I Want To Break Free
Aubrey
My library is not a library today—it’s more a revolving door ward for inconvenience.
Books are stacked six deep on every surface, magically appearing from last semester despite their proclaimed status as ‘missing or lost’.
The Captain’s midday delivery of new acquisitions is crowding my desk in five bulging, stale-smelling crates.
The combined bouquet of random scents emanating from everything hits like a punch to the sinuses.
Oh, how I wish for a facility like I had at Apex where I had space to decontaminate returns and inspect the donations in vacuum-sealed heaven.
The desk is elm, and I spent all last year oiling it to a luster that mocks the fake wood in other parts of the school.
Or I had, until today, when some idiot dropped a crate on its corner and left a new, white slash in the grain.
I run my palm over it, hoping maybe a tactile ritual will banish my rising urge to hunt down the culprit and set them on fire until they’re ashes.
But I can’t, alas; Midori is much less forgiving of our antics than Henny was and I don’t need to put that stress on the rest of my family.
However, I have to do this eventually, so I start with the most offensive crate.
Beneath the fluffy packing shit are books that look like they crawled through a war.
Some have bindings split and end sheets detached, or covers that still bear the ghosts of library stickers or auction tags.
The salvageable ones will go immediately into the regular check-out collection despite the huge tax deduction someone probably approved for this fucking bullshit.
I can use them to bulk up what offerings we have, even if they aren’t in the best condition.
Hopefully, as I go through each of the boxes, I’ll get to actual archivable stuff, and it won’t be a bust.
This was supposed to be my job last semester—curate, catalog, fix, or send out the specialty items in this library for specialist repair.
Thanks to the vulture’s psychotic break and Fitz’s allergic reaction to behaving like a normal shifter, I am also now IT support, password czar, and the emergency manager for every digital catastrophe between here and the gates.
That’s what Apex had me doing, and I was ecstatic not to be handling anything but the books here.
Unfortunately, that nirvana is long gone, and I’m going to be busy every second of the school day for at least the first month.
After that, it should calm down, and I’ll be able to reclaim the space for its intended purpose.
Maybe.
My phone chirps, so I pull it out to see the screen bright with the cruel, insistent blue of the campus help desk.
I ignore it for the first ten noises, and when it doesn’t stop, I finally turn off the sound and slap the device facedown on my desk.
The next forty notifications can only vibrate, not push me to destroy the furniture.
I’m angry enough that I have to deal with this, when I want to be using the oldest texts and our summer photos to work on deciphering things to help snack size; I don’t want to lose my temper and burn down our home by accident.
The bulk of my day was similar. Despite being the first day of classes, some of the lazy asses that teach here made it a research session.
That meant a constant stream of overentitled students came in and treated the stacks like their own private lounge while they gabbed incessantly.
There are abandoned coffee cups on the shelf over Genre Fiction L-Z, a nest of printouts on the reading couch, and enough crumbs in the carpet to bait a hundred mice.
Paired with the crates and the dinging of the IT shit, my sanctuary is such a mess that I hardly recognize it.
I tried a subtle warning with the obvious freshman—I told them food and drink are for the foyer, not the rare books room.
I was mocked with a bag of crinkle-cut chips and a full bento lunch left on the lexicon cart in retaliation.
Rather than crisp their asses, I destroyed every cell phone in the group with my bare hands.
It scared them, but the aggression escalated in the older students.
I found a thumb drive taped to my chair with ‘hottie’ written in lipstick.
I have not opened it because I am no fool; nothing I did to discourage those little shits from using my sacred hall of books as their playground was attractive.
Fitzgerald will scan the damn thing and figure out who tried to screw with the computer system, me, or both.
Growling under my breath, I open the second crate to inventory it.
There are two ancient science volumes, one on magical metallurgy and one on predator-specific psychotropic plants, both with hand-written notes in the margins.
I flag them for the archive, along with a battered folio that looks like it might be from the early pre-Veil days—possibly useful to our cause, judging by the archaic French.
