Rianne
The next hour passes in a blur of salt lines, ice barriers, and increasingly surreal explanations. By the time we finish reinforcing the last window, I’m either drunk enough to accept talking ice elves or sober enough to realize arguing won’t help.
“Okay, so let me get this straight,” I say, clutching Mister Poofypants the Third like a fuzzy shield. His purr sounds like a chainsaw that’s planning revenge. “I can’t leave the library.”
“Correct.” Stenrik is doing something to the windows with his hands that makes ice spread in elaborate patterns. It’s actually kind of pretty, if you ignore the shadow faces pressed against the glass.
“Because I read a magic book.”
“The Chronicle. And yes.” He moves to the next window. I notice he has to duck slightly to avoid the hanging display of “READ” letters I made from coffee filters last month.
“And you can’t leave because...”
“The ritual requires both participants to remain within the boundary until completion.” He touches another window. The ice spreads faster this time, and one of the shadows outside makes what might be an annoyed gesture.
“But you’re—sorry, Vetrfolk. Can’t you just...” I wave my free hand vaguely, nearly dropping the cat. He digs his claws into my sweater in protest. “Magic your way out?”
His left eye twitches. It’s surprisingly human for someone who’s currently radiating cold like a walking freezer. “Magic does not function in that manner.”
“How does it function?”
“In a manner that keeps us both here.” He’s moved to the door now, reinforcing the seal there. His movements are precise, economical. No wasted energy.
“That’s super helpful, thanks.” I set Mister Poofypants down. He immediately starts winding between my ankles, a furry, judgmental trip hazard.
Another crack spreads across the window.
Something that might be a hand—if hands were made of smoke and corporate jargon—presses against the glass.
It waves. Or possibly makes a rude gesture.
Shadow anatomy is unclear. Another shadow joins it, and they appear to be having a discussion.
One of them is definitely holding what looks like a coffee cup.
“We require additional salt,” Stenrik says. “And we must complete the ritual by the solstice.”
“But that’s…” I count quickly. “Days from now. I can’t stay trapped in here with you for that long.”
Ok. I didn’t really have other plans. But still.
“Can’t we just do it now?”
“The ceremony can only be performed at midnight.”
“Why midnight?”
“Magic is traditional and deeply inconvenient.”
“Fine. But first, I need to test something.” I walk toward the front door, dragging the cat across the carpet. None of this makes sense. None of this can be real.Its just a hallucination due to wine and heart break and reading too many paranormal mystery books while shelving.
“That is inadvisable—”
I hit the barrier face-first. Walking into the barrier is like pushing through electrified jello that’s been left in the sun too long.
The magic sparks through my body, starting at my nose and ricocheting everywhere—fingers, toes, that weird spot behind my knee.
I stumble backward, my glasses flying off.
They hit the floor with a plastic clatter.
“Ow! Why does it hurt?”
“You are attempting to break a magical contract.” He hands my glasses back, and I have to breathe on them to clear the ice.
“I didn’t sign anything!”
“Verbal contracts are binding.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Magic is rarely fair.” He’s watching me with an expression that might be amusement. It’s hard to tell—his face doesn’t move much, like he’s conserving facial expressions for a shortage.
I rub my nose, which still tingles. “So we’re stuck here. Together.”
“Unless we complete the ritual sooner.”
“Right. The ritual. What exactly does this ritual involve?” I pick up Mister Poofypants again. My own angry security blanket.
He hesitates. His ear does that twitching thing. I’m starting to recognize it as his tell.
“Oh god, it’s something weird, isn’t it?”
“Define weird.”
“Does it involve blood?”
“No.”
“Nakedness?”
“No.” Though his ear twitches again.
“Sacrificing Mister Poofypants?”
The cat hisses from his position in my arms, and his claws prick through my sweater into actual skin.
“Absolutely not.”
“Then what?”
“Synchronization.”
I stare at him. “Like... matching outfits?”
“Like magical resonance between our life forces.”
“That sounds worse than nakedness.”
“It is entirely clothed.”
“But?”
“But intimate. Magically speaking.” He’s very carefully not looking at me now, suddenly fascinated by the ceiling tiles.
“And what happens if we fail? If the barrier keeps thinning?”
“I don’t know. The last time someone failed was 1847. The records are... unclear.”
“Unclear how?”
“They simply state ‘unprecedented consequences occurred.’ The next entry is three months later and mentions new shadow residents in the town records.”
“Shadow residents?”
“Possibly similar to what’s gathering outside.”
The lights flicker and die completely. For three seconds, we’re in absolute darkness.
Something scratches at the windows—multiple somethings, from multiple directions.
