Chapter 3 Between the Pages
I pushed through the heavy library doors, cool air wrapping around me.
The scent of old pages, leather, and ink reminded me of afternoons spent in Aunt Reenie’s study.
She had notes perpetually scattered on every surface.
Mom refused to go in there, making it the perfect safe haven for Reenie to smuggle me chocolates and tell me stories of her adventures or whatever lead she was chasing.
“When you’re looking for the truth, Mel-bug, look at what’s missing. The holes in the story are the story.”
My body felt heavy as I made my way past crowded tables, ignoring the murmur of students. I was exhausted. I’d spent half the night researching the “Seedbound One” online, but every search hit a wall. Every time I got close, things went wrong.
Every link I clicked, the pages would load only halfway before stalling out.
If they loaded at all, the images on the screen turned into broken icons.
At one point, I thought I found a name, but my screen flickered as if my laptop was about to crash.
I spent a solid minute spiraling about how much a new laptop would cost before the screen righted itself.
By the time it was fixed, the name was gone.
I tried different browsers, Luz’s laptop, and my cell phone, but the result was always the same.
It almost felt like the internet was trying to gaslight me.
I found myself irritably reading several mythology texts.
I recognized several goddesses, like Aphrodite and Athena.
There were even some listed that I’d never heard of before, and yet none of the listed goddesses matched the one from my textbook.
I did stumble across a reference to a goddess of spring who walked with death, but I couldn’t find any specifics.
If her name was mentioned at all, it changed across sources.
I couldn’t even tell if I was researching the same goddess anymore.
I knew there was another name that I couldn’t find. I could feel it on the tip of my tongue.
Per—
But every time I tried to grasp it, my mind went blank like it was yanked just out of my reach.
I tried again, staring at a passage about Demeter’s daughter descending to the Underworld.
I focused on each word, trying to hold onto the name, but the letters themselves seemed to blend together into an illegible smear.
I blinked hard, briefly wondering if I needed glasses.
But when I opened my eyes again, the text was fine, and the name was gone, replaced by “the goddess.”
I shut the book, the beginnings of a headache building behind my eyes, some force pressing like an invisible hand on my brain that prevented me from comprehending anything about the mystery goddess.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I set aside my books and stood, making my way to a different section of the library.
The rare texts alcove was exactly as I remembered; dim and forgotten, lights buzzing faintly overhead, mildew thick in the air.
The floor creaked as I stepped inside. Dust coated the spines, warped from age, others bound in cracked leather, none touched in years.
I scanned the shelves. Most titles were in Greek, Latin, or languages I didn’t recognize.
Nothing jumped out.
I was about to give up when I heard a soft thump behind me.
I turned to see a tall young man with warm brown skin, short combed coils, and a fade sharp at his temples. Wire-rimmed glasses sat low on his nose. He had a grin that looked half-trouble, half-invitation.
“Uh, I come in peace?” he said, wry smile deepening as he bent to pick up the book he’d dropped from his book cart. His eyes were bright with amusement.
“Gods, Leo, you scared me!” I said, pressing a hand to my chest.
He shrugged. “Not my fault, this place has the acoustics of a sock drawer. Could’ve brought a marching band and still snuck up on you.”
“You sure know how to make an entrance,” I muttered, glowering at him.
“Hey, you know I’ve been working here for the last two years,” he chuckled. “Can’t be too surprised when I sneak up on you.”
I huffed, rolling my eyes as I turned back to the bookshelf.
“Looking for something specific, or just embracing the full gothic scholar aesthetic?” He teased.
“Research,” I said. “For Professor Ward’s class.”
“Ah,” he hummed, parking his cart. “The forgotten god assignment. Let me guess. You picked someone actually forgotten instead of just ‘slightly less popular than Zeus’?”
“Something like that.” I gestured at the shelves. “But I keep hitting dead ends. It’s like someone removed all the useful information.”
“Yeah, that happens.” He leaned against his cart, studying me curiously. “Especially with the older stuff. Monotheism wasn’t a fan of the pantheons. Too much competition.” He paused. “Which deity?”
“I don’t actually know her name,” I admitted. “Just titles. The Seedbound One. She Who Walks Both Worlds.”
Leo’s brow furrowed. “Huh. That’s… specific.”
“You know her?”
“Several Goddesses could fit that description,” he mused, pushing himself upright. He studied me for longer than was comfortable. “Those are some strange references. Where’d you… ?”
