Page 5 of Witches of Dubious Origin
“That’s fine. The museum is open to the public. I’m just here to tase anyone who misbehaves.” She smiled, showing a lot of teeth. I did not find this terribly reassuring, but I smiled back anyway, not wanting to be rude and risk a possible tasing. I glanced at her name tag. It readTina.
A brisk breeze from the reservoir tugged the loose end of my dark red cashmere scarf and the hem of my long black wool coat. Agatha had advised me to wear my job-interview best, as the museum was run by a socialite from the Upper East Side. Naturally, I had done a quick background check on her.
Claire Carpenter was her name, and she’d been in charge of the museum for years. Under her leadership, they’d expanded their education program, acquired numerous invaluable additions to the collection, and won the coveted Museum and Heritage Permanent Exhibition of the Year award among many other accolades and achievements. To say I was in awe of her was an understatement.
Tina pulled open one of the massive doors and I stepped inside. I walked up a short flight of stone steps and found myself in a vast entryway. In front of me was an impressively large wooden staircase and on my left was a library, my happy place. Naturally, I chose to go to the library.
It was not the industrial-carpet-and-steel-shelves library of my daily existence in Wessex. This room boasted a teak parquet floor and freestanding oak bookcases that ran the length of the enormous space. If that weren’t breathtaking enough, on a pedestal in the center of the room perched a larger-than-life bronze statue of Athena, Greek goddess of knowledge. Wow, just wow.
The smell of the place, paper and leather and cloth bindings, was the same as any other library and one that comforted. I studied the shelf nearest me and noted that most of the volumes appeared to be very old but in excellent condition, which made sense given that I was technically in amuseum. I glanced around the space and noted that several of the study tables beyond the statue were occupied—by scholars, I assumed—and there was an information desk. It was as ornately carved as the rest of the interior but tucked unobtrusively into an alcove to the left of the entrance.
A twentysomething woman with purple hair and a septum piercing slipped out from behind the desk. She wore stylish black low-heeled ankle boots, black tights, a black-and-red-plaid miniskirt, and a red turtleneck sweater that clashed spectacularly with her hair. She held a slip of paper in her hand and was walking toward the stacks. She smiled at me in a friendly way and said, “Hi. I have to grab a book for one of the researchers. I’ll be right back.”
“Of course,” I said.
I glanced around the area, looking for another staff person who could direct me. I didn’t see anyone and considered, just for a moment, abandoning my mission and hurrying back to my safe little village.
A tall man wearing jeans and a white dress shirt appeared from behind a nearby bookcase and paused at the sight of me. One of his eyebrows ticked up ever so slightly and his gaze dropped to my shoulder bag. Instinctively, I clutched the straps more tightly.
He walked toward me, his stride long and cautious, as if I were a wild animal and he didn’t want to startle me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. He carried an old leather-bound book in one large hand and moved with the careless self-assurance of someone who was at home in this space. I assumed he must work here.
As he drew closer, I noted his startlingly handsome face—square jaw, long nose, arching black brows, and full lips. His chin-length wavy black hair swung forward as he moved, and I noted the unusual shade of his pale blue eyes as he watched me intently with his head tipped slightly to the side.
“May I help you find something?” His voice was deep, as if it came from the bottom of a well, and his accent was very, very British. Because his exterior packaging wasn’t perfect enough?
Still, he’d offered assistance, which I appreciated, and I nodded. When I didn’t speak, he leaned forward a bit and lifted both eyebrows in unspoken encouragement.
“Oh, right, sorry.” I glanced away, trying to pull it together. “I have an appointment with Claire Carpenter, but I’m not sure where to find her.”
“The director’s office is on the third floor. I’m happy to show you the way.” He gestured to the doorway.
“I don’t want to trouble you.” I shook my head. “You can just point me in the right direction.”
“It’s no bother,” he said. “I’m headed that way myself.”
“Oh, all right.” I wondered if I sounded as reluctant as I felt. It wasn’t personal. I just wasn’t very good at small talk and now I was going to have to engage in it, which I was certain was going to be extremely painful for both of us. I held back a sigh.
I glanced around the room, taking in the tall arched windows, the paneled wainscoting, and the elaborately stenciled frieze that decorated the walls at ceiling height.
“This is quite the place you have here.” See? I was a queen of inanity if ever there was one. But honestly, my librarian heart did feel a pang of jealousy at the sheer beauty of this place.
“It is something, isn’t it? A Gilded Age mansion built by the steel industrialist Thomas Stewart for his wife, Mabel. Upon her passing, she donated the building specifically for the preservation of books and literature, consequently creating the Museum of Literature. That was back when being a power couple actually meant something.” He grinned at me—a slash of white teeth bracketed by two deep dimples, loaded with charm. It was the most natural thing in the world to smile back.
“I’m Zoe Ziakas.” I held out my hand, feeling quite bold.
“Jasper Griffin.” I tried not to notice how warm his palm was around my cold fingers, but it was impossible when he gently squeezed my hand before releasing it.
“This way, Zoe.” Jasper led the way out of the library and I followed.
We strode across the massive entry hall. It was a dark space and I glanced up to admire the coffered oak ceiling and paneled oak woodwork along the walls. The carved pieces, stunning in their detail, were stained a deep mahogany brown.
“What do you think of it?” Jasper gestured to the woodwork.
“It feels like I’m in a very decorative coffin.”
Jasper let out a surprised laugh.
“Sorry, that came out a bit harsh.”
