Page 28 of The Curse of Indy Moore (The Cursed Duology #1)

Where Indy Defiles a Library

Otis’s attempt to point me in the right direction failed. The third floor contained works of demonology, and there were aisles upon aisles of them. I passed through the shelves, one after the other, with no Mr. Hawthorne in sight.

Returning to Otis would be best because Mr. Hawthorne may have already done so.

If not, I would rather be near Otis than force the two of them to search the archives for me.

And I could avoid another unwelcome run-in.

The tension from Rosalind had been enough.

I reached my quota of discomfort for the day, arguably the year.

I took my time walking the aisles in a final search attempt and to satiate my curiosity. Here and there, I retrieved a book to flip through the pages, perturbed by the depictions of demons that flayed one’s skin, then baffled by demons that sang crying babies to sleep or guided lost children home.

Mr. Hawthorne hadn’t exaggerated enough how eccentric demons were.

All the tales spun them as darkness itself, a convoluted mess of a creature meant to devour all on its path.

The books said otherwise. Though there absolutely were those made of such horror, I could hardly look at the depictions of them.

Demons were, in a way, not any different from us, capable of cruelty and kindness. If only a demon of kindness cursed me to have the best luck in the world. Instead, I got a wolf woman that wanted to turn me into a dog and keep me on as a pet.

I set the last book I picked up on the shelf, intending to hurry downstairs, when a shadow passed at the end of the hall.

The librarian had been around earlier. He was likely putting away more books, but when I reached the end of the aisle, it was not squeaking wheels or a muttering librarian I heard. It was a growl.

I had heard a growl earlier. It was nothing. My mind was playing tricks on me. It likely was again.

In the hall, there were no dogs or wolves. There weren’t any people, either. The archive grew eerily quiet. Another shadow moved between the shelves, spreading across the hall, then vanishing. I picked up my pace, moving around the aisles that went on and on.

Where had the staircase been? Did I get turned around?

A book fell off a shelf near me. That was no coincidence.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” I put the book back on the shelf then peeked around to the other side.

The hall sat empty. The lighting flickered. Ahead, the darkness consumed the shelving, casting long shadows across the empty archive. My heaving breaths echoed in the silence, then came another growl.

At the end of the hall, a pair of gold eyes blinked in the dark.

Not Carline, based on the height, but a dog that stepped into the light.

It was not one of the wolves that chased me that night.

The hound had on a collar, of all things, its fur black as night, fangs bared and eyes fearsome in their golden hue .

I swallowed hard, telling myself the dog was a trick, an illusion. Mr. Hawthorne said Carline could mess with my mind.

But that dog certainly felt real when it lunged.

I ran between the shelves. I could not outrun the beast in the open.

The wolves had proven that, having taunted me through the forest. There were obstacles here, books and scrolls that I shoved off shelves.

The shelves themselves wouldn’t move, having seemingly been bolted down based on my futile attempt to shove them over.

The dog gained, his barking wild and piercing. His claws scratched against the floorboards, always reminding me they could tear me to ribbons if he got close enough.

“Help!” I screamed.

The archives had been so busy, and yet I was left at the mercy of a beast entirely alone.

Behind me, the dog snarled. I whipped around, book in hand.

The dog was an aisle down. I threw the book and hit its head, but the dog didn’t flinch.

I sprinted down another aisle, shrieking, then hit something.

“What in the world are you doing?!” A pair of hands latched onto my arms, tight enough to bruise.

“A dog! Please, let go, the dog is…” Nowhere to be seen.

The lights were on and bright, the hallways breezy and open. I stood in the grasp of an angered librarian, his face wrinkled by rage. Books laid on the floor behind me, the ones I had been tearing from the shelves to trip the dog that vanished entirely.

Another illusion, but it had felt so real that I was left struggling to stand. If the librarian hadn’t taken hold of me, my knees would have given out.

“We do not allow such childish behavior in our archives,” the librarian said sternly, his face taking on a red hue.

“I apologize. I’ll clean it up right away,” I tried, but he dragged me away from the shelving.

“You’ve done quite enough. ”

“There you are, sweetheart.” Mr. Hawthorne pushed the librarian back to settle his arm around my shoulders. He smiled, like holding me against his side was normal. “I have been looking for you everywhere. You really shouldn’t wander off.”

