Cost of a Book

in

"Hey, I think your friend is here," the children's librarian said.

      I did not look up from the article I was reading on movies using artificial intelligence to replace the people who picked movies.

      Naomi said, "The friend with the hat."

     "You gotta be more specific than that," I said, 

     "Y'all know where I can find a pricing guide on a 1976 mint copy of Interview With a Vampire?"

     The guy at the desk indeed wore a hat. It was yellow and said "Taco Villa" on it. Kind of a small sombrero thing. This was Chester, a local junk peddler.

     "Hey Chester," I said. "Pricing guides are where they always are, over in the 680s."

     "You know how much an Interview With a Vampire copy is worth?"

     "Hardcover or paperback?"

     Chester puffed up his chest. "Hardcover, of course." 

     "Any damage?"

     "None."

     "Dust jacket?"

     "Yep, in that plastic stuff."

     "Probably a few hundred. But you know what I always tell you."

     "Chester, you're so pretty?"

     "No, although I like the hat," I said. "You only get what people will pay."

     Chester thought about that. "I guess."

     "Where'd you get it?" Naomi asked.

     I shot her a glance, warning her that she should not get him started, but what the hell. I went ahead and typed up Ebay and plugged in the details. 

     Chester said, "I got it on ebay for six hundred."

     "There's two in here for four hundred."

     "Those must be crap," Chester said. "Mine is genuine. It has a letter and everything."

     Now I had to ask. "What kind of letter?"

     "From Abigail Rice herself," Chester said. He had his backpack off, pulling out a small box. That went on the table, opened, and out came a copy of Interview with a Vampire, with the yellow cover and the pages faded and old. Thing smelled like mothballs and old dead lady.

     "Anne Rice," I said.

     Naomi nodded, a hand up by her nose.

     "No, Abigail. She was Anne's sister, she really wrote the thing. It's all here in the letter," Chester said, unfolding a small note.

     The torn page from a composition book looked to have been busily written in ball pout while the author was having their morning shit. A stain I hoped was coffee was on the right. The handwriting went every which way like an epileptic chicken had a fit all over it. I was skeptical of its authenticity and told him so.

     "Well how would you know?" Chester said. 

     I turned the monitor around. Had up Anne Rice's biography on her website. "Cause she's only got one sister and her name is Alice." 

     Chester's face fell. "This is, well shit." 

     "I'm sorry, Chester. Maybe you can sell it again? Or leave a review, maybe get your money back?" Naomi said.

     Chester said, "Or I can get revenge."

     "What?" I said, my stomach filling with acid. 

     Chester took off his hat, put it over his heart. "I swear, by the junk sellers code, to find and destroy the man, woman, or child that sold this erroneous fabrication of beloved author Anne Rice if it is the last thing I do." Then he left, taking the old book and letter.

     Naomi said, "Think we should tell someone?" 

     I shrugged and went back to my article.

No More Coffee

in

"I can't smell my coffee," the technical services librarian said from the back of the workroom.

"What was that, Martha?" the children's librarian said.

"My coffee has gone flat," Martha said. She had her nose in the cup that said "Best Effin Motherfucker."

"Coffee tastes fine to me," the children's librarian said. Naomi had just poured herself a fresh cup. She had made the pot, in fact, less than an hour ago.

Martha slammed down her cup, saying, "Well, mine tastes weak as hell. And doesn't smell like anything. I'm going to make another pot."

"I just made that and mine tastes fine," Naomi said and watched Martha go to the coffee station over by the book binding table. She went over with her.

The pot was half full in Naomi's optimistic eyes. She said, "Let me smell it."

Martha dumped the pot into the small sink. "I'll just make it fresh." She sniffed and pulled a napkin from her sleeve and wiped at her nose.

Naomi stuck her face in the sink. Smelled like hot coffee to her and she said so.

"All this is off, too," Martha said, holding the can of grounds, stuffing her napkin back in her sleeve. She put her nose in the can taking a big whiff. "Nothing."

"Martha, those grounds smell fine. I can smell them from here," Naomi said. She watched Martha take her napkin back from her sleeve. "Are you sick?"

"Just a cold," Martha said.