“Textbook,” I said. “There was a page. Most of it was burned, but—”
“Burned?” His eyebrows shot up. “Like, actually burned? Not just damaged?”
“Yeah. Why?”
He paused thoughtfully, then moved past me, scanning the shelves with focused intensity. His fingers trailed over spines, skipping past titles with the confidence of someone who’d memorized this section.
“There’s one book,” he said finally. “It’s not supposed to be in circulation. Technically, it’s supposed to be in restricted archives, but…” He pulled a volume from the shelf, dust pluming upward. “… sometimes books have a way of being where they need to be.”
He handed it to me, and its weight settled in my hands.
There was no title on the spine, only an embossed pomegranate split open, vines spilling down. The leather binding was deep green, nearly black. The name “Callista” was stamped at the bottom in faded gold.
“How did you know about this?” I asked.
Leo gave me a crooked grin. “I’ve always had a knack for finding things.”
He tapped the cover. “Fair warning; this one’s got a reputation. Some students said it gave them weird vibes. Bad dreams, feeling watched.” He shrugged. “Could be the mold spores, could be something else. If anything feels off, you know where to find me.”
“You’re joking.”
“About the mold? Definitely not. About the rest?” His grin was back, eyes serious. “Probably. But if the book starts whispering, text me. Luz, Amy, and I will perform an exorcism or whatever ritual Luz decides is appropriate.”
“That’s not cute, Leo!” I called after him, earning a chuckle as he wheeled his cart away.
I tucked the book into my bag and headed for the exit.
The library was quieter now; most students had filtered off to lunch. I was almost to the doors when I heard footsteps behind me.
“Ms. Blumenthal.”
I stopped, heart lurching, and turned.
Professor Ward stood near the reference section, a stack of books balanced in one arm. He looked different in this light; less commanding, more tired. I felt an impulse to reach out to him, but I stopped myself, confusion racking my brain.
“Professor Ward,” I managed. “Hi.”
“Researching for your project?” He nodded toward my bag.
“Yeah.”
“Find anyone interesting?”
I hesitated. The way he watched me so intently, like I was the only thing in the room, sent heat crawling up my neck.
“I-I think so,” I stammered. “A goddess of transitions. Life and death. Spring and the Underworld.”
His grip on the books tightened, knuckles going pale before relaxing again.
“That’s… a difficult thread to pull,” he said, voice lower than before.
“I noticed,” I muttered. “Everything’s missing or contradictory. Almost like someone obscured her.”
The intensity of his stare made it almost hard to breathe.
“They did,” he said.
The certainty in his voice made my stomach drop.
I adjusted my grip on my bag strap. “So, I’m not crazy.”
His mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“No,” he said. “But then this is the assignment, Ms. Blumenthal.”
The air between us suddenly felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. My skin flushed, too aware of the space separating us; too much and not enough at once.
I swallowed. “Do you know who she is?”
His gaze flicked away, just for a heartbeat, toward the tall windows where light filtered in. Then he turned back to me.
“I might,” he stated. “If you need additional sources, I have some texts in my office. You’re welcome to borrow them.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “I might take you up on that.”
He nodded, already turning toward the stacks. He paused. “Ms. Blumenthal?”
“Yes?”
He paused, like he had more to say, his eyes searching mine. Then whatever it was seemed to retreat, and he offered a small smile instead.
“Good luck with your research.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
He disappeared into the stacks, leaving me with the strange sense we’d just had two entirely different conversations. I gripped my bag closer and shuffled outside.
I made it three steps outside before I heard Xavier’s voice cutting across the quad.
“Bubble Girl!”
The old nickname rose like bile. They’d given it to me in middle school after a hospital stay. The girl who couldn’t breathe outside her bubble.
He moved to intercept me, that same sleazy grin spreading as he closed the distance. Polo stretched across his shoulders, expensive sunglasses pushed up in his hair. The kind of guy who’d never heard “no” mean anything permanent.
“Didn’t think you’d last this long without your mom holding your hand,” he said, moving to walk beside me. “Good for you. Seriously.”
I kept walking, pointedly not looking at him. “Not interested, Xavier.”
“Whoa, hey—I’m just saying hi.” He laughed, easy and light. “You look good, Fun-Size. Better than high school. I mean that.”
His gaze dragged over me in a way that made my skin crawl.