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

this work?  Would treating the injuries on their spirit-selves mend the pains they were feeling?  Or would they continue feeling the pain for the remainder of the stay? Would their wounds follow them into the outside world?

Involuntarily, his eyes flicked up to the clock over the mantle - the clock that was no longer pouring itself out.  His pulse jumped.  Alexandria wasn't speeding up time anymore.  Then-

So that's your game, he whispered silently, exhaling.  The fire burning in the heart simmered higher, casting a rosy glow over the room.  Oh, she was cheerful, all right.  Everything had gone according to her plan.

Owl couldn't quite bring himself to feel the same way.  Not when her antics had left a study destroyed, two guests injured, and his own nerves frayed right to the very edge.

The floorboards under him groaned.  He jumped - and watched as a flicker of light reflected from the candlestick that had been dropped alongside Dylan's chair.  Somehow, he'd managed to carry it in with him.  Owl sighed.  I...I get it, I guess.  You want them gone too.  I'd given you a damn method, though.  You didn't have to rush things.

Knowing what her plans were didn't make the frustration any less pointed.  But he had two guests in front of him, both hurting and in need of help, and they didn't care if he was frustrated.  Both were staring at the fire, too glassy-eyed to have taken notice of the fact he'd stopped dead in his tracks.  Making an irritated noise, Owl stepped closer, crouching down between them.

There was no way to be sure if treating them inside the Library would work, but he didn't have much choice, either.  So he'd do what he could.  Popping the snaps loose on the case, he opened it wide.  A pile of neatly folded white cloths stared back at him, alongside a jar of green paste.  He stared at it for a long moment, his confusion rising.  This....This didn't look like a normal first aid kit.  Uh.

"W-What's....What's that?" Dylan said.  "What is that stuff?"

"It'll help," Owl said, pulling a cloth free from the top of the stack.  Even if he was confused as hell, the other two did not need to know that.  "Just sit back.  I'll get you feeling better."

Alan nodded, his teeth still clenched.  Owl eyed him, then the jar.  Most of his sweatshirt was gone, exposing angry, shiny red flesh beneath.  That...that looked bad.  He'd never studied the medical arts in depth - there'd been no reason for him to - but he knew a burn when he saw one.  And he knew how bad burns could get.

The green paste in the jar gleamed up at him, smooth and inviting.  Owl shook his head, unscrewing the top.  Well...it was cloth and paste.  There weren't too many options for him to choose between.

Scooping a bit of the paste out with a cloth, he spread it across Alan's now-exposed back.  The man shivered, letting out a hiss of air, but Owl kept spreading, kept covering the exposed skin with fabric.  Over and over, he dipped into the jar, taking solace in the repetition of it all.

And when he slowed, pausing for long enough to peel back the very edge of one of the first bandages he'd laid, the redness underneath had gone down.  A lot.  Owl smiled, sweet relief filling his veins.  Okay, fair enough, Alexandria.  Even still, next time, could you send some instructions with it?

"We're in t-trouble, aren't we?"

Owl looked up.  Dylan stared at the ground in front of his chair, his hands balled up against his knees.  The scholar didn't budge.  His face shone pure white in the fire-lit room.  "Alan and I, that is.  Us."

Owl stared at Dylan, the words lodged in his throat.  They wouldn't appear when he reached for them, as though hiding from him.  Dylan and Alan had...they'd messed everything up.  Absolutely everything.  They'd been irresponsible and reckless.

But at the same time, they were just scholars, curious about everything the world had to offer.  That was why they were here.  Alexandria wanted the best and brightest - and it was his job to stay a step ahead of them.

This time, he'd failed.

"You two are fortunate," Owl said instead, picking up another cloth.  "Really, really fortunate.  Things could have gone...so much worse."  Another dip.  The green paste coated the pure white fabric, vanishing as he turned it against Alan's arms.  "You could have gotten something worse than burns.  You could have died."

"I-I know," Dylan said, his voice small.  "I know.  I do."

Damn it. If the man didn't sound so mortified, so humiliated by their catastrophe, Owl would have had a much easier time holding a grudge against them.  He let out a huff of air, shooting an irritated glance Dylan's way.  "The Library is a special place," he said, more gently.  "But it's dangerous.  I told you that when you arrived, didn't I?"

"Yeah," Dylan mumbled.  "You did."

"How..." Alan began, then winced.

Owl paused, his hands pulling free of Alan's skin.  "What's that?"

"...How bad did it get?" Alan mumbled, at last.

Ah.  That.  Owl inclined his head, his lips pressing together tightly.  "That's...it got bad," he said.  "A wing was destroyed.  The shelves are ruined.  The whole section is unusable.  I'm...not sure if I'll have to repair it, or if Alexandria will, or if it has to be retired."  He smiled faintly from behind his mask.  "It all remains to be seen."

"Oh," Alan rasped hoarsely.  "I'm...I'm sorry, Librarian."

"I'm just glad that you both emerged from the mess whole," Owl said.  As much as his thoughts screamed to rip into these two, to teach them the error of their ways, he knew it wouldn't help.  They'd already learned their lesson, he knew.  And both of the men were smart.  Very smart.  They'd know what came next.

Sure enough, they both fell quiet, then, Dylan fidgeting in his seat while Alan stared hollowly at the fire.  One bandage at a time, Owl coated the worst of Alan's injuries.  The