Page 16 of Bookworm
He shook his head. “Only the head of each department can do that. And usually they reserve it for the grad students and PhD candidates.”
Again, it made sense.
“Okay,” I said, pulling on my gloves and snapping them at the wrist. “Tell me the rules here.”
“The rules?”
“Yeah. What are the hours? When can I come in and use my code? Obviously, I assume no food or drink.” I looked longingly at the door where I’d left my coffee cup on one of the tables out there.
Adam cleared his throat. “Right. The library is open twenty-four hours a day. If you’re still a night owl, you can come do your work at three in the morning.”
I clenched at the way he said that.If you’re still a night owl. Like he knew me.Stillknew me.
Well, Iwasstill a night owl. I preferred to get my work done in the middle of the night when the rest of the world slept. There were no annoying emails interrupting me. No spam calls breaking my focus and concentration. No one else using their code and coming into the rare books room while I was patching the tiniest sliver of ink in a two-hundred year old calligraphy.
However, in this case, I might need my evenings to fix the copy of Pride and Prejudice before anyone here became the wiser that it wasn’t exactly in the pristine condition I’d said it was at the time of the phone call.
Basically, thanks to Jules, I now had two full time jobs restoring old books.
“And I’m assuming no… candles?” I asked, my eyes flicking to the charred results of the fire. How the hell did a fire even break out in this room? If they didn’t allow freaking coffee then there was no way they allowed anything remotely flammable.
Adam winced at my words. “Yeah. That should be a given.”
“Can I ask what happened?”
Adam’s gaze on me narrowed. “You know what happened. I told you on the phone the other night.”
Dammit. This was going to be a lot harder than I thought.
“I know,” I said. “But reception can be a little spotty and, uh, I want to make sure I have all the information I need before I get my supplies.”
Adam inhaled sharply. “It’s humiliating,” he whispered. “Please don’t make me relive that again.”
The problem was, I truly couldn’t do my job if I didn’t know every single little detail. A grease fire would require different supplies to restore the books than an electrical fire. Was I dealing with only smoke damage or had flames eaten literal pages of the books?
“Why don’t we start with you showing me the damage?” I offered. Baby steps into making him relive the most humiliating night of his professional career.
“Fine,” Adam said, leading the way across the room over to where the small fire had broken out. “The damage was contained just to this corner.”
Several large hardcover books were there. With gloved hands, I lifted one, opening the front cover. It was an old medicaltextbook from the early 1800s. Mostly smoke damage. Way easier to fix than actual burns.
I set the book down and lifted the next book, inspecting it closely. Then the next, and the next. Eight in total. Most of them were smoke damage. All in all, not too hard. I lifted the next, which looked like an old journal and turned it over in my hands, my brow furrowing.
Inside, it was handwritten, like a journal, in feminine curly cursive. “What’s this one?” I asked.
Adam cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable being in here with me. “It’s the private journals of Louisa May Alcott. One of Dartmouth’s most prized possessions here in the rare books room.
The edges were burned and ink had smeared, as though it had been splashed with water…
Oh God. My gaze darted to Adam. “No,” I said. “You didn’t, Adam. Please tell me you didn’t douse this book with water after you set it on fire.”
His gaze dropped to his feet as he kicked at some nonexistent dirt. “What was I supposed to do?” he muttered. “Let the whole damn room burn down?”
To start with, don’t set it on fire in the first place, I thought. “You can tamp it out with the fire blanket,” I said, pointing to the blanket that was folded on a shelf.
“Well, I didn’t know that,” Adam snapped. “I didn’t go to school for this like you did. I wasn’t even supposed to be in here. The head of my department left his coffee in here and he knew he’d be busted if he didn’t get the empty cup out. “
Finally, a little backstory about what the crap happened. “So he sent you,” I said. “Then what?”
