ve been in here for at least an hour and I can’t find the end of it.”
I change the subject. Because, war? I don’t know anything about it.
“The library stretches for miles,” Shade replies, and turns down one particular aisle, seeming to pull a cart with books out of thin air.
I follow her without quite meaning to.
There’s something mesmerizing about the way she moves so elegantly.
Like silk caught on a breeze.
“How did you do that?” I ask cautiously.
“Do what, mistress? Oh, the cart? It is stored in a holding space, a vacuum if you will,” she says. “I can reach through the veil with my magic and retrieve what is needed in order to return it.”
“Wow, I’ve never seen magic,” I confess, staring as she does it again, slowly.
“Magic is very much a part of the fabric of Nightfall.”
“We don’t have that on Earth,” I begin, but she shakes her head.
“Magic is everywhere. There would be nothing without it. But I understand it is harder to see in some realms.”
I swallow, processing what she said and have to agree. She is probably right.
I watch her work in silence for a few more minutes.
“So, is everyone here as, um, friendly as you?”
Shade’s laugh is bright and sharp.
“Oh no, Just Jules, you must be wary. Nightfall is fraught with terrors.”
Well. That’s comforting. Not.
She continues, unfazed.
“The SoulTakers have been closing in. Nasty things. They feed on dreams, you know. Slip into your mind while you sleep and peel the edges of your soul away, one layer at a time.”
I nearly trip. “I—what?”
“Oh yes,” she says lightly, as if discussing the weather. “They’re why Great Lords like Alaric and his brethren exist. They keep the balance. Protect what’s left of the realm.”
She pauses, running a fingertip along the spine of a book bound in what looks suspiciously like scales.
“But with the fall of the Prime,” her voice fades. Then Shade’s tone darkens. “Well, I’m afraid things have grown unstable.”
I take that in.
A realm ruled by elemental Demon Lords.
A magical crown.
Dream-eating monsters.
And me.
A bartender from Jersey.
“So, what am I doing here? If he is so busy with all of this, why did he take me?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Shade stops walking.
Turns to me.
Her eyes soften. Not with pity, but something else. Maybe respect?
“That’s a question only Lord Alaric can answer,” she says. “But if the realm allowed you to pass through, then I’d say you belong here . Nightfall does not grant everyone that right. If it let you in, then there is more to you than you think, Just Jules . ”
I bite the inside of my cheek, suddenly overwhelmed.
This place isn’t just some dream I’m going to wake up from. It’s real. Magical. Terrifying.
And somehow, I’m a part of it.
But how long can I stay?
And what will it cost me if I do?