The Librarian (Book One: Little Boy Lost) (8 page)

  
“It’ll be like I was never there.” His voice trailed off until it was little more than a whisper. “Maybe this is just how my story is supposed to end.”

  
Wesley was first to break the long silence that followed. “No it’s not,” he said. “C’mon!”

  
He led the others down the stone staircase and back into the library’s main hall. They didn’t question him. Not at all. There was something about Wesley now, an air of confidence he was wearing that didn’t quite fit but made them want to follow all the same.

  
Wesley stopped at the foot of the stairs, biting on the tip of his tongue as he looked the room over. He’d suddenly remembered something the librarian said and couldn’t push it from his mind.

  
There is a carving for each display in the library
, he’d told them.
Each display has a carving to go with it and vice-versa.

  
“Wes?”

  
“I got it!” Wesley darted into one of the aisles. Locke and Taylor quickly followed. “You said you only have eighty-eight minutes in a world that isn’t your own, right? That’s what you said?”

  
“Yeah?”

  
“Is that how the rule is written? Word for word?”

  
“I-I think so.”

  
Wesley’s sneakers squeaked when he stopped at the end of the aisle. One of the large woodcarvings was hanging on the wall in front of them.

  
“’Cause if it is—“

  
“He doesn’t have to go home.” Taylor’s words were running together in her excitement. “He can just go someplace else.”

  
“Exactly!”

  
“Wesley Bates!” Taylor squealed, wrapping both arms around him. “I could kiss you!”

  
“We’ll need the key!” Locke quickly studied the carving before hurrying back up the aisle. He missed the awkward moment that followed Wesley and Taylor’s embrace.

  
Locke slid into the main hall, his eyes darting around until they found the
Wizard of Oz
display just a few feet away. The diorama had a number of items that were easily identifiable to anyone who knew the
Oz
story well: silver slippers, an oil can, three yellow bricks – there was a thick, leather-bound book sitting open on a small podium alongside a magic wand that seemed to glow in the light. Locke grabbed the wand, sure it was the piece he needed.

  
Wesley and Taylor stepped aside when Locke returned so he could address the carving.

  
“Is this really going to work?” Taylor asked.

  
“For Locke or for us?” Wesley asked.

  
“Either.”

  
“I can’t think of a better hiding place. Can you?”

  
Wesley watched Locke work. The Lost Boy’s fingers were searching the wooden landscape and had just discovered the dark tree in the forest shaped like the wand in his hand.

  
“Are we going with him?” Taylor asked.

  
Wesley didn’t answer.

  
Locke lined the wand up with the carving’s dark imperfection then gently pushed it into place like the final piece of a strange jigsaw puzzle. He stepped back.

  
At first, the changes to the carving were subtle. The wood began to lighten in color, something few would have noticed if they weren’t familiar with the strange piece. But soon, as the wood continued to lighten, the features of the carving began to fade, until they were gone, nothing in their place but a vivid light the color of the sun.

  
“See?” Wesley said. “See? What’d I tell you?!”

  
Long tentacles of light began to extend from the carving’s surface, coiling around the three children like the wispy fingers of a ghost.

  
“Wes?”

  
The light was beginning to ripple like the surface of a pond on a windy day. Each of the ripples left a translucent patch in its wake. The patches were disappearing almost as quickly as they appeared, but Wesley could tell there was an old room with wooden walls on the other side of the carving.

  
“W-Wesley?” Taylor whispered. “P-please.”

  
It wasn’t what she said, it was how she said it that finally got him. Their eyes met, and Wesley took her trembling hand. “It’ll be okay,” he said softly. “I promise.” Both turned their attention back to the carving, its light so intense they had to close their eyes and look away.

  
But from that point forward neither let go of the other. Not even when the wind began to howl, not even when the tentacles tightened and pulled them through the portal to the other side.

“GET ME DOWN from this thing,” Douglas snarled.
 

  
Without a word the cloaked henchman obeyed. His body turned to grey smoke before streaming to the floor where it assumed its original form – that of a man – this time with a sword in his hand that was long and thin and shaped like a crescent moon.

  
The dark man drew his sword back and came down on the trap’s sticky webs in a violent arc. Douglas readied himself for impact as the razor-sharp blade found its home, released him from the trap and sent him crashing to the floor.

  
Douglas lost time as he struggled to free himself from the netting. The hooded man was already moving toward the ladder they’d watched the librarian descend just a few moments before.

  
“Wait!” Douglas said. He came to his feet. “That’s just what the decrepit old man wants. He’ll own us down there.” He was talking though his teeth as he started down the corridor. “We’re going after the kids.”

WESLEY OPENED HIS eyes just in time to watch the small sphere of light floating in the air ahead of them wink out and disappear.

  
Taylor was next, stealing a peek between fingers before dropping her hand to take in their new surroundings.

  
The kids were standing inside a wooden shack no bigger than a large shed. The floorboards creaked beneath their feet. The roof was leaky and sagging, like it might collapse at any moment. There was a pile of dead leaves pushed together in the room’s corner, a pile of forgotten fruit that had shriveled with age beside that.

  
Wesley and Taylor looked at one another then slowly dropped their gaze to their interlocked hands. Their eyes came up together, each firing the other an accusing look before pulling away from one another in embarrassment.

  
Wesley left her side and joined Locke. The Lost Boy was already exploring, standing at the cabin’s only window and looking out.

   
“Did it work?” Taylor asked, spinning around. “Because something about this doesn’t seem right.” She expected to find a carving on the cabin’s wall like the one in the library, but it wasn’t there. “How’re we supposed to get back?”

  
The window was so dirty Wesley had to clear a spot with his hand. “Whoa!” he whispered, eyes filled with wonder after seeing what waited for them just beyond the glass. He and Locke started for the cabin’s door, both with a little extra zip in their step.

  
“Wes?” Taylor continued. “What are we supposed to—“

  
“We’ll figure it out later,” he said as he followed Locke through the door. “Come on. You have to see this!”

  
Taylor cast one final glance around the cabin, her eyes spying the metal oil can that was sitting on a tiny shelf on the opposite wall.

  
“Tay!” Wesley hollered. “Get out here!”

  
She shook her head in frustration then slowly walked through the door after them. She didn’t make it far, though. None of them did. All three stopped just outside the cabin. They were glued to the spot when they saw the incredible vista that lay before them.

  
The cabin was nestled in a magnificent flower garden near the base of a small hill. A lush, green meadow unfolded beyond that. The meadow was bordered by a deep forest on one side and a mammoth waterfall that tumbled over a rocky cliff on the other. There was a narrow road woven through the landscape, its yellow bricks catching the sunlight and creating a golden ribbon that led toward a city skyline on the horizon. Like giant, crystal prisms, the glass buildings captured the sun and sent it back into the world in a million brilliant rays the color of emeralds.

  
“Guys?” Wesley began with a smile. “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore!”

TAYLOR SKIPPED DOWN the yellow brick road, elated.

  
“Oh my god! This is incredible!” She whipped around with nothing but a toothy grin for her friends. “Do we really have to go home in eighty-eight minutes?” Locke answered with a nod, and Taylor let out a long sigh to signal her disgust. “Ugh! Why? No one’s going to write
us
out of some
stupid
story.” She pointed to the city on the horizon. “What if I want to go into Emerald City or meet Dorothy or—“

  
Locke cut her off. “You can’t do that.” His tone was quite serious. “We can play and explore, but we’re forbidden to interact.”

  
Taylor stepped toward him. The wonder was gone from her face as she studied her new friend. “Says who?”

  
“The rules.”

  
Taylor playfully waved him off. “Whatever!” She didn’t want to hear anything else and went sprinting into the meadow, arms extended on either side like the wings of an airplane. “Rules don’t make sense in a place like this!”

  
Wesley used a cupped hand to help his voice carry. “I thought you were worried about getting back,” he yelled.

  
“Back?” Taylor giggled. “Back where?!”

  
Wesley watched, happy for his friend as she slowed to approach a pair of giant butterflies walking about in the grass. Both were the size of a small car. They looked like something from one of those old Japanese horror movies his dad liked to watch on a Sunday afternoon.

  
For a moment, Wesley worried one of the mammoth insects might grab his friend and fly away with her. He wondered what he would do if that happened but didn’t let his dark thoughts ruin the moment. He was enjoying Taylor’s delight just a little too much for that.

  
Taylor tiptoed toward the butterflies, but they sensed her presence and took to the air with a quick flutter of their brightly colored wings. “Hey!” Taylor went running after them, her laughter loud and ever-present.

  
Once again, Wesley called out to his friend: “Hey! We can’t go too far. We still don’t know how to get back!”

  
The butterflies seemed just as curious about Taylor as she was of them. They circled the young girl at a height just out of her reach. Taylor saw they weren’t going far and froze, raising a hand into the air with a single finger extended.

  
“Taylor?” Wesley hollered.

  
She didn’t answer. She didn’t move. Taylor stood like a statue, waiting for the butterflies to make the next move. And one of them finally did, gently landing on the perch her finger was there to provide.

  
“Oh, man!” Wesley started into the meadow after his friend. “Wait for me!”

DOUGLAS PUSHED THE painting open with little regard, letting the fine piece slam into the brick wall as he barged through the passage exit and into the library. He marched down the corridor and stopped near the railing that looked down into the main hall.

  
“Randall!” His fury bounced off every surface in the building. “Randall!!” Randy appeared from one of the aisles and seemed shaken by the tone his father’s voice had taken. “Did that Wesley kid come running through down there?”

  
“I didn’t see him,” Randy said. “Why?”

  
“The little ingrate... he... he stole my wallet.”

  
“Wesley Bates? Really? Why’d he do that?”

  
“Does it matter?!”

  
Randy flinched, every muscle tightening like old rubber bands stretched to their limit and ready to snap. “N-no, sir.”

  
“Yell if you see him.” Douglas turned away from the railing. “I don’t want him or his friends getting out that door.”

  
“O-okay.”

  
The hooded man had stopped a few feet short of the railing, making sure to go unseen.

  
“Find them,” Douglas said in a voice that better fit their surroundings. “We get those kids, and the old man will come looking for us. I promise.”

  
The dark figure started back down the corridor, his cloak whipping in the air behind him. Douglas returned to the railing and looked down on his son once more. Randy had already taken a seat on the floor near the lobby. He’d be there if Wesley and Taylor tried to escape.

  
And he’d stop them. He’d stop them for his dad.

  
He was such a good boy.

LOCKE AND TAYLOR stood near the forest tree line, both with their eyes fixed on Wesley in one of the trees above them. He was standing nervously on a large branch about fifteen feet over their heads and was gripping a thick vine that was clinging to one of the boughs overhead.

  
“Either do it or climb down,” Taylor hollered. “We’re wasting time!” Wesley put his foot into the air, ready to step off the limb only to immediately grab hold of the tree’s massive trunk. He couldn’t help himself, like that time he kicked Dr. Travis when she hit him on the knee with her tiny hammer. Stopping himself was just a reflex reaction.