"Martha, you can't smell. Do you have a fever?" She tried to put her hand on the woman's forehead, but Martha slapped her hand away.

"I ain't sick. Just a cold."" She shook the cup. "And shitty coffee."

Naomi stepped back. "Coffee's fine. You're not. Go home, Martha."

"You sound like James," Martha said.

Naomi gave her a chance to think. She went back to the small desk and gathered her things. Martha went on making the coffee until Naomi grabbed the library station wagon key.

"Where are you going?" she said.

"Store. You need medicine, and I need cleaning products to sterilize this room when you go home. Plus, more coffee. You can take that home. I'll drop things off at your place with James. I'll let ST know," Naomi said.

"I'm not going home," Martha said.

Naomi stopped. "Yes, you are."

"Young lady, do not treat me like a child."

Naomi held Martha's gaze. Her blue eyes kept tight hold on the older women.

"I am fine and will take my coffee back to my desk."

Naomi's stare became harder. Martha felt the strength of those eyes, the weight of them on her, strong as a hand holding her down.

"I can't go. Those new Graves books just came in."

Naomi did not move.

"Goddam children's librarians. Worse than moms," Martha said. She set her coffee cup in the sink. "Mom's have that hard look, but children's librarian eyes are all crazy. No love at all. Like being watched by a chihuahua with a knife."

"Martha." Naomi held out a trash can. Wiggled it a little. Martha had her coat on and struggled to get the napkin from within her sleeve. "I'll bring some medicine to your place soon. Some soup?"

Martha said, "Crazy eyes."

No Spitting in the Library

in

"Hi, do you have a small meeting room?" She was small and wearing a long yellow scarf with little orange pumpkins on it. Her smile made me smile.

"We do. You're in luck, there's one free. Do you have a library card?" I said.

She frowned. "I don't."

"That's okay. We just need to hold a form of identification, then. They check out for an hour and that's rounded up for the quarter hour. So for now, you'd have it until 11:15."

She handed over her driver's license. It was from the next state over. Her name was Karen. I made a note on the sign-in sheet for the small study rooms. "How many people?"

"Three," Karen said.

"Okay. Let me unlock the room for you." I walked her over and she went inside, setting down a small purse and taking off the yellow scarf. She carefully laid it on the table and arranged it in a circle.

"Can I leave my things here?" she said.

"I can lock the room if you leave, but we recommend not leaving valuables anywhere in the library."

"I just need to wait in the parking lot for the others," she said.

"Sounds good," I said. The room had a window, and as I locked the door I swear I saw the scarf move.

A few minutes later, she returned with a couple holding hands. He had an Ichabod Crane look to him, all bent parts, while she had the matronly feel of someone who watched every episode of Murder She Wrote annually. They seemed excited. We all three walked back to the study rooms, me in the lead to unlock the door. As I put my key in the lock, I glanced in the room to see a cobra rise up on the table.

I stepped back. "Oh hell no," I said. The creature lay tangled in the yellow scarf, its tan and brown mixing with the pumpkins. Six inches of snake hung in the air looking at me with its skin open.

Karen put a hand to her mouth. "She woke up."

The couple crowded me at the window. Ichabod said, "Look at her. Three feet, seven inches?"

"Ten inches," Karen said. Turning to me, "Can you open the door?"

"No," I said.

"Sir, I need to get to her before she-" She was cut off by the sound of something hitting the glass. I turned to see a thick liquid oozing down the glass.

"Magnificent. Twelve hundred, you said?" said Angela Lansbury.

"I'm not opening that door," I said.

Karen raised her voice, "Please open the door or she'll get really mad."

"I don't even know how to clean that off the window," I said. "You brought a cobra in a library?"

Another splat.

"She's perfectly safe," Karen said.

"So that's Kool-Aid she's spitting?" I said.

Angela Lansbury said, "Actually they don't spit. It's a pressure-"

"I'm calling animal control," I said and walked away. Karen followed.

"Sir, you can't lock my property away from me like that," she said.

From behind me I heard Ichabod and Angela talking. They were also mad, but I was done with all of this. Experts needed to weigh in.

I dialed the emergency number and Gladys came on. "Hey, what's happening at the library today?"

"We got a spitting cobra in the study room," I said.

"I'll transfer you to Amy with animal control," Gladys said.

Karen said, "You can't call them. They'll take her away."

While the phone rang, glass broke. I turned to see the window to the study room was broken. The door opened. The couple had decided to get the snake themselves. Then the screaming started. Karen ran toward the front door.

The phone picked up. Amy said, "Y'all got another nest of bats for me? Llama?"

"Spitting cobra."

"You guys like to challenge me," she said.

"Can you call the police and ambulance, too? I need to evacuate."

Amy said sure and hung up. I pulled the alarm behind the desk and started making the rounds to get people out of the library, texting the all-staff channel about the snake probably loose in the building.

Roadside Talk of Gardening

in

"I just wanted to stop and ask if your daddy was okay," she said out the window of a late model Ford Explorer.

     The dog had just stopped to cop a squat. It whined a bit, also annoyed that our neighbor had taken this moment to pull over to the side of the road and ask about the family.

     "He died," I said. "Just after Thanksgiving."

     She pulled her robe tight against her chest with one hand. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Will you be doing anything?"

     "We had a small funeral over the weekend."

     "He was such a quiet guy. Always out in the yard. Busy busy busy. I'm sorry to hear that."

     The dog finished her business and pulled at the leash, eager to get on to smelling new and interesting things. A school bus passed by us, the neighbor in the car and me and the dog standing over a newly minted pile of shit.

     I said, "He'll be missed. Thank you for saying so."

     She let her hand free. I noticed she had on a blue bathrobe, yellow top underneath. No wedding ring as she waved her hand. "Of course. Y'all doing okay? We got a couple casseroles in the freezer I could bring over."

     "We're fine. Got a few from the church. But thank you."

     "He was always out there. We felt like we never did enough as him. He kept it all clean and nice. I’ll tell my husband. He’ll be sad about that. How long you in town for?"

     The sun was coming up now and a bit of dew on the grass and the pile of shit started to drift up into the humid air. More noise from the primary school down the street. The roar of buses. Laughter of children.

     "Til after Christmas. Get through the holidays."

     "My husband will be sad. He's offshore, gone a lot, and after I drop the kids off it's just me. I always saw your daddy out there raking or mowing or digging in the garden and thought 'I should do more.' He was inspiring. Are you gonna be out there?" She gave a broad smile, fingering the collar of the robe.

     I smiled and said, "I don't think I'll be out there as much as him. He was dedicated."

    "Well, I hope to see you. Tell your momma I'll stop by. Give y'all my number just in case. I'm in the house on the corner, the one with the yellow fence, you know."

    "I think that sounds good. We appreciate it."

     Another smile and she drove off. While I was picking up the crap in the gray bags I had for the occasion, I realized I had no idea the neighbor's name. Mom would know.

Shepherd Take Warning

in

A man in a yellow coat walked the stacks of the library. Back and forth, he stalked and ran his finger along the spines making a quiet little rattle on the metal shelves. He looked for nothing, wanted little, and let his eyes search.

"Anything I can help you with?" a page shelving some cookbooks said.

He smiled and said no in a low voice like thunder a mile off.

"Sorry," a teenager in the fiction section said, moving aside to let the man in the yellow coat pass.

The man nodded and passed. The teenager smelled cinnamon and clover.

A librarian saw the man pass the window in front of the backroom. The librarian was binding a book that had been torn by a dog. He had already cleaned off the piss that the dog had left. No stains, just a few sprinkles on the book jacket. At least that's what the patron had said his dog did. The librarian had said thank you and taken the bag with the torn book with a little urine on it. No fee. The dog owner could not afford the title, a nonfiction reference book about training Doberman pinchers, and the librarian could not be bothered. As the man in the yellow coat passed the window, though, the librarian was bothered.

"I think something's wrong," the librarian binding the book said to the other librarian.

The other librarian had her email displayed on the computer and swiped her phone. She had been on a dating app looking for someone to spend Saturday night with. She paid extra for the app to show her matches that liked movies and to hide anyone over five foot, five inches. Man or woman, she liked them short. She asked what the book binder meant.

