Be there in ten.
When Dad died, he’d left the job of being the Bridge to Ordinary to me. Along with that job came the family library which was the secret location of all the books, spells, scrolls, tablets, and knowledge the Reeds had accumulated over the generations.
I loved the library, but not nearly as much as Myra did. She basically lived and breathed books and scrolls and all magical information.
So Dad had left the library to her, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
From the road, the magical library looked like a little pump house set up in the trees. No one really went up here, as it wasn’t developed, wasn’t good for hiking, and offered no views of the ocean.
And if anyone did happen to wander by, the pump house would be, in fact, a pump house. That was part of the magic of the place.
The only time the big magic was triggered was when Myra visited. She didn’t have a key to the library, she was the key.
She also had the family gift of being in the right place at the right time. Which was why I wasn’t at all surprised that the moment I drove up and parked the Jeep on one side of the mossy stones that acted as a gateway to the pump house/library, Myra opened a door.
Even in the rain, even in the ever-dimming light, it was magical to see an entire building manifest around her as she stepped out onto the covered front step. The library looked like several fairytale wooden cabins stuck together, all peaked roofs and multi-pane windows.
The light behind her was bright and welcoming. I ducked out of the Jeep and sprinted to the overhang of the step.
“Hey,” I said, dripping and cold, the wind shoving me sideways. “Can I come in?”
Myra was off duty today and was wearing a red sweater and black polka-dot leggings. Her rockabilly hair was pulled back with a simple black bow headband. Her eyeliner was winged away from her light blue eyes, making them even wider.
The library didn’t allow anyone over the threshold unless Myra permitted it. To date, she’d only allowed me, Jean, and for some reason beyond me, Than, into this treasure trove of information. She hadn’t even allowed Bathin in, and he was the demon she was dating.
“Yes, you are welcome here tonight. Get in.” She tugged on my shoulder.
I yelped as I basically tripped over the threshold. She shut the door behind me.
The main room was wall-to-wall bookshelves, crowded from floor to ceiling with every kind and style of book imaginable. A flicker of spirits and sparkles of magic floated and peeked between bindings, shimmering in the ragged shadows of spines.
Several ghost-like spirits of the library’s volumes were hanging out here, as they usually did. A young boy lay sprawled on the floor, his head resting on a big, ghostly wolf behind him. Two regally dressed men sipped tea in the corner, leaning close to each other with secret smiles. A woman with a battle axe across her shoulder was throwing dice with an elfin creature and a cat in a top hat. Near the stairwell, a lizard made of blue fire ate berries out of a selkie’s fingers.
All of them ghostly. All of them spirits of the books held safe in this space.
I heard several disembodied voices murmur, “Welcome,”
“Delaney,”
“Bridge,”
“Eldest,” as the magic of the books recognized me.
“Delaney Reed,” a strong male voice said. “How good to see you.”
I looked toward the kitchen area.
Harold stood there, smiling. He was much more solid than any of the other book spirits and looked like Cary Grant, suit and all. He used to be an index in the Library of Alexandria. As luck had it, he’d been thrown away, rescued from the fire, and was now caregiver to both the Reed magic library and the magical Reed responsible for it.
“Hi, Harold,” I said.
“Would you care for coffee and cookies?”
It felt like I’d been eating and drinking non-stop, but it was still cold and wet out. Coffee equals good. “Yes, please.”
“Excellent. And you, Myra? Tea?”
“I’ll have coffee too.”
His eyebrows went up and so did mine. Myra was a tea lover through and through.
“He made chocolate, chocolate-chunk, extra-fudge cookies,” she explained. “Coffee’s gonna go great with that.”
“Will you be in the sitting room?” he asked.
Myra smiled at him. “Upstairs, yes. Thank you.”
“Carry on. I’ll be up in a moment.”
I pulled off my coat and hung it to drip on the coat rack behind the door. My phone in the coat pocket vibrated, so I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
Ryder.
Dinner? Promise no more brochures.
No more than a dozen?
He sent a smile face, an angel, and a globe. Then: Don’t forget it’s your day to feed the dragon pig.
I sent a thumbs up and stuck the phone in my pants pocket. I’d need to go pick up that rusted fence Aaron was holding for me.
“Thefts?” Myra led the way across the room to the stairs and started up.
“You know about the missing traffic light?”
“Yeah. Jean told me this morning.”
“Now the light pole outside Than’s kite shop is gone.”
She slowed and glanced back over her shoulder. “The light pole.”
“The light pole.”
She raised her dark eyebrows and took the last few steps to the upper level, heading straight to the sitting room, which was really more of an inviting little space with soft couches and a clutter of loose-leaf letters and booklets scattered on shelves and small tables.
She took the couch. I flopped down into the comfy chair across from her, the wooden coffee table, polished to a deep shine, between us.
“Did Than report it?” she asked.
“No, I was there. Frigg wants to transfer the powers and it’s his turn.”
“Well, that’s gonna be fun to watch. So you noticed the pole missing?”
“It was there before I went in and when I left, it was gone.”
“You didn’t hear anything?”
“Storm.”
She nodded. “All right, talk me through it.”
It wasn’t a long story, but I recited everything that had happened and pulled up the photos on my phone.
“Who would want a streetlight?” she asked.
“That’s why I’m here.”
Harold came in with a tray holding two coffee mugs and a plate of small, chocolatey cookies.
“Thanks,” I said. “Are you going to join us?”
“As much as I like a good mystery,” he smiled, “and I certainly do, there seems to be a discrepancy in the inventory I am excited to ferret out.”
He walked out of the room. I threw Myra a look.
“What are you missing?”
“Not streetlights. It’s just a book that isn’t on the shelf where it’s supposed to be. It’s still in the building,” she said before taking a huge bite of cookie. “We’d know if it were really gone.”
From the room below came a thunk followed by a laugh. Harold’s voice floated up from the living area. “William, Dashiell, what have I told you about lobbing volumes at Edgar? Pick that up and help me find your missing shelf mate.”
There was another thunk and the fast tap of shoes running.
Myra just rolled her eyes. “Books.”