Bookworm
If it was good enough for Melvil Dewey, it's good enough for me.” Marian winked at me as she pulled a stack of new books out of a cardboard box,
sniffing deeply. There were books everywhere, in a circle around her almost up to her head.
Lucille was weaving through the towers of books, prowling for a lost cicada. Marian made an exception to the Gatlin County Library's no-pets
rule since the place was full of books but empty of people. Only an idiot would be in the library on the first day of summer, or someone who needed
a distraction. Someone who wasn't speaking to his girlfriend, or wasn't being spoken to by his girlfriend, or didn't know if he even still had one — all
in the space of the two longest days of his life.
I still hadn't talked to Lena. I told myself it was because I was too angry, but that was one of those lies you tell when you're trying to convince
yourself that you're doing the right thing. The truth was, I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to ask the questions, and I was scared to hear the
answers. Besides, I wasn't the one who ran off with some guy on a motorcycle.
“It's chaos. Dewey decimal is mocking you. I can't even find one almanac on the history of the moon's orbital pattern.” The voice from the stacks
startled me.
“Now, Olivia …” Marian smiled to herself as she examined the bindings of the books in her hands. It was hard to believe she was old enough to
be my mother. With not a streak of gray in her short hair, and not a wrinkle in her golden-brown skin, she didn't look more than thirty.
“Professor Ashcroft, this isn't 1876. Times do change.” It was a girl's voice. She had an accent — British, I think. I'd only heard people talk that
way in James Bond movies.
“So has the Dewey decimal system. Twenty-two times, to be exact.” Marian shelved a stray book.
“What about the Library of Congress?” The voice sounded exasperated.
“Give me a hundred more years.”
“The Universal Decimal Classification?” Now irritated.
“This is South Carolina, not Belgium.”
“Perhaps the Harvard-Yenching system?”
“Nobody in this county speaks Chinese, Olivia.”
A blond, