The Librarian: A Remnants of Magic Novel (The Librarian of Alexandria Book 2) Casey White (books for 6 year olds to read themselves TXT) 📖

“I know,” Jean said softly.  “I’m sorry.  For that, and so much else.  But-”

The Library groaned, shuddering.  The last scraps of wood vanished, disappearing into the fog.  All that remained was the concrete beneath them, and the well, and the statue.

Jean didn’t move, even though the Edge was just a few scant feet away.  “We don’t have long.”

The necklace dangling from her hand bounced, glittering in the light from the well.

Daniel swallowed, staring at it.  “So...I can choose?”

She smiled wryly.  “There’s always a choice.”

“To be Librarian.”

“Or to not,” she whispered.  “You could say no.”

Life without the Library?  Daniel rocked back on his heels, stunned.  “Can...Can I?  Is that even possible?”

“I don’t know.”

He blinked, looking up.  Her eyes were fixed to his, shadowed but steady.  “None of this happened how it should,” she said.  “I don’t know what would happen if you declined.  Maybe…”  She sighed.  “Maybe you could walk away from all this.  Your bond with Alexandria remains...tenuous.  Weak enough to break, perhaps.”

Daniel shook his head.  Images rose up in his mind, of things he’d read and things he’d heard.  “Leon said...What I saw in those books.  The mages.  Demis.  If they lose their magic, they-”

“Die.”  On her lips, the word was matter-of-fact, an indisputable truth.  “Yes.  That could be the outcome here as well.”

“You don’t know?”  He tried to keep the plaintive note from his voice, and failed.  “You can’t-”

“This has never been done before.”  She chuckled softly.  “So...no, I don’t know, Daniel.  You might die.  Alexandria might wither away, ceasing to exist without a Librarian.  Or perhaps she’ll return to the world, alone, and find a new host.”

Daniel nodded, chewing on his lip.  His mind had stopped dead in its tracks, caught on that moment when she’d said he could choose.  To not do this anymore.  To leave these halls behind.

He could be free.  He could be normal.  But if he chose that…

“She might die,” he whispered, lifting his gaze.

Jean stared back at him, her too-young eyes dark.  And then she inclined her head.

“B-But,” Daniel said, stumbling closer to her.  The fog grew thicker, almost blocking out the light from Alexandria’s well, but the Edge seemed to have stopped.  It was waiting, he knew.  For him.  “But, if Alexandria could die, why?  Why would you let me-”

Jean raised her hand.  He stopped.  The pendant danced at the bottom of its chain, glimmering in the hazy air.

“I put this around your neck once,” she said.  Her eyes bored into his, her lips tight.  “I won’t do it again.”

There, face to face, it was like that stare of hers was stripping away his defenses, the masks he’d layered on.  He swallowed, his throat burning.  “Jean, I-”

“Choose.”

Daniel nodded.  His eyes prickled.  He lifted a hand, rubbing at his face, wiping away the moisture that gathered there.

It was what he’d always wanted.  A way out.  A way he could live in the same reality as everyone else, not condemned to watch it pass him by, ruined beyond salvaging by the Library’s visits.  It was right here, in front of him—and all he’d have to risk was his own safety.  Alexandria’s.  He’d been prepared to leap at that, just a few years ago.  A few months, even.

But now?  He took a deep, shuddering breath.  His head spun.  The possibilities.  The futures that could be—or could be lost.

What did he want?

“I hate you,” Daniel whispered, locking gazes with Jean.

She flinched, but didn’t turn or run from that look.  Her lips tightened.

He shook his head.  The words welled up, screaming in his mind.  “I told you before,” he said.  A gravestone flashed before his eyes, half-covered in leaves.  “I don’t know if you heard me, if you’re in here playing ghost, but-”

“I’m not a ghost,” Jean said, a touch wryly.  “Or a dreamer.  I’m…”  She hesitated, but nodded toward the fog.  “Caught.  Between.  Unable to leave.”

Caught?  Daniel’s brows pulled together, but he forced himself to stop.  “Whatever.  I…”  He took a deep breath, straightening.  “I can’t forgive you.  Ever.  What you did to me...you had no right.”

Jean nodded.  Her eyes darkened, but that was all.  “I know,” she said quietly.

“I had a life.  A family.  You took all of that away, and made it second fiddle to this...this…”  He swept a hand out, yanking it back before the Edge could snap it up.  “This sideshow.  You ripped out everything that I was, and stuck Alexandria in its place.”

Again, Jean nodded.  She didn’t say anything, but he saw her swallow.

“I deserve the right to be mad,” Daniel said.  His voice shook.  “I deserve the time to be mad about this. As much as I want.  This sucks, and you did it to me, knowing damn well I couldn’t fight back.  I was a kid, Jean.”

“Daniel, I-”

“But that was a decade and a half ago.”

Jean stopped.  Her expression hadn’t changed, but as Daniel watched, a tear fell to her cheek.

He drew in another ragged, shaking breath.  “You did this,” he said, more quietly.  “I’m still mad about that.  But running away now won’t change any of that.  And stripping away everything I’ve built for myself since then won’t bring that kid back.”

She hadn’t moved.  That same tear carved a path down her cheekbone, infinitely slow.

Her lips twitched, shaping a word she didn’t quite voice.

Choose.

His hand closed around the necklace.

“I’m the Librarian,” Daniel whispered.  “I didn’t ask for it, but god damn if I’m going to let you or anyone else take that too.”  His lips twitched, struggling into a smile as moisture collected in his eyes.  “Alexandria’s mine now.  No going back on things.”

Jean giggled, her eyes shining, but those shadows lingered still.  Her free hand came up, pressing to her nose.  The single tear had found friends.  “I...I’m-”

He was still clutching the necklace, as was she.  He yanked—and as Jean stumbled forward, yelping, he pulled her into his arms.

Everything came rushing back, then.  The crisp, floral scent of her shampoo.  The warmth of leather rising from her jacket.  The tang of oil and metal,