Sweetheart?

The librarian looked us up and down. “Is this your partner, sir? She has made a mess of our library, tearing the books off the shelves. If there are any damages—”

“I will handle them,” Mr. Hawthorne interjected, with books hovering at his back. “Please forgive her. She has had a horrid fever the last week or so, and we thought she was finally feeling up to an outing, but it seems she needs more rest.”

“That is quite unfortunate, but we simply cannot have someone gallivanting through the halls and tearing books from the shelves.”

“I understand. I won’t let her out of my sight.”

“If that’s the case…” The librarian adjusted his robes. “So be it, but I expect the mess to be cleaned, too.”

“We will get right on it.”

The librarian left. Mr. Hawthorne released me, leaving me abnormally cold. There had to be an open window nearby, or something of the like. I crossed my arms to resist the urge to lean against him.

“What happened?” Mr. Hawthorne peeked into the aisle to find the mess I had made. He took to cleaning up. I hurried after him, grabbing the books to hand off, seeing as he found where they went easier than me.

“I saw something, a dog. I was looking for you when the lights started flickering. At the end of the hall, there was a dog with gold eyes and a collar, which made it so strange, and I thought what if it wasn’t an illusion?

The dog chased me, but then I ran into the librarian, and the dog disappeared.

” I kept my eyes out for the dog, expecting every corner we turned to be our last.

“A collar. That would be an odd thing to add to an illusion,” he agreed.

“Are you saying it wasn’t an illusion, then?”

“I am implying it might not have been.” He stashed another book on the shelf a little too roughly.

“Considering Carline’s capabilities thus far, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s able to control animals from a great distance.

However, it was bolder of her than expected to send one after you in public. ”

“How would a dog get into the archives, anyway?”

“Through the front door, I imagine.”

“I am in no mood for you being coy.”

He leaned against the shelving. The books that followed him must have been ones he planned to check out. There were at least a dozen of them swaying from side to side. He looked in his element, surrounded by research materials and haughty as ever.

“I am being honest. There are no rules against animals in the archives. The dog could have waltzed in with someone and wandered up here,” he said.

I spun around in search of the accursed creature. If I survived this, Carline would get an earful for making me fearful of every dog I saw. Surviving in a world where I worried about whether a dog would bite me was one I didn’t want to live in. I would much rather give them pets and treats.

“Could the dog still be here?” I asked skeptically.

“Yes, but we’ll stick together. I’ll protect you from any big bad doggies,” he teased.

“I bet you would run at the sight of one.”

“Obviously.” He pressed his palm against his cheek while batting his eyelashes. “This face isn’t worth damaging, but I am more than capable of protecting you from a safe distance.”

“Your attempts at comfort are pathetic at best. I would actually prefer it if you kept them to yourself.” I snatched the last set of books from the floor.

They must have been the ones I threw because they belonged a few aisles over. I wandered to them, searching where to place them, then a shelf shook. Startled, I pivoted in search of the dog. The shelf shook again, and I retreated.

What caused that? An earthquake? None of the other shelves shook, though. One book rattled. Was there a mouse or something? I grabbed the spine then a hand fell on mine .

“I would advise against that. This one bites,” Mr. Hawthorne warned. He loomed over me, lips set into a teasing grin.

“Why would a book bite?” I inquired.

“You are welcome to ask.” His finger tapped my hand, reminding me of our connection. My chest warmed slightly.

“I am asking you, the most talented artificer this world has ever seen.”

“At least try to say that with a little conviction.” He leaned in, his scent like early morning coffee and an open book. Neither had been of interest to me all my life, and yet now, I found myself wanting.

“Will I be compensated for my acting prowess?” I challenged.

“My assistance free of charge isn’t enough to warrant even a moment of your feigned niceties?”

“No, because you are getting a research project out of me.”

“Fair point.” He lingered, a sturdy wall between me and the rest of the world. The books fluttered at his back, somehow less magical than his eyes, greener than a forest, far more enchanting than one too.

I wet my lips, and his eyes dared to glance at them.

“Are you done? It is growing late,” I said weakly.

“I have a few more books I would like to get,” he replied. “We can find Otis, and you can wait with him.”