The Library (The Librarian of Alexandria Book 1) Casey White (classic books for 13 year olds txt) 📖

bag from her shoulder, plunking it onto the table.  The zippers came open in an instant.  “I’ve got a spare pad in here somewhere,” she said, the words muffled behind her efforts.  “Right...about...here.”

Owl had no time to react as she whipped a neatly-bound stack of paper free, slapping it onto the bar before him.  “Take this,” she said.

He nodded, grateful for the facade that hid his smile.  “Okay.”  The paper caught against his gloved fingers.  He slid one under a page, letting the notepad flop open.

His damn overcoat had about a thousand pockets on it, containing anything from personal notes to books he’d forgotten he’d even picked up.  He reached his other hand into one, grabbing the pencil within.

“You have a pencil?” he heard Olivia say.  “Good.  Sweet.  Then-”

“Yep,”  he said, staring down at the page.  Drawing in gloves wasn’t easy.  The damn things weren’t useful for much, when it came right down to it - but they were sturdy, and they kept him hidden.  He’d learned to function despite their clumsiness.

“Then...I’ll find something for us to practice with.”  Another zipper came open.  “I was practicing on some paintings earlier.  Maybe I can find one that-”

Owl leaned forward, letting the pencil settle into the couch of his finger and thumb.  The tip touched the paper - and started to move.

The sounds of Olivia continuing to rifle through her possessions filled his ears.  Owl only pursed his lips, eyeing the lines of graphite that flowed across the page.

Something to draw, right?  It’d been a long time since he did anything art-related.  And with everything going on, his mind was too busy.  A thousand different images flashed through his vision, none of them worth a damn.

One kept coming back to him - a single image that wouldn’t let go, that radiated a soothing calm to settle his nerves.

He rolled his eyes.  Fine.  Have it your way.  His pencil turned, pressing into the paper with more purpose.  You’re a little vain, you know that?

The fire popped behind him, like Alexandria was sticking out her tongue at him.  He chuckled.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he heard Olivia mutter.  “I’m- One of these notepads should have that damn picture.  I’m sure I brought it when I-”

Feet, poised right at the edge of a sheer cutoff.  Her toes had curled over the edge, clinging to the stone like a diver about to leap in.  They rose in smooth, elegantly-worked planes into a pair of legs that...he chuckled to himself.  Well, she’d been the definition of statuesque.

There’d been a tension about her, he remembered that much.  A pain, perhaps, something that pulled her muscles tight and her ankles together.  If not pain...Owl furrowed his brow, trying to place it.  Fear, then?  Or worry?

His hand slowed, spinning out the details of her as he mulled it over.  He wanted to at least do this image justice.  Maybe if he-

“W-What the hell?” Olivia said, just a hair shy of a yelp.  Owl flinched.  Unlike Olivia in the gallery, he kept his composure enough to not ruin the drawing - but turned, coming face to face with her wide-eyed stare.

“What?” he said weakly.

“You ass, you don’t need me to teach you,” she said, shooting him an irritated look.

Nervous laughter bubbled from his gut.  He started drawing again, albeit more slowly - and without the precise movements he’d had before.  “N-Nonsense.  I’m still learning.  But-”

“Did you ask me here just so you can make fun of me?”  A wry smile appeared on her lips, but there was real hurt in her eyes.  “Because if that’s all you wanted, there are faster ways to-”

“It’s nothing like that,” Owl said, letting his pencil drop to the wooden tabletop.  “Olivia, I just-”

“You’d probably have let me make an fool of myself, too,” she mumbled.

He let off an exasperated sigh.  “Look, I meant it, okay?  Yeah, I’ve dabbled, but-”

She cast a sidelong glance down at the emerging drawing of Alexandria’s statue, and Owl shut up.  Even he had to admit that it wasn’t exactly the work of a rank beginner.

“I have a lot of time here alone, okay?” he said, when she finally looked away and he could stop squirming.  “I like to practice a lot of different things.  A lot of different skills.  Anything that could help me kill a few weeks when there’s no one else around.”

“But-”

“And when I can,” he said, pinning her in place with a subtle but firm inclining of his head, “I like to learn from the people who have a clue what they’re doing.  I taught myself.”  He chuckled sourly.  “I might be the Librarian, but that doesn’t mean I taught myself the right way.”

Olivia opened her mouth, her eyes narrowed, but stopped.  She sighed, rolling her eyes once - and nodded, slowly but surely.  “Okay,” she said, her voice soft.  “I...I guess.”

Progress.  “You’re a teacher,” Owl said, picking up his pencil again.  With her eyes still burning holes in his overcoat, he started to draw again - but with a hesitant, short hand.

“I teach history.”

“You still teach,” Owl countered.  “That’s better than I usually get.  You remember Lenny, right?”

Olivia snorted, looking away a moment later.

“Was I supposed to ask him?” Owl said.  He was winning, he knew - a fact confirmed when she let out a tiny huff and looked at his sheet askance.

“You’re gripping that thing way too tight,” she muttered under her breath.

Victory.  Owl looked to the page, then back to her.  “What?  What do you-”

“You’re not supposed to strangle the damn thing,” Olivia snapped, and snatched the pencil from his hand.  “Here.  Like this.  Stop putting so much pressure on it.  And take longer strokes.”

Owl examined her demonstration with an appropriate level of interest, burying his laughter lest she hear.  Something told him he wouldn’t regain her goodwill so easily.  And sharing the Library with an angry, slighted Olivia just sounded like an awful time.

“Oh,” he said, letting his eyes fall to the paper.  He took the pencil back, settling it into place.  “Like this?”

“Longer.