The Stranger
Niles took both the book and the leaf with him as he closed the library, not sure what to make of either.
The book—as he’d found out—was a compendium of local myths and legends, written over two hundred years ago.
It was a first edition, too, which made it pretty much the oldest thing in his library. Probably the most valuable, too.
Niles wasn’t worried about thieves, his locks and security system were top-shelf, but he didn’t want to lose this unexpected treasure. He took both items to the glade and told his trees what had happened. But other than a fleeting sense of amusement, he felt and heard nothing.
You looked up today. It gladdened my heart.
The message didn’t leave him alone. Who’d seen him? Who’d sent it? And why? And what was so marvellous about him looking up?
Insufficient data, his rational mind told him.
“I know,” he sighed as he washed his dinner plate and then poured a second glass of wine. “I have just enough data for endless speculation.” And speculation had never done him any good.
“Sorry I’m late,” Niles mumbled as he stepped into his glade the following morning. Late and blurry-eyed after staying up into the early hours to read the book he’d been gifted.
He now knew about the local town’s connection to the Fair Folk, knew how to spot the dancing sprites in the meadow by the river, and had even learned that not stones but the petrified bodies of a coven of witches made up the ancient ring of monoliths on the hillside.
After having broken their compact with the Unseen, they’d been cursed to stand unmoving until someone took pity on them and rectified their shoddy spellwork.
The book had held his interest despite the old-fashioned language, and the unfamiliar, difficult-to-read typeface, but it hadn’t identified the person who’d sent him the message and left the book. If they even were one and the same.
He explained all this to the trees as he had explained other problems in the past, but this time no solution presented itself. He only knew that someone had left a book for him with a message inside.
That wasn’t nearly enough to go on.
“Actually,” he said, as he prepared to open the library. “I have another data point. Whoever wrote the message used a leaf from the ginkgo tree outside, because it still glows with life.”
He took comfort from that tiny extra bit of information and wasn’t even surprised to find another book on his reception desk. With a scarlet maple leaf on top, and a message in silver marker.
You have such kind eyes.
Niles’s cheeks heated, despite there being nothing to be embarrassed about. He opened the book, and found that it held travellers’ tales and was as old as the compendium on local folklore.
“That’s my reading for tonight sorted.” He set the book aside, went to make coffee, and settled down to work—for once not minding he was the only soul in a place he’d built for a community.
A week passed, and every day brought another book, another pressed leaf with a message. The books—all written long before Niles had been born—made him consider nature, life, and magic in new ways. And each message made him feel seen, heard, and understood like never before.
You’re not invisible.
Your laugh is the best hug.
You shouldn’t hide from the world.
You smiled today. You should do it more.
Niles read, made notes, formulated theories and discarded them, even as he tried to work out who was watching him and how they were leaving books and messages for him in a locked building.
For the first time ever, he didn’t prolong his Tuesday morning book round.
He didn’t try to start conversations, didn’t browse the market in the hope of catching someone’s eye.
Instead, he nearly skipped through the town, handing out books, collecting the read ones, and moving on with a cheery wave.
He attracted strange glances, but what people saw or thought they saw wasn’t important. Another book and another message might be waiting for him on his return, and that was all that mattered to him.
Niles passed through the carriage arch into the courtyard—and froze.
A man occupied the bench between the ginkgo and the maple, and had he not moved, Niles might not have spotted him in his dark green corduroy trousers, amber shirt, and scarlet jumper. He even wore a jacket to match his riot of russet curls.
He sat in the glade as if he belonged there, yet Niles had never seen him before.