"Just a feeling. Saw this guy," the binder said.

Swiper looked up. "What kind of guy?"

"Guy in a yellow coat."

"Like, he might open the yellow coat?"

"No, not that kind of coat. And it was open. I think he had a t-shirt and jeans under it."

Swiper looked back at her phone to see Jeremy, five foot three inches of accountant. She swiped. "Want me to take a look?"

Binder, standing now, said, "I'll check it out."

He found the man in the yellow coat on the second floor, staring out a window over the tire market next door and the cemetery beyond. He pretended to straighten some shelves, but the man turned a little and said, "Rain."

Binder looked out, not seeing a drop. "I think it might tonight."

"It will," the man said. "It always rains when the sky is red like it was this morning. You know that?"

"I don't think so."

"Red sky at night is a shepherd's delight. Red sky in morning, a shepherd take warning." He said it sing-song, like a nursery rhyme or some tune he had almost forgotten. "It's true. Works how the sun shines through the clouds, those coming and going bouncing all that dust and water around and making the color turn. It's in the Bible."

"Huh," Binder said.

"It's also a nice little rhyme, don't you think?"

"My grandpa used to say it."

"Yeah."

They stood looking out over the tire place and the setting sun. It all went from yellow to blue and right at the end there was a flash of green on the horizon.

"Whoa, did you-" Binder said and turned but the man in the yellow coat had gone.

Rain began to drip and tap on the window. It went slow at first then harder, the drops fat and heavy. Binder went to the backroom feeling outside himself. Something inside had become green and dark.

Swiper worked on her email, the phone next to the keyboard. She typed as he entered, finishing and looking back at Binder. "You okay?"

"Red sky in the morning," he said.

Swiper said, "Sailor take warning."

"I always heard shepherd."

Swiper felt something for him then. Her coworker had a sadness, a deep empty look that made her want to wrap him up in her arms and hold him. Let him cry and hold on to her while she stroked his head and called him "sweet boy." She told herself it was the rain, making her want to feel cuddly and cozy, as he went back to fixing the book and she went to see if the page needed help with the cookbooks before they closed.

Shh, We're Hunting Geese

in

A man with a shotgun over his shoulder and a short sword at his waist walked into the library and right up to the circulation desk. He asked to see the manager. The librarian on duty came and got me from my office, telling me shit might be about to go down.

     "Sir, first off, you can't bring a weapon in the library. Please take those outside," I said.

     "Aw shit. Yeah, well, can you come too?" he said.

     I said I could and followed him to the front door. I'm single, nobody waiting for me to come home, and have lived a good life. I thought about telling the librarian at the desk to tell my mom I loved her, but that seemed overkill.

     Outside, he pointed to a flock of Canadian geese walking around the lawn. The large gray, black, and white creatures pecked at each other and the grass. A few eyed us. They were all adults as far as I could tell but then again I have no idea what a teenage goose looks like.

      He said, "Those yours?"

     "The geese?" I said.

     "Yeah."

     "I don't own any animals."

     "No. Like the library. They in your yard. Y'all takin care of them or something?"

     I thought a moment. As far as I know, I had not entered into any protective agreement with the creatures. I told him no.

     "Okay then," he said. "I'm gonna get one. Mind being backup?"

     "What exactly is happening?"

     "Well, Canadian geese there, those are good eatin. Usually I just get the ones on my property, over out by the lake. Seems they don't come around much anymore. Anyway, they mostly just dumb. You can walk right up to them and get'em quick. One hard swipe." He pulled the short sword from his belt and gave it a swing, right to left. "But they can get mean, and when there's a bunch it's best to use scatter shot."

     "So to get this straight. You're going to walk over there, cut the head off a goose, and if they get mad about it I'm supposed to break it up with the shotgun," I said.

     "That's about the skinny," he said, thrusting out the shotgun.

     "Sir, this is a library."

     "Yeah. But they don't know that."

     "There's kids inside."

     He lowered the shotgun to his side. "So that's a no."

     "I'm pretty sure it's illegal to shoot a weapon in the city limits. Probably some hunting laws, too."

     "You gonna call the sheriff?"

     "Not the sheriff, but city police are right across the street."