Then the emergency lighting kicks in, bathing everything in that green light that makes everyone look like they’re dying of consumption in a Victorian novel.
A sound from the back of the library makes us both turn. Footsteps. Slow, dragging footsteps. Like someone walking in shoes full of pudding.
“Shadow creatures?” I whisper, clutching the cat tighter. He makes a sound like a squeaky toy.
“They cannot enter yet. The barrier holds.”
“Then what—”
“HELLO, OCCUPANTS!”
I shriek. It comes out as more of a squawk, really. Stenrik moves in front of me so fast I don’t see him move, just suddenly there’s a wall of winter-scented male between me and whatever just spoke. I peek around his elbow—it’s at my eye level, which is just unfair.
A figure emerges from the shadows between Biography and Self-Help.
It looks like someone made a person out of smoke and forgot several important structural elements.
It’s wearing what appears to be a rumpled suit jacket and a name tag that says “HELLO MY NAME IS” with “Keith” written in what might be comic sans.
“Keith?” I peek further around Stenrik. “Your name is Keith?”
“Keith Peterson. Konica Minolta Business Solutions.” The shadow creature attempts what might be a smile. Several parts of its face go in different directions. “Keith has won awards for his skilled copier maintenance.”
“You’re a shadow creature who fixes copiers?” Stenrik asks, his tone suggesting this is a new low even for shadow creatures.
“Was. Was a shadow creature. The conference helped Keith integrate.” Keith pulls out what might be a handkerchief and dabs at what might be his forehead.
“Conference?” I ask, stepping out from behind Stenrik.
“‘Evolving Solutions for Tomorrow’s Office Today.’ Three-day seminar. Downtown Springfield Marriott. Excellent snacks.” Keith straightens his tie.
“This is insane,” I mutter.
“The keynote was titled ‘Becoming More Present in the Workplace.’ There was a… slip? I am not sure what happened, but Keith is now present. Embodied. Keith regrets nothing.”
Embodied. That’s... not usually a word you hear from smoke people. Not unless something’s gone very wrong or very motivational.
He pulls out what appears to be a laptop made of shadows and plastic. The screen glows with an unholy light that’s somehow worse than the emergency lighting. “Keith has a presentation about integration if you’d like to see it.”
“You have a PowerPoint?” My voice cracks on the last word.
“Seventy-three slides. With animations.” Keith sounds proud. “And transitions. Keith spent considerable time on the transitions.”
Stenrik looks at me. “This is not how the magic should manifest.”
“And yet, he’s here,” I correct. “Keith, are there more of you? Integrated shadow creatures?”
“Several. Brad from procurement is outside. Susan from HR. They’re conflicted.” Keith gestures toward the window where several shadows are indeed pressed against the glass. One appears to be taking notes on an iPad made of darkness.
“About?”
“Between ancient hunger and attending tomorrow’s webinar on productivity optimization.”
“Ancient hunger?”
“For emotion, substance, connection. The usual.” Keith adjusts his tie again. “But the webinar has excellent reviews.”
I start laughing. I can’t help it. The stress, the wine, the sheer absurdity of shadow creatures having HR departments—it’s too much. I laugh until my sides hurt, until tears stream down my face, until I have to sit down on the floor because my legs won’t hold me.
“We’re trapped in a library with shadow creatures having an existential crisis about corporate culture,” I wheeze.
“It’s a very supportive environment,” Keith says defensively. “Great benefits package. Dental included.”
“Dental? Shadow creatures need dental?”
Another window cracks. The less integrated shadows are getting impatient. One has definitely manifested a briefcase.
“Keith,” Stenrik says slowly, like he’s testing each word for traps, “would your... colleagues be willing to negotiate?”
“Keith could set up a meeting. Keith has excellent meeting management skills.” Keith pulls out what appears to be a day planner. “Would Thursday work? Keith has an opening at two.”
“We might be dealing with unprecedented consequences by Thursday,” I point out.
“Keith can reschedule.”
Outside, another shadow appears. This one’s different—less corporate, more curious. I decide to name him. “That one’s Carl.”
“Carl?” Stenrik asks.
“He looks like a Carl. Hey Carl!” I wave at the shadow. It waves back, then holds up what appears to be a name tag that says “CARL” in shaky lettering.
“You named a shadow creature,” Stenrik says flatly.
“Carl seems to like it.”
Carl is indeed nodding enthusiastically, if a being made of smoke can nod.
Mister Poofypants the Third chooses this moment to investigate Keith. He waddles over, sniffs the shadow creature’s leg, then rubs against it, leaving orange fur suspended in the darkness.
“Your small predator is friendly,” Keith observes.
“He’s not friendly. He’s marking you as his property.”
“Keith is honored.”