The rest is mostly filler for the thrift shop or fodder for Fitz to eBay to desperate grad students.
My judgement of the donation is brutal, but it’s a necessary triage.
L’Academie doesn’t have the space or structure Apex did, though it’s bigger than the one at Capital Prep.
I cannot keep anything that I do not believe will get checked out in the main section or is valuable enough to add to the historical collection.
My stomach flips over with hunger as I decide that crate two will be where I place all the totally unacceptable things.
It’s not time for dinner yet, though, and Chester will be upset if I ruin my appetite.
He knows that’s not the primary source of sustenance for Ren and me, but the cheetah enjoys being praised for his increasing skill in the kitchen.
I prefer to see the people in my family happy, so I pour the rest of my cold coffee into a mug and drink it in two quick gulps.
As I shuffle the books from box one and two, I note a spiderweb where a tiny garden spider has bridged the gap between the window and the bookcase.
I let her live, for now, because she seems more efficient at catching pests than I am at wrangling this disaster of a library.
However, this too shall pass, and I can deal with it to have a complex that Renard and Fitz have basically fortified to protect our mate.
At six p.m. sharp, my alarm goes off on the clock I keep on my desk.
It cuts through the quiet like a knife, and I freeze in place when it’s followed by a digital sound that tells me someone has come into the living annex.
The speakers Ren placed in various spots around the library and archive area are meant to let me know when someone enters the door we use for our space, and there’s a much worse sound that goes off if it’s not done via an approved method.
We need to know when we’ve got company for many reasons, and safety is only one of them.
I jam the unusable books back into crate two haphazardly, and put the lid on it.
My personal alarm means it actually is time to go meet the family for dinner, and the door alarm confirms it.
I can work on this again tomorrow amidst the flood of people coming in and out of my library.
Sighing, I walk over and reset the clock, noting my reflection on the desktop's screen.
My hair is a mess and there’s a smudge on my cheek, but at least I look competent and exhausted.
That’s honestly the best I can hope for today.
Grabbing my phone and tablet, I close the library with a click so satisfying I feel it in my teeth.
Once the outer entrance doors are secure, I head for the double doors that lead to our home, hoping the person who got here first is the lunchable.
Seeing her here and unharmed will calm my dragon, and that would remove one stressor that’s plagued me throughout the day.
For a few hours, I can let the digital piranhas and the idiot children of the rich fend for themselves.
Once I step into the hall, I walk to the living room to see Dolly sprawled on the couch with her dance bag threatening to spill onto the floor.
She’s on her phone and doesn’t look up at me.
When I clear my throat, she glances up and gives me a tired smile.
It’s the face she makes when she’s pleased to see you, but also ready to drop. “Hey, big guy,” she says softly.
Our bunny stands in one quick move and, before I can blink, she leaps over the couch to wrap me in a one-armed hug that smells like sweat, floral perfume, and exhaustion.
I hug her back, setting my chin on her head as I reply, “I missed you today, snack size. Though, if I’m honest, you need a shower. ”
She laughs softly and pulls back to feign indignation. “Aubrey Draconis, how dare you! My nasty dance smell is coveted, I’ll have you know.”
I snort. “Just because Fitz would lick your feet right now without hesitation does not make that coveted. Go clean up; the hot water will do your achy muscles good, I bet.”
Tilting her head, she wrinkles her nose and pouts. “Fine. But I’m not into the feet thing, and even if Fitzy would do that, I wouldn’t get off on it. It’s a waste of tongue skills.”
This fucking girl…
“Noted, my stinky sweet. Now, shoo.” The way she flounces down the hall in response makes me grin, and I shoot a big ‘thank you’ to the gods or universes or whatever the fuck sent our mate our way. Even in faux frustration, she brightens my day exponentially.
The door opens at the other end of the hall, and I see my original mate duck in quickly.
