One Dark Spark

This particular Thursday starts out like every other. I’m early to rise, quick to coffee, and off to work. The fact that my workplace is the ancient and very secret library that exists one floor below my small Boston apartment is just a bonus that means I don’t have to deal with rush hour traffic or, well, humans in general.
Then again, it’s not my choice to remain separate from the humans, so I’m not sure that’s actually what I’d call a bonus. But I’ve made my peace with it. There is—unfortunately—no other option. The work I do here is too important to risk creating any attachments out there.
As an intern for the Athenaeum, the creatures I interact with are few and far between—and rarely ever human. Trolls, giants, elves, fae, shifters—the clientele that come to study or search the library are diverse and strange. Have you ever met a banshee bookworm with a top-secret clearance? It’s not a combination one might expect. Also, not to stereotype, but banshees are just weird in general.
With my earbuds streaming a spicy alien romance audiobook, I spend the morning patrolling the ogre section and watching for anything sneaky or out of place among the quiet stacks.
The Athenaeum has one purpose, and that is to contain the threats trapped among the pages of the volumes kept inside it. As the library’s newest—and most hopeful—intern, my job is to make sure nothing inside the books contained here makes it out again.
Unfortunately for the Athenaeum, I kind of suck at it.
As if to prove my point, a large tome on the end of the shelf shakes ominously as I pass it. A single, gnarled green finger pries itself from between the pages, attempting to push the book open. I rush forward, adrenaline surging. With two hands, I grab the book and squeeze it shut again.
“Clauseruntque,” I hiss and the green finger withdraws as the book seals itself shut at the command of the magic.
Exhaling, I re-shelve the book into its proper place then let go and back away, bumping into the shelf at my back. Several books vibrate with the impact, and I suck in a breath, jumping clear of them before my clumsy ass can do any more damage.
A moment passes, and the books fall silent again.
Damn, that was close.
It happens far more often than I care to admit. As though, for some reason, the books enjoy toying with me. Truthfully, I wonder if they can sense how afraid I am of screwing things up. They don’t act like this for the full-fledged keepers, that’s for sure.
I tune back in to the audiobook still playing in my ears and resume my patrol, fingers crossed the incident wasn’t strong enough to raise any alarms with Hoc.
I can’t really afford any more fuckups.
Not after I barely managed to avoid getting thrown out for the last one.
So, I keep strolling, putting one foot in front of the other while I imagine the hands of a deliciously muscled blue alien running all over my body.
A shifter—as evidenced by her golden gaze—steps into the aisle and looks up. She mouths something, but I can’t hear her. She repeats—
“ . Sorry!” I pull one of my earbuds out.
“No biggie,” she says easily. Her blonde hair is long and braided over her shoulder. When she smiles, I get the sense that she’s new to the library. Mainly because the smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and it’s not hard to sense her uneasiness here. She’s not the only one. Most of our guests don’t realize how alive this place truly is until they experience it for themselves.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“Yes. Please. I’m trying to find some history on shifters. Books detailing what comes first in terms of creation. A real chicken or the egg type of situation.” She laughs.
I return her humor, deciding that, if I were going to make a friend outside of this place, she could be one of them. “Yes. We have quite a lot of reference material about shifters in the non-fiction section. Unless, of course, you want a spelled fictional story.”
“No, thanks,” she says with a shudder. “I’ve had enough dealings with spells to last a lifetime.”
“Well—”
“Serenity,” she offers.
“Serenity,” I continue, “You can find the non-fiction down the hall and toward the back. There’s a sign over it, though it might not be lit yet.” Damn gnomes. They had one job this morning.
“Great. Thanks so much—”
“Paige,” I say.
“Paige. Great name.” She grins, but after so many years of jokes, the humor doesn’t hit me in the same way anymore.
“Thanks, it’s fitting, I suppose.”
“Very. Have a great day!” She waves and turns. Normally, supernaturals are escorted through the more volatile sections of the library. The ones who need keeper or intern status to enter. For what Serenity is looking for, though, she shouldn’t run into any issues.
Unless, of course, she tries to break into the restricted areas. But, as far as I know, that’s never happened. The library’s magic is too strong for that. It sees everything.
I continue my perusal, re-shelving books as needed and checking through the areas to make sure no one has wandered where they shouldn’t be, and by the time I surface again, I realize that the entire morning has passed without much incident.
Winning! My stomach growls, and I become aware I’ve very nearly missed lunch, thanks to my audiobook as a pleasant distraction. The story is about a human woman who crash-lands on an alien planet only to be saved by a large, muscled creature with two dicks. Two! Her dream come true.
If only.
I snort, enjoying the spicy scenes and the fiction of it all. Humans write the best fairy tales. This place? It’s full of stories that are much too real to be enjoyed.
On my way back to the break room, I reach the witch section. There’s a title called Midnight Falls something-or-other, and my fingers brush over the spine as I try to imagine what a place like that would look like. The spine moves beneath my hands, and I jerk away again, scowling at how unsettled it leaves me.
A noise ahead snags my attention. Grunting. And then a heave of breath and a crack!
The sound of a weapon wielded has me running toward it.
Rounding the corner, I pull up short. Blossom, a female keeper not much older than me with stark white hair is standing over a body that’s currently oozing blackened blood into the carpets. Blossom has a severed troll head clutched in one hand and a blood-tipped axe in the other.
She looks up at me, her sharp gaze mildly annoyed at seeing me here. “He a friend of yours?”
“What happened?” I ask, eyes wide.
“This asshole was shelved incorrectly.” Her glare turns accusatory, and I jolt, realizing her meaning.
Interns are the only ones who shelve books. And I’m the only intern. Which makes that exclusively my problem. Shit.
“Does Hoc know?” I ask, keeping my voice a near whisper.
Before she can answer, a harsh blaring sounds overhead, and dread spears through me. Double shit.
Blossom gives me an apologetic look. “He does now.”