Cat's Quill (8 page)

Donovan raised an eyebrow. "I think I'm gonna have to meet your sister. She seems to be one sensible lady." He grinned, a smirk crossing his lips that made Tomas very uneasy. "Better yet, I bet she and Heidi would get on really well. They could compare notes."

"God, no." Tomas shuddered. They might enjoy it, but he certainly wouldn't. Just the thought of it was the stuff of nightmares. Donovan needed to be distracted from this line of thinking, and quickly. "There is an author I'm looking for. I've only ever been able to find one book, but I'm sure he must have written more."

"Why?" Donovan closed the book in his hand.

"Why what?" Tomas looked at him blankly. His tone was casual, but he didn't uncross his arms.

"Why are you sure he must have written more?" Donovan indicated the room they were in. "Some of the really good stuff is a one-time thing. Sometimes writers only get inspired once." He grimaced. "Thinking of some of the crappy sequels I've read, I wish some of them had only written one book. There's some good stuff out there, but others are not worth the paper they're written on. Shakespeare, monkeys, and typewriters, if you get my drift."

"It's not finished," Tomas said. "There
is
a sequel. I just haven't been able to find it yet." Cathal might get away with arguing the point on this. Donovan would not. "So, are you going to help me find it, or do I have to unsheathe my sword and take on the Phoebe dragon myself?"

Donovan snorted. "I doubt you're gonna unsheathe it for her, but yeah, I'll help. I'm a nice guy that way."

"The author is Wynne Emerys," Tomas said, choosing to ignore Donovan's last statement. "His novel is called
In Hidden Places
." It would be just as easy to look on the shelves first on his own, but if Donovan wanted to help, Tomas was not going to stop him. This would be easier with two of them, and his priority was finding this book. That and showing Cathal that his argument, while logical, could be proven wrong.

"Never heard of him." Donovan shook his head. "Or the book. What genre is it? Some kind of war story?"

"It's a fantasy." Tomas hesitated, not wanting to share something as personal as this story with Donovan. His tone shifted, warning that if Donovan made some kind of smartarse comment it would not be tolerated. "A romantic fantasy, to be precise, although it is much more than that."

"Of course it is." Donovan's tone was not mocking, but Tomas could not place it either, or the expression on Donovan's face. In lieu of that, it was easier to ignore both of them and continue onward with the details needed for this quest.

He scanned the shelves, looking through the authors. They were standing in front of those beginning with T, so E had to be several shelves back. "Does this library have a separate section for fantasy, or is the fiction inclusive of all genres?"

"We have a very good fantasy section." Donovan seemed amused by the question. "I wouldn't speak such sacrilege in Phoebe's hearing. All genres together, indeed. She's way too anal about stuff like that." He pointed to a bookcase on the wall by the window. Next to it was a chair with a crocheted rug draped over its back and a comfortable-looking cushion on its seat. "You can find them there. I don't remember seeing that author there, though, but then I'm not really into fantasy. I prefer an historical setting. Some time travel's cool though. Give me something with elements of both, and I'm happy."

"I like fantasy because it creates realities." Tomas nodded his thanks and briskly walked over to where Donovan had indicated. Scanning the shelves quickly, he ran his fingers almost reverently over spines of the books, giving a low whistle of appreciation. Some of these were very rare, but there was a good mix of classics, both old and modern. Damn it. There was nothing by Emerys, not even the novel Tomas had already read.

Hairs prickled on the back of his neck. Tomas rubbed at it absently, turning slightly. Phoebe was watching him, her hand on the phone she had just returned to its cradle. Just because something was not on the shelf did not mean the library did not possess a copy. She had mentioned a catalogue earlier. And, of course, there was that special collection at the top of the spiral staircase.

Making a decision, he walked over to Phoebe's desk. "I'm looking for a book," he said, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. An elderly woman, browsing in the detective section to his right, looked up, caught his eye, and smiled. Unsure as to why, he found himself returning the gesture.

"This is a library, so you are in the right place to do that." The side of Phoebe's mouth twitched. "Perhaps you would like to be more specific? A title or author is often something we librarians find useful."

"I don't know the title," Tomas had to admit.

"Helpful is another word which means the same thing." Phoebe shook her head, amused. "Do you know if this book exists, or are you looking for a sequel you hope has been written?"

He stared at her. "It exists."

"I see." Phoebe picked up a pen from her desk. "You'd be surprised how many people ask for nonexistent books. Just because you enjoyed the story doesn't mean the author chose to continue it." She paused, looking around for notepaper. He spied a pad buried under a book and handed it to her. "Thank you. So no title, but you have an author?" Phoebe glanced up at him; she seemed to not only be looking at him, but through him, into the private part of himself he kept well hidden. "You do have an author, don't you?"

"Wynne Emerys," Tomas said, forcing himself not to avert his eyes. "He wrote
In Hidden Places
."

"I see." Phoebe wrote the information on her pad. "When was the original book written? Sometimes that can be helpful." The fact that she hadn't appeared to have heard of Emerys was not encouraging; none of the other librarians he'd asked had either.

"It was published in 1941." Tomas watched her as she placed the pad on top of a set of small wooden drawers, pulling out the fifth one down on the left. "I can look, if you're busy. I have used a card catalogue before."

"I'm sure you have, Mr. Kemp." Phoebe began flipping through the cards. "Emerys. Emerys. I wonder if you're as immortal as your name suggests." The rather strange statement was said with a completely straight face, her attention focused on her search. Was this part of the wicked sense of humor Donovan had mentioned? Tomas shifted his attention to the bookcase by the door again. Sometimes books could be misshelved. Even by librarians as efficient as Phoebe.

"Oh my!" Phoebe backed away from the card catalogue, her hand to her mouth. "Oh my!" she repeated, louder this time.

