Page 13 of The Vampire Trap

Without warning, Wallace veers the horses to the side. The carriage jerks with the change. And just as I’m about to call out to him, one of the wheels hits the worst pothole yet. I bounce in my seat hard enough to bite the side of my tongue. [AW1]

If he breaks an axel before we get to the library, I will hand-feed him to demons myself.

Fortunately, both the carriage and I arrive at our destination shaken but whole.

I wait, perched on the edge of the cushioned bench seat, and wait for Wallace to open the door. After the usual amount of time passes and I’m still waiting, I make out the deep rumble of a man’s voice. Curious, I lift the nearest window and lean out. Wallace is petting the horses and talking with them like a mother might coo words to her newborn.

My eye twitches. Any other time, I would find it endearing, but now is not the time for this.

I clear my throat, and he peers past the dappled gray. “Did you happen to forget something?” I ask.

His forehead wrinkles, then his eyes widen as he understands and hurries to open the door and hands me down.

“Sorry, Zadie. I’m not used to this,” he mutters.

“I’ll be inside for a few hours. Remain close in case we need to leave in a hurry.” I take two steps, then looking back, I add, “Try not to get sidetracked.”

Squaring his shoulders, he nods vigorously.

I climb the steps to the library. My chest swells with equal parts excitement and disappointment. I’m about to walk into the center of scholarly knowledge, but not for the purpose I wish—to further my studies. I comfort myself with the reminder that this is only the start.

And there’s no reason why I can’t look around and make a list of titles while I wait for my plan to be set into motion.

The door rattles on its hinges as I walk inside. Immediately the scent of parchment and ink and dust envelopes me. There are a total of three floors, all open to the center.

Gas lamps are lit along the walls in even intervals surrounded by half shades made of crystal to multiply the light rather than dampen it. The isles are wide with heavy chandeliers overhead. It’s quiet, filled with the steady hush of turning pages, and whispered conversations.

Clutching my notebook and charcoal to my body, I stride forward with purpose toward the round desk. It’s large enough for six librarians to sit and work at once, but only two are there now. A young man smiling awkwardly as he waits for me, an older woman checking a stack of books against the records of her ledger.

“Hello, I?—”

He cuts me off with a finger to his lips and a harsh, shushing noise.

I cringe.

“Name?” he asks flatly.

“Zadie Hall.” This time I’m careful to control the volume of my voice.

He pulls out a book similar to one found at the front desk of an inn. With efficient strokes, he prints my name on the next available line, then looks up, brows raised with an unspoken question. I grin awkwardly.

“First time here then, Lady Hall?”

I nod.

“If you tell me what subject you need, I can show to where to go.”

“Medicine,” I say.

He jots that down, then jerks his chin for me to follow. Carpet runners are set along nearly every walkway to soften the sound of our footsteps.

As we walk further inside, he introduces himself as George Willard and proudly states that he comes from a long line of librarians. Then he points out the main features and different sections.

On the bottom level to the left is a wall of closed doors, starting from behind the front desk to the back wall. Straight ahead and to the right are laid out exactly like the second and third floors; shelves filled with books and walkways on each end. Along the outer walls are designated tables for study. Each one on the ground floor seems to be taken.

In each corner at the back are spiral wrought iron staircases leading to the other floors. Mr. Willard leads me to the second and shows me the three rows of shelves, all dedicated to medicine. He tells me to let him know if I need anything, then leaves me.

I can see most of the library from where I’m at. I wind my way casually through the rows, searching for a specific title I know won’t be here because it is currently sitting on a chair in the viscount’s bedroom. There are more titles and subjects than I could have dreamed of.

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