Within These Wicked Walls(36)

Something bright red, something that wasn’t on the other books, caught my eye. I paused, venturing a quick look at it.

I glanced at the top of the page, where the title sat beside the page number in the header. Jane Eyre. I’d never read that one, but from what I heard it was a romance. A significant one, apparently, because a paragraph was circled in red, wide and uneven as if by a finger.

When we are struck at without a reason, we should strike back again very hard; I am sure we should—so hard as to teach the person who struck us never to do it again.



The room was cold to begin with, but I suddenly felt frozen.

I heard a drop of water drip from somewhere onto the sphere of protection my amulet created. It sounded muted and distant, but somehow close all at once. I watched the drop of liquid slide down the outside of the invisible shield, leaving a red trail behind it.

I swallowed to keep my throat clear and strong. “You can’t threaten me. We both know you don’t belong here.”

It dripped again and I looked up, freezing but trying not to show fear as I looked into the face of the Librarian. She leaned over me, her skeletal hands resting on the back of my chair, her full lips dripping a thick, deep red.

I looked away quickly, hesitating before striking the flint on my pen again. “You can’t hurt me,” I declared, and proved it by pressing on with my work.

It felt like ages, but was probably only a minute or two, when the sound of dripping finally stopped. The anticipation of the vile liquid made me wince, ready for it. I released a breath.

And then something flapped by my head, just skimming my scalp before passing and tumbling onto the floor beyond me. I looked up briefly. A paperback book. If there was a message meant for me, it was an ill-chosen prop, the spine not heavy or broken enough to stay open. But hard, sharp pain at the back of my head quickly followed it, something heavy knocking my shoulder and dropping beside me in the chair, scaring me to my feet. I held the amulet and my pen with one hand, grabbing the back of my head with the other as I backed into the fireplace. My scalp throbbed when I removed my hand, and I—God help me—stared at the red smudge on my palm that the stinging and throbbing told me was more mine than the dripping from earlier. My trembling hand dropped from my view slightly as I gaped at the heavy book occupying my chair.

It wasn’t open deliberately, like the initial pile was. No, this book was sending a different message, same as the paperback.

A message that might kill me if I didn’t work quickly.

Another book vaulted off a shelf toward me, and I ducked and dodged away. I hid beside the chair, shielding my head with my arm just in time for another book to fall on my head. I shoved to my feet, running out the door to hide beside the doorway, just as another book came flying out the door, the spine breaking against the wall across from me.

I stood against the wall, panting. The books had stopped … but I couldn’t feel much from the Librarian either. It was as if, as soon as I’d left the room, the chalk marks in my mind had been smudged, all feeling from them fuzzy. So then … there was no way to cleanse the library from the safety of outside the door. I had no choice but to get back in there.

I took one last deep breath and rushed back inside.

My heart was pounding. My head was throbbing. My amulet was pulsing, like it hadn’t been outside of the room. I should’ve analyzed the situation before rushing in, because the onslaught began immediately. I ducked, a dictionary just missing my head.

The Manifestation can’t touch me herself.

I blocked two paperbacks with my forearms in front of my face.

That’s why she’s using the books. If I can just—

A heavy impact on my shoulder made me stumble—but in the right direction. There were two bookshelves against the wall, with no more than two or three feet in between them.

If I can just barricade—

I ducked under a book and ran to the fireplace, my body knowing what to do without even finishing the thought. I shoved the items off the small round table between the chairs—something shattered on the floor, but there was no time—and picked it up by two of its legs. Two books slammed me in the hip and arm, as if trying to make me drop the table, but I grimaced and raced it over to the small space I’d found.

It just fits—

I growled out my pain as a book hit me, sharp end in the back, and turned around quickly to swat another one away with my forearm.

Now to guard the front—

I dodged around a book and skidded to a stop, the heat of the fire at my backside as I grabbed the arms of one of the leather chairs and pushed. It must’ve been solid wood underneath all that stuffed leather, or else it had just been in the same spot so long that it was stubborn to move—

I gritted my teeth against the books that fell on my lower back and leg, putting my entire body into pushing the chair. It started to move, but my momentum was thrown off by a heavy book to the side of my face. I fell to the hardwood, grabbing my stinging temple. I panted, drained. My head was ringing. Through my blurring vision I saw a gigantic atlas lying beside me.

Another book followed it, and I held back just in time before biting my tongue off.

Get up, Andi. You can’t just lie here and get murdered by books.

I tried to push myself up with my other hand, a dizzy spell and another book to my side nearly putting me back on the ground. There was the distinct tickle of liquid running down my face, creeping down my temple. I licked my lips, tasting the salt of my own tears to join the blood on my tongue. The hand at my temple came away red, and I grasped for the chair.