"Trouble, my lady?" Donovan was by Phoebe's side before Tomas had a chance to move, giving her a mock bow and a grin.

"Something moved in there!" Phoebe peered in for a closer look. "How dare they? In
my
library!" she shrieked. Tomas instinctively moved forward, ready to help, but Donovan was faster.

"Here, let me." Donovan pushed in between Phoebe and the card catalogue, pulling the drawer out farther. Cards flew in all directions as he yanked rather too enthusiastically and the drawer fell to the floor.

"You idiot!" Phoebe yelled. "They're getting away!" Out of the corner of his eye, Tomas saw something tiny dive out of the stack of cards, followed by another, and another.

The library door opened and closed with a bang. Phoebe didn't notice. She was too busy trying to eliminate the small creatures who had invaded her library. "Donovan! Catch them!" She stamped one foot, a heel barely missing one of the silverfish. "Donovan! They're getting away!" Her tone was growing hysterical. "My books, my poor books."

There was not much Tomas could do to help the situation; he would only be a hindrance. The growing crowd of people in the area around Phoebe's desk began joining in with her and Donovan in chasing and stomping the floor at any sightings of anything vaguely resembling the silverfish. The library was erupting into chaos, and Tomas didn't hesitate. This was his chance. His conscience argued with him for a split second, but he ignored it. He needed to do this to prove his point. This might be his only chance. Backing away slowly, he quickly made for the door.

Closing it behind him, he climbed the spiral staircase leading to the attic floor, to the collection Phoebe guarded closely. What the hell was so special about these books, anyway? Many of those in the main collection were rare and valuable. Surely these would be no different. Nevertheless, his heart was beating faster, however much he told himself he was being foolish. This was not a quest, and he was in no shape or form an adventurer. He was merely a reader who wanted more.

More than just wanted. Tomas craved the answers the original novel had left unanswered. He had no idea why this particular book had spoken to him the way it had, but the first time he had seen it, he had been drawn to it, captivated by it. That first day, he had tried to talk himself out of buying it. After all he had just been browsing, looking for something special for Kathleen's birthday, and he had a stack of books at home to read already. The shop was one he had visited many times before. In fact he wasn't sure why he had entered it that day. Kathleen wasn't even into old books, let alone the type this shop specialized in. Her preferred reading genre was what she referred to as "racy romances." The books were chosen based on the cover illustration having as much male skin on display as possible, the more revealed the better.

The only other person besides Cathal that Tomas had loaned the book to was Ethan. It apparently wasn't Ethan's kind of book either. Ethan preferred action stories, set against a realistic background, and accurate researched. Still, he had read it, more out of politeness than anything else, and returned it with a comment that it had been interesting. A small smile graced Tomas's lips. Cathal had understood; it had spoken to him as well, even if they had argued over it. No, not argued, but discussed their differing viewpoints.

The noise from downstairs was still loud. Phoebe was not happy, but it was only a matter of time before someone calmed her enough to phone for help. If the silverfish infestation was severe, the library might have to be closed for fumigation, which meant that this could be Tomas's only opportunity to look through this part of the collection. He still remembered a similar incident in his hometown when he was younger. The librarian there had not been impressed either and had explained to him in very concerned tones the damage the tiny creatures could create.

Tomas opened the door at the top of the staircase to find himself in a small room. A stained-glass window filtered in the light from outside, producing a muted glow. Tomas's head brushed against a thin cord hanging from the ceiling. He pulled on it, and the room lit with the harshness of the naked electric light. A solitary bookcase stood against the wall by the window. A vase of flowers was arranged on top. Roses, the same as those he had noticed outside. To the side of the bookcase were a wooden rocking chair and a footstool. Someone came here to read, although it was impossible to tell how often. The roses were faded but not dead, their scent still permeating the room.

The books on the shelf were old, muted colors and covers to match the mood of the room. Tomas moved closer, browsing the titles quickly, hoping he would find what he was looking for. The oversized books were arranged in order of size on the bottom shelf. Although he scanned them, he knew they would not hold any answers.

The rest were arranged by author in alphabetical order. Arthur. Baker. Cameron. DeMille. Emerys.

Emerys.

Tomas froze. Oh God. Trembling, he stopped, his fingers caressing the spine. Holding his breath, he read the title.
In Hidden Places
.

Damn it. It was the original novel. He reread the titles on either side, looking through the rest of the books, hoping something might have been misfiled.

There had to be a sequel. The story didn't end there. Cathal was wrong. He had to be.

Still, this was another copy of his novel. Maybe there was something within the pages his own didn't have. Pulling the book from the shelf, Tomas flipped through it, coming to a halt when he noticed something that shouldn't be there. Opening the book completely, resting it so it lay across his open palms, he found himself staring at a postcard. Sitting down on the footstool, he shifted the book onto his lap and examined the postcard. Its date of print was faded to illegibility, as though that part of it had sat in the sun too long. He turned it over. A young woman smiled back at him from a black and white photograph. She was dressed in dark clothing in the style of the era preceding the Second World War, her hands clasped on her lap, her fair hair waist-length but loose and softly framing her face. The smile didn't reach her eyes; her gaze was fixed on something beyond the camera.

A sudden thump from downstairs made Tomas jump. Quickly he shoved the book back into its place on the shelf and, walking briskly to the door, turned the light off. He couldn't risk being caught here. If Phoebe had a copy of this book in this collection, she might have clues to some of the answers he needed. It would not do to invoke her wrath still further.

It wasn't until he had reentered the main part of the library with Donovan approaching him, talking nineteen to the dozen, that Tomas realized he was still holding the postcard in one hand.

He carefully slid it into the back pocket of his jeans.

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Chapter Five