     "Oh, shit. Why didn't I think of that? Thank you, library man," and he walked off toward the police station. 

     I watched him go and decided to do paperwork in my office all afternoon. I told the librarian on duty to call me when they heard something. They asked what kind of something, and I said they would know.

     Twenty minutes later children began screaming. A man began hollering. Two shotgun blasts filled the town square. I peaked out to see the man holding a headless bird by the neck, a city police officer holding the shotgun and standing over a bloody pile of feathers. Several geese were fleeing the scene. 

      The librarian on duty knocked on my door.

Thunder in the Cloud

in

The windows on the north side of the library shook when the thunder rolled through. The sound came in waves crashing against the glass, one rumbling after another. Everyone looked out at the dark clouds.

     "I think the power might go out," the librarian said to the page.

     The page nodded.

     The patrons sat at the computers. Some mumbled to themselves, some sang, while others hunched over the keyboard an inch from the screen and hunted. They hunted for things only they would know when they found.

     "Let's go around. Tell everyone to save. Just in case," the librarian said.

     They started on the right while the page went left. They said quietly, "Just in case the power goes out, remember to save if you're working on something." They waved when the person had headphones. They offered to help print and flash drives. The computers would save nothing.

     Another roll of thunder with a flash. The windows rattled again. The patrons continued to work.

     When they were done, the librarian and the page went ahead and made signs. Power out. Internet not available. If anyone would read them in the dark, they didn't know. 

     When nature flipped the switch, it was quiet. No thunder or lightning or dramatic crack from the heavens. Just a flicker of the lights and everything was dark.

     People paused. The rain hit the windows. Shadows creeped and filled all the empty spaces. The quiet came as the computer hum and the click clack of fingers died.

     "What happened?" one voice said.

     "Power's out," another said.

     Another: "No shit."

     One man stood and walked to the librarian and the page standing at the desk. "When's the power coming back?"

     The librarian said they did not know.

     "I almost had that printed. Good thing I saved," he said.

     The page said the computers did not save. Unless he did it in the cloud.

     "I just hit the save. Because of those clouds," the man said and pointed at the rain splattered north facing windows where the dark clouds blotted out the sun.

     They tried to explain all the way until the lights came back. Then more thunder, this time inside the library.

Artificial Book Banning Intelligence

in

"Hi, my daughter got this book from your shelves, and it's disgusting. This monkey is all over this man." The woman had two kids behind her large hair, peaking out as if it was a bush and they were frightened squirrels.

     The librarian took the book. "Yes, I see. He is a curious monkey."

     "What are you going to do about it?"

     "Check it in. Shelve it." The librarian scanned the book with a beep.

     "I want it removed."

     The librarian's head came up. They met the woman's eye. "Are you sure? Think carefully before you say such things."

     The woman's eyes narrowed. "That book and that monkey is disgusting, and I want it removed from the library."

     The librarian made the sign of the evil eye, saying, "Three time and it comes."

     "Are you stupid? Protect our children and remove this book from the library," the woman said. Her hair shook with the tremors of the children. They might be laughing, they might be cringing.

     The librarian backed away. They said, "It comes."

     A bright red light found the woman. A robotic whirring filled the air as a small metallic ball with spinning helicopter blades came down. The voice came in a hollow monotone. "Book being challenged. Please present the book."

     The librarian slid the book toward the robot. A red light is shown down scanning the cover. The voice came again. "This item has no previous challenges and is rated for children three and above, although adults find the art pleasant. State your challenge."

     The librarian said to the woman, "It's talking to you."

     The red light swiveled from librarian to woman.

     "I, um… The monkey touched people. My kids don't need to see that," she said.

     "Analysis of the images and text have the curious monkey hold their keeper's and a teacher's hand. In one image, the frightened creature climbs upon the keeper's shoulders. These are acceptable behaviors for a primate. Your challenge is rejected."

     "My children wanted to hold a monkey. That's dangerous."

     "You should not allow them to hold wild animals or domesticated animals without professional supervision."

     "They keep telling me they want a monkey and we went to the zoo and little Jessie reached through the cage," the woman said pointing to the small child over her right shoulder.

