Chapter 11
Harper carried a faint twilight memory of her mother reading her a bedtime story.
She was tucked into a bed with a rose-pink blanket up to her chin and the warm, solid weight of her mother at her side.
Harper’s head was on her arm, her eyes closing, consciousness fading in and out as her mother’s deeply lyrical voice told the story of a library that existed just past a storefront on a cobblestone lane in an ancient city built by the álfafólk, or the hidden people.
To some, the library was hidden; all they saw were bits and bobs, broken clocks, and chipped china cups.
But to others, the library revealed its true self.
The shelves stretched into inky blackness, rolling wooden ladders lined the walls, and ancient books in muted greens, reds, blues, and grays lined the shelves.
In this library was a book that told the entire story of your life, an entire book titled Harper, her mother had whispered into her ear, and Harper had giggled and curled in closer to her mother, the sunblock and soil scent of her skin filling her senses.
“Those who were chosen by the hidden people to see the library might spend the whole of their lives searching for their book, and when they find it, they might spend another lifetime entire pouring through its pages. It’s a thing only you can decide,” Harper’s mother had whispered.
“Do you want to know eternity? Can you live with the knowledge that your book is writing itself and you’ll never know the end until it arrives? ”
“Can I just stay in the library?” Harper had asked. Can I live in the shelves and never leave?” Her mother had kissed her forehead and smoothed Harper’s dark auburn hair, so like her own, and never answered.
“There she is!” A voice sailed across the space and broke Harper’s reverie.
A round ball of a woman wrapped in a woven rainbow poncho approached.
Her face was a canvas of deeply set wrinkles baked by the sun and set by the wind.
Her hair was long and silver, pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, long strands escaping and wrapping around her neck like an octopus’s tentacles.
She wore patchwork yoga pants and fur-lined house boots.
Harper was stunned into silence. She had been expecting the queen from Kyle’s colorful descriptions to be sitting on a throne awaiting an audience.
This woman looked like she spent her days rooting through a garden or crafting magical spells from a cauldron.
“Harper Hafdóttir, did I say it right?” Lady Loreana Bell smiled and it became abundantly clear as to the source of the wrinkles. “Nigel! How lovely to see you! Your girl chased me out of the kitchen earlier, said dinner was a surprise.”
Nigel nodded solemnly. “It is indeed, my lady, a surprise.”
“Well, that’s exciting!” Lady Bell stopped and looked Harper up and down. “Would you like a drink? I’m having a gin.”
“That would be nice, thank you.” Harper recovered and extended her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you. And yes, you did say my last name right, as did Nigel. I’m impressed.”
“Nigel coached me. Lovely. Icelandic, right? And I imagine you have heard quite a bit about me.”
Harper nodded. Lady Bell crossed the space and wrapped Harper in a hug.
“I don’t shake hands.” She came to Harper’s shoulders, which put her at under five feet, but her presence was ten feet tall.
Harper returned the hug and for a minute caught the scent of sunblock and soil, and her mind unwound just a bit.
“Nigel, be so kind as to bring a drink for Harper and a refresher for myself.” Lady Bell nodded to Nigel, who was already on his way.
“Come, my dear, have a seat. Do you know the history of this table?” She indicated a round, wooden table, decidedly sturdy and ancient, the wood near black in color.
A small brass plaque in the center. Harper leaned in to see the lettering.
THE FANTASTICAL MESMERIST NORA GREY 1901
“I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar,” Harper said as she sat in the chair that Lady Bell indicated.
“In 1901, Bell Manor hosted one of the greatest spiritualists of all time, Nora Grey. Of course, at the time she was here, she was unknown. She actually worked as a housemaid, can you believe it? The story goes that she performed a séance for some guests of Bell Manor here in the library and flipped this very table across the room with the power of her mind.” Lady Bell stared at Harper with wide dark eyes, testing to see her reaction.
“That’s, that’s impressive, but it sounds rather …” Harper stuttered.
“Unlikely?” Lady Bell finished with a grin. She nodded to Nigel, who had silently and stealthily returned with two crystal glasses of gin and tonic. “Thank you, Nigel. It was Nigel’s great-grandfather who was Lady Bell’s butler at the time then, wasn’t it, Nigel?”
