Chapter Thirteen
D espite my late night, I woke up invigorated. I threw back the covers and rushed to the landing outside my living room, overlooking the atrium.
“Good morning, books!” I shouted.
Their greetings streamed from every room: highpitched hello s from Children’s Literature; the trumpeting of elephants from Natural History; guten tag from Foreign Language; and, from Music, Grieg’s melody from Peer Gynt , “Morning Mood.” It was a beautiful morning, indeed.
The spell was broken. Everything was sweeter.
Sure, I’d have to be wary. I couldn’t let down my guard around Babe/Beata, but I was more than prepared to deflect whatever she dealt me.
I couldn’t wait to help patrons choose their reading. The books would brim with recommendations. More than that, now that my magic was on board and energy back, I would have even more ability to help Lalena track down Ian.
As I circled the library, opening curtains and turning on lights, I made a plan.
First, I’d check with Lalena to see if she’d been in touch with Ian since yesterday or if she had any fresh ideas of where he might be.
If she didn’t have leads, I’d get back in touch with the construction manager at the Empress.
Then there was Lise Bloom. She was a recent arrival to Wilfred, too, and despite having no obvious business here, she kept hanging around.
All the time, of course, I’d need to steer clear of Babe Hamilton.
The glyphs—her spells—had been potent enough to hamper me as long as I didn’t know about them, and her glamour was strong enough to seduce me into a friendship and to mistake her as benign.
However, I’d been able to break the spells fairly easily once I’d found their source.
My grandmother had bound the greater part of her sister’s magic, but not all of it. As long as Grandma’s spell held and I guarded against her, Babe-slash-Beata would not be able to hurt me. Or so I hoped.
When her spells collapsed, Babe may have sensed her magic returning to her, deflected from me. I hoped she would acknowledge defeat and leave Wilfred. Until then, I’d do my best to avoid her.
I returned to my apartment to lock up and found Rodney in my living room, sitting on a pile of shredded paper. “What is it, kitten? Have you turned gerbil?”
I picked up a shred and laughed despite myself. It was Ruth’s notes from the other day, now completely illegible.
Rodney was feeling good today, too.
* * *
Buoyed by the return of my magic, I settled at the circulation desk. A woman trailing two boys was the first patron. I awaited the books’ recommendations of adventure stories, but instead, one title floated into my brain: Mindfulness for Anger Management .
“May I help you?” I asked.
“I want to make a formal complaint,” the woman said.
“Please.” I motioned toward a chair. “Have a seat. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
The older boy slouched into the chair, instead, and pulled out a phone to play a video game. The younger boy, probably just old enough to read, wandered toward the atrium.
Their mother leaned over my desk. “It’s the person you have working in the kids’ room.”
“Mona?”
“No. Someone else. Short, stocky. Smiles a lot.”
Wanda . “She’s a new volunteer. She doesn’t know the books very well yet.”
The woman shook her head. “It’s not that. My son found a story he wanted to check out, and the volunteer told him he shouldn’t read it, that it wasn’t good for him.”
“What book was it?” News in the library world was rife with stories of censorship.
Everything from Anne Frank’s The Diary of a Young Girl to The Handmaid’s Tale had been challenged.
So far, no one in Wilfred had issues with our book selection.
The biggest complaints I’d received were about the coffee—some patrons liked French roast, and others preferred something lighter.
“Pete the Cat,” the woman said.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Did you say Pete the Cat ?”
“Yes. We have a cat named Pete, so my son was really excited when he saw the book. Then this lady tells us we’re making a mistake. What’s that about?”
Instead of replying what I thought, which was I have no freaking idea , I calmly said, “I see. Thank you for telling me. I’ll have a word with her.”
Wanda had a drawer in Old Man Thurston’s desk for her library files. I taped a note to its outside: “Please see me. Josie.” Then on second thought, I added, “Head Librarian” and underlined it.
Not an hour later, Wanda appeared at my office door, holding the note as if it were coated in acid. “Josie?”
I swiveled toward her and gestured to the armchair near me. “Please, have a seat.” Thanks to Rodney’s frequent naps in the chair, she’d have cat fur on her rear end. Pete the cat would approve.
Clearly suspicious, Wanda lowered herself on the chair. “I only have a minute. I have work to do.”
I smiled. “That’s what I wanted to talk with you about.”
I felt a furry bump on my calf. Rodney. He had hidden under the desk. With my foot, I gently eased him out of view.
“Your job,” I began, “is to keep Children’s Literature tidy and to help people find the books they need.”
“Is this about the lady yesterday? The one who got so mad when I gave her my opinion about a book?”
“You’re entitled to your views, Wanda.”
“Of course I am.”
“But you’re not entitled to make patrons feel uncomfortable.
The children’s room is set aside for kids to pull whatever books they want from the shelves.
They should feel free to explore. Parents need to know they’re not judged if they choose a story for their kids that happens to feature something you don’t like.
None of that can happen when you’re openly questioning their choices.
” I kept my tone even and friendly and sensed the cheers from every shelf in Old Man Thurston’s office.
Wanda stood so suddenly that her chair bumped against the low shelf behind her. However, her voice was deceptively nonchalant. I could see a thousand thoughts racing through her mind—thoughts she wouldn’t tell me.
“I’m so glad we had this talk. I’d better get back to work.”
“Just a moment,” I said. “Does this have anything to do with Rodney? I noticed you seem uncomfortable when he’s around.”
She kept a hand on the doorknob. “I find it curious that a cat runs loose in a public institution.”
That was neither a yes nor a no. “If he bothers you, I can keep him upstairs when you’re here.”
“I didn’t say that. This is a bigger issue than Rodney.”
Maybe Mona’s foster charges bothered her, too? I was puzzled. “Tell me more.”
Wanda’s gaze skipped to the bookshelf, the window, and my desk before landing back on me. “It’s simply that I want what’s best for Wilfred.”
“That’s laudable. I’m glad we agree. What we may not agree on is what best means. While I’m librarian, best at the library means that mothers can choose books for their children without our commentary on their choices.” I softened my voice. “You understand that, don’t you, Wanda?”
As if agreeing, Rodney nudged my ankle with his silky nose.
A stiff smile spread across her face. It looked almost painful. “Perhaps it would be better if I didn’t volunteer here.”
“If that’s how you feel about it, perhaps you’re right,” I said.
Wanda opened the door, then turned once more toward me. “Goodbye, Josie. You, too, Rodney.”