Page 11 of The Library of Second Chances
‘Bear with me.’ She flicked closer to the end. When she had sent back the nineteenth-century noble that rainy evening, had she done something different? Finally, she flicked to the last few pages of the book, an idea striking her. ‘All right, let me try this.’
She found the last line uttered by the character in front of her, then whispered it, loud enough for him to hear. Clementine leaped to the floor beside her feet, meowing softly. He stood on his back legs, gently laying his ginger paw on the page.
A gentle wind rippled over her. Chloe looked up.
The Scot had disappeared.
A shiver ran across her skin. There was no doubt about it now. Somehow, she had managed to pull out a character from their story. When books were ready to let their charactersemerge, the tomes glowed and waited to be picked up. Then she spoke a line aloud from the book and the character would come out. That was how much she had gleaned from what had happened so far. And if she wanted them to return, she only had to read aloud their final line.
It sounded simple enough.
Nope, no, it didn’t.
The book tumbled from her hands, landing with a loud thump on the floorboards. She buried her face in her hands as Clementine gave a soft mew, jumping onto her lap. This was all utterly impossible. Or so she would have believed if it hadn’t happened to her twice now.
Chloe released a long, shaky breath, aware she had stayed up here talking for at least ten minutes. Eric was probably wondering where she had got to, or Mrs Cook may be looking for her. Chloe petted Clementine between his ears until she had calmed her racing heart, then rose to her feet and picked the book up, noting that the glow had gone. The same as last time. She quietly apologised to it for dropping it and slid the novel in question back onto the shelf. It sat in silence, innocently dim. It was as though . . . the character’s job was done here. The Scottish warrior had been here, clearly from a story, and she had successfully sent him home.
He had told her to have faith in the unknown, even if she didn’t fully understand it. Was that what she should be doing now? Embracing this newly found power instead of trying in vain to deny it? As the fear faded, excitement jolted through her. Seeing was believing, and she was ready to put faith into this.
Whether it would be wise to share it with someone else, well, that remained to be seen. She looked down at her hands in awe. How long had this power been dormant in her?
She thought back to the man she had met that rainy night after her date. He had asked her if first impressions mattered,had prompted her to think on it. And now the red-headed Scotsman had made her think about things, too.
She had no doubt she could do it again, pull another character from a story and have a conversation with them. Did Mrs Cook know about this? Did Eric? Or was it something Chloe had discovered herself?
She couldn’t tell them, not without learning more and maybe prodding them for clues. If she told them outright, they might think she was hallucinating or lying. Yes, it would be better to keep this to herself for now, at least until she learned more about it.
She knelt to pet Clementine, feeling his bushy tail straighten beneath her fingers. She was sure the cat felt her disquiet and had come to comfort her. ‘Thank you, Clem. I’m feeling a bit better.’
This was all so crazy if it was true, but she had to keep it under wraps for now. Characters emerging from their stories wasn’t something that occurred often, especially in quiet little English towns where nothing ever happened.
Clementine was always the most energetic in the mornings and evenings, and the purple of the clouds through the gothic windows told him it was already twilight. His tail twitched, eager for a run around the library garden.
He watched Mrs Cook as she finished her work, then she opened the back door for him and he streaked out. The cold air rippled across his fur. He preferred staying indoors most of the time, but now and then he wanted to feel the cool grass against his paws, smell the flowers and soil – this place that was full of such heavenly scents, floral and grassy – and maybe even catch something. His noble ancestors were wild hunters, after all.
There was definitely something lurking in the bush there.
Clementine leaped with grace, his silent pounce marred only by the light tinkling of his collar bell. He caught his prey between two soft paws. A frog croaked beneath him in protest. Clementine picked it up in his mouth as the amphibian wriggled, trying to jump away. Rather proud of his marvellous catch, Clementine trotted over to where Mrs Cook was waiting for him.
‘What have you got there, little boy?’ The human lady crouched before him, then gasped, her wrinkled hands clamping over her cheeks. ‘Oh, no! Poor little thing. Oh, you naughty boy, Clem.’
Clementine meowed, which wasn’t easy around a mouthful of frog. The creature wriggled miserably in his jaws. Wasn’t Mrs Cook happy with his present?
She didn’t eat much, he could see. And she was very small. She needed feeding. Maybe she didn’t like to eat frogs? Clementine didn’t know much about human diets, though he had seen them use milk.
He didn’t think he could hunt milk.
Clementine tried to explain, but Mrs Cook crouched before him, looking stern as she stretched out her hand. ‘I know you need to hunt, but that little froggy hasn’t done anything wrong. Give him to me, Clementine. There’s plenty of nice food in there for you. You don’t need to be out chasing little animals.’
Clementine sat down, indignant. This was no way to accept a gift.
‘Clementine,’ sang Mrs Cook.
The cat deposited the little frog onto the librarian’s hand. It leaped off at once, jumping into the bushes and out of sight.
Clementine meowed at the librarian and passed her, going back into the warmth of the kitchen with his tail in the air. She didn’t like his present. In fact, she had let the little thing escape. He wasn’t sure whether it would have tasted good, but she should have appreciated the thought.
He leaped on top of the fridge and turned his back to her. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to rest, but he wanted her to know he was annoyed. When she said his name, Clementine refused to look at her, studying the wallpaper instead, as his tail wrapped around his feet. The cheek, thenerve. . .