Nigel nodded. “It was. From what I have been told, Miss Grey was well regarded on Bell Island and very capable of unlikely things.”
“Well put, Nigel, well put.” Lady Bell smiled again. “Do let us know when your daughter is ready to reveal her artistry. I’m starving.”
Nigel nodded and disappeared with a nod.
“You’re not what I expected,” Harper said, and immediately regretted her words. “I mean …”
Lady Bell laughed, a sound like bells chiming.
“I know exactly what you mean, my dear. We have quite a reputation to uphold, but I’ve never been one for theatrics.
Not to impugn my predecessors. Different times called for different things, and it’s all a bit more relaxed now.
I don’t take visitors often any longer, whereas in the past there was more back and forth on Bell, especially during that short time that Miss Grey lived here.
” She watched Harper for a moment, studying her.
“You’re not what I expected, either. The reports of you painted a rather different picture. ”
“Reports?” Harper asked, alarmed and curious. “If there were reports of me, I imagine they were somewhat dull.”
Lady Bell laughed again. “To the contrary. You’re twenty-eight, due to receive your PhD in microbial biology anytime now.
You graduated top of your class from Boston Scientific Institute.
Your professors are equal parts frustrated and in awe of what you are—you have an almost uncanny ability to see what others don’t see, which in science means you are perhaps a bit warlock, a bit wizard.
You are downright monastic when it comes to your private life, one long-term relationship, which ended recently—I’m sorry by the way, that stinks, and especially when one keeps to themselves as I’ve heard you do.
You lost your family young, and again, I’m so very sorry, you’ve been alone for a very long time. ”
Harper swallowed the mouthful of gin that had been sitting on her tongue, frozen. It hit her throat and she choked as it came back in a spray of surprise and the icy horror of exposure. Lady Bell sat back and dabbed at her face, sprinkled with gin and saliva.
“I did not mean to startle you, Harper Hafdóttir, we vet all who come to the island, but especially perhaps, those who are in a position of trust as you are.” Lady Bell offered a gentle nod.
“I just … why?” Harper sputtered.
“Bell Island exists on the edge of things that ought to be. It’s perhaps a matter of time before the veil falls and the world intrudes, but so far, we’ve stayed hidden in the mist. We intend to stay that way for as long as we can.
Your project, Thalassic calide, could change that.
I have no intention to interfere; if Thalassa exists, I am as intrigued as you are, I assure you.
‘Miracle’ is a terrible word, but like this table, the unlikely happens far too unoften, it is a thing to be embraced.
However, it does mean that we could be seeing more traffic here.
So, we did a bit of homework on you and your team. ” Lady Bell sipped her drink.
“That’s why they took so long to fill the position,” Harper said aloud to herself. “It’s jarring, I’ll admit. But I suppose I understand. Is that why you wanted to meet me?”
“Your mother was an islander, how could I not meet you? You’re grandfathered in by island rules.
So of course I was curious; the more I learned about you, you reminded me of, well, me.
Like your mother, you are capable of great things, Harper Hafdóttir, and if anyone can find Thalassa, it will be you. ” Lady Bell gave Harper a gentle smile.
Harper fought the urge to flood Lady Bell with questions. Did she know her mother? Her mother would have been about Lady Bell’s age if … Her urge was interrupted as Lady Bell looked to the doorway where Nigel stood. Harper hadn’t heard him approach. He was the wizard more than she.
“Dinner is served, my lady,” Nigel announced with great effect.
“Excellent. Come, Harper, join me and I’ll tell you all about Bell Manor. And after I’ll give you a tour, although …”
“You really oughtn’t climb all those steps at your age …” Harper finished, again horrified that the words came out of her mouth.
Lady Bell responded with a grand guffaw and raised her nearly empty glass in toast. “Nothing but the truth. But I’ve never been very good at not doing things I oughtn’t do.”
Harper returned the smile despite herself.
Lady Bell was unexpected and far more than she had anticipated.
She felt she had wandered into a fairy tale where everyone, everything was imbued with magic.
The déjà vu she felt in the entryway was buzzing around her, everywhere she looked she saw familiarity.
Even in Lady Bell’s eyes, she saw eternity, like the library walls that stretched into the blackness of her mother’s story.