Novel & Cerita The Librarian Of Crooked Lane

she said, her voice steady. The librarian looked at the form, then at Leila. Her face darkened, her lips curling into a frown that could sour milk. "We don’t have that book anymore. It was stolen." Leila raised an eyebrow. “Stolen? From a library?” The librarian nodded, her expression as flat as week-old coffee. “People are like that. No respect for books anymore.” Leila gave a tight-lipped frown, but her mind was racing. Stolen? Someone had come here and taken Yellen’s work. Not just borrowed—stolen. She had to find out why, but not here. Not now.

With that, I scurried back down the hall to wait in a random door, opening it and watching as Councilman Ford passed shortly in front of me. His situational awareness is awful. I chided as I scooted back out the door, deciding to mess with this guy for the heck of it. I went back to the library and walked in, seeing a petite blond with tortoise shell glasses and a kind smile. She looked to be in her fifties, a classic librarian look to her. “Hello; how can I help you?” She asked. “Yes, Councilman Ford just sent me.” When I said that, a slight scowl came onto her face.

She looked up as we crashed onto the marble floor, her eyes—one gold, one silver—studying us with interest. "Well," she said, her voice like music and thunder combined. "This is unexpected. Escaped prisoners, a dying human, a guilt-ridden fledgling vampire, and—" Her mismatched eyes fixed on me. "—the little witch who opened the door. How fascinating." She set down her quill and stood, moving with a grace that made it clear she was something far more than human. "Welcome," she said, spreading her arms, "to the Library of Lost Deeds. I am the Librarian. And you, my unexpected guests, have a choice to make."

As he walked into the library which had a majestic staircase which curved and veered upwards onto other floors stacked with books, like a toothpick with lots of grilled pork attached to it. “You have to drop your bags over - there,” the chief librarian - a fat woman who found it hard to breath and spoke through her nose said. “We appreciate bibliophiles and bibliomaniacs but not thieves.” Gerey stuttered for a second. How was he going to smuggle Jeyrin in. Little did he know that...

I spent the whole day looking for answers. I wrote down all the basic and important points that I could find in all of those books. The librarian was a good help. I didn't ask anyone else to help me out. Librarian was an old man who had served the Dark Crescent Moon pack as a warrior in his young age. According to him, it was his way of serving the pack by polishing the future.

Danger. I turned. And there she was. The librarian. Standing at the door, her frail frame outlined by the torchlight. Her eyes wide, mouth parted in shock. I stiffened, caught mid-theft like a pup with blood on his muzzle. “Well,” I said dryly, closing the book with exaggerated calm. “This is awkward.” Her lips trembled. “W-who are you? What are you doing...” I lifted a hand. “Shhh. I’m the friendly neighborhood bookworm. Here to… improve my literacy.”

The woman stood behind the podium; her old, but unworked hands, smoothing out the precious pages. “Welcome to my library,” The woman said, her eyes flashing to them. “Can I help you find something?” The librarian had a reputation about her, stories whispered on sleepless nights. Her name was Claudia, and she had been in the library for as long as anyone could remember. Claudia’s book held more than the location of library books; it was said to hold every answer imaginable. The volume was magic; so much so that it was a part of the woman’s soul, and only she could read its pages. To every other eye, it was completely and utterly blank.

“This is the narrowed selection?” The librarian nods at me, giving us both an eager smile. “Thank you,” Roger says, smiling back at her warmly. “I’ll be here if you need me,” the librarian says, gesturing towards the desk at the head of the room. “But please, make yourself at home. Just…” she hesitates, looking between us. “Please no…food or drink…around the books.” “We promise,” Roger says, giving her the most charming smile I’ve ever seen from him. “We’ll protect the books at all costs. No sticky fingers here.” The librarian blushes, then giggles, and scurries away.

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 31, 1985 Daylight cracked through the trees, breaking up the twilight. I’d just left the latest in a long line of dead ends and was headed back to the station. Exhaustion barely scratched the surface of how I felt. The librarian was on her way in, and she offered a neighborly wave when she saw my car pass by. I lifted my fingers off the top of the steering wheel in reply. I wondered what she thought of all this. Will it just be another story she’ll classify and file away in one of those little drawers? Mel Roberts menaced the county for years and all she remembered was that he used to read Edgar Allen Poe stories to kids . . .