     The red roving eye swiveled from the woman to the librarian and back. The librarian sighed.

     "Child protective services have been alerted. Your children will be taken to a safe home where they will be taught how to be productive, intelligent, and empathetic members of society. Thank you for alerting us to the danger. Have a nice day." The robot rose in the air, leaving the desk.

     "That was stupid. I want that book gone," the woman said.

     "I would hug your children," the librarian said, putting the book on the cart. "You should spend time with them while you can. Away from the zoo, of course."

Dracula Exhibit Coming Soon to the Library

in

The library opened today to find a giant yellow crate outside the front door, a fine mist spreading from the cracks and drifting with tendrils in the morning wind. The symbol of a dragon was drawn in crude fashion with a brown sticky paint. We brought it in.

     Opening it revealed a large amount of soil. Several bones were spread among the dirt and a small note. The note read: "Here lies Dracula. Please display him properly."

     Among the dirt we found a well preserved body of an older looking gentleman in a top hat and long coat, several display cases with artifacts, and a binder. The binder had comprehensive instructions on displaying the materials in a well unlit, cool area.

     We asked the staff at the morning huddle, and the reference librarian slapped their head, saying, "That must be the traveling Romanian exhibit Marcy signed up for, hell, I dunno, a year ago. Before she mysteriously disappeared on that trip to Europe. You remember, she phoned and said 'I've decided to stay with a charming man in a castle. He would like to visit and will send a display. Don't send help or anything. I'm cool.' Then we never heard from her again and had to do that whole hiring thing."

     Several staff members said, "Oh, yeah."

     Please feel free to visit the traveling exhibit once it has been set up. We anticipate next week.

Welcome to the Scholomance

in

On behalf of the Banned Library and The Faculty, we would like to extend an invitation to you to join the 2023-2024 admission class to the Scholomance! As one of the sacred thirteen, we are excited to have you!

Your application and interest in learning the dark mystical arts impressed the admissions staff and The Faculty! We especially loved hearing about your willingness to see through any hardship to triumph for both power and domination of your enemies. Also, the part where you talked about teaching your dog to hunt the small wild fae was adorable.

Now, before you accept we must lay out the terms and conditions of service at our school. While you may be very aware, we like to explain our history as well to give context to practices some call "outdated" and "barbaric" but which we feel gives our institution a feeling of cohesive tradition. Plus, some things have been carved in stone and flesh that do not behave according to "time" or "progress."

History

Started millenia ago, the Scholomance began as the Solomonaire. The king and magician Solomon (yep, same guy!) founded our sub-mountain home as a place to teach those with power to control their desires and to harness the thunderbolts of the dragon who sleeps in the nearby lake. Upon his death, the wise "chopper of babies" Solomon entreated the care of the students and the dragon to an entity that has incorrectly been labeled "The Devil." We simply refer to them as "The Faculty" to disregard such disrespectful historical inaccuracies.

Student Body

Every seven years, thirteen students are chosen to form the current class. The study lasts for the duration of seven years, or until the individual student can no longer perform daily tasks in a corporeal form. Some students may not complete their curriculum and serve as a learning experience for the rest.

Curriculum

Under the tutelage of The Faculty, students learn earth and animal magics as well as control over the elements. Special courses and independent study have been available in the past and included topics such as blood rites, potion making, and various enchanting and quest-centric magics. While no formal classrooms exist, we believe every moment of every day should be a learning experience. When a student leaves our institution the power they wield will possibly control the fates of millions, and that's pretty cool but also terrifying!

All materials are available through a joint collection development with the Banned Library.

Tuition

The Scholomance has no formal fees or expenses for students. All room and board is complimentary, split between the corporeal souls that remain. At the end of their tenure at the graduation ceremony, one student will be chosen at the behest of The Faculty to remain behind while the others are free to leave, called the Caretaker. For the next seven years, the student will then forge thunderbolts and care for the dragon at the pleasure of The Faculty. Should no student make it to the graduation ceremony, the present Caretaker will remain. 

Don't worry, the longest anyone has remained Caretaker was 154 years. His name is lost to history, however, as he went mad and burned most of his personal items along with himself the moment he was replaced.

We look forward to seeing you in the fall!