Yet another boon I probably didn’t deserve at a time I surely wasn’t winning any prizes for how I behaved.
He wipes his feet before he comes in to make sure the rug stays clean, and I give him an approving smile.
His pants are stained up to the knee, and his nails are ringed with dark soil.
That means he was in the garden beds, working on the specimens he’ll need for the botany course he gets to teach this year.
My mate looks at me, assessing the state of my hair and rumpled shirt, then whistles low.
“Mon compagnon fougueux*… you look like a Chandler detective after a three-day bender.”
I roll my eyes as he approaches, snagging a strand of my lengthening hair to tuck it behind my ear in a move that is both gentle and deeply annoying. “It’s been a fucking day, love.”
“Oui,” he replies as he brushes a light kiss on my lips.
“Same here. A lot of reconnaissance, some classes, and then trying to work on a garden that will require more than just my skills to be useful this semester. I have no idea what I will do—their failure to communicate will make the course very difficult and extremely boring, I fear.”
Before I can respond, the door opens again and Chester walks in, kicking off his shoes and walking toward us. His brow furrows as he sees Rennie’s pants, pointing accusingly. “You need to shower and change before you go anywhere in the main area. You’re filthy, man.”
“No shit,” I mutter as I smirk at the gargoyle, who simply gives us both a withering look.
“I will not get dirt and potting soil all over our home, mes amis. Do not be ridiculous.” He moves away from me, checking out the boxes that the Captain brought addressed to us personally, and grins.
“Besides, we have fun things to open, and I’d hate to get it grimy. Do not start eating without me!”
I watch him head for our room, pinching the bridge of my nose as Chess makes a beeline for the kitchen. “We could order in, you know. You don’t have to cook every night. Sometimes, we all need to relax.”
The cheetah harrumphs as he pulls things out of the fridge and sets them all on the counter. “I could, but we’re trying to keep Dolly in fighting shape for the games, and I don’t want her to maim Felix if he suggests she jog before her stuffed school days.”
He has a point—the elder Khan would ask, and our delightful bunny might just sock him in the nose as a reply.
“Good point, Chester.” He winks as he continues getting his food ready for preparation.
I hear the door one more time, and the twins come stomping in.
Fitz is moving with the velocity of a missile and almost collides with me.
He’s wearing the same hoodie, crop-top, and bunny socks as this morning, but he’s thankfully added pants.
“I’m surprised the library isn’t on fire, Spicy Salamander.
Last I checked, the password reset queue was up to two-hundred-and-forty.
I get it, though, because the server room backup just hiccuped again, and Midori texted me.
I’m gonna fix it, but she can bend over and fuck herself if she thinks I’m doing it after six. ”
“Admirable stance, Fitzgerald. I approve.”
Chester opens a drawer and starts slicing bread, every movement precise and controlled.
It’s a weirdly calming sight—his hands are always steady, even when everything else is chaos.
“You shouldn’t work at night unless it’s a genuine emergency, Fitz.
They overloaded us on purpose, and the best response is to ignore any non-disaster related items until the next workday. It’s what I plan to do.”
Felix finally comes in, his jacket slung over one arm, and a t-shirt with the school logo stretched tight across his chest. He scans the room, frowning. “Where’s the Princess?”
“Taking a shower. Trust me, she needed it after her day.”
“Dinner in twenty minutes. Everyone else should follow my angel’s lead and get clean and comfy before I’m done.” The cheetah gives us all a firm look as he points a knife in our direction. “No one is sitting down to eat and relax smelling like gardens or locker rooms or stinky shit.”
Fitz grins, bopping over to kiss the cheetah before he says, “Chessie doesn’t lay down the law much, assholes. You heard my mate—get thee to a shower stall and meet up when we’re done!”
For the first time today, my jaw unclenches. This is how our family behaves, and even though I hate being told what to do, Chester and Fitz are right.
Ra forbid I ever tell the crazy tiger that, but I’m going to do it anyway.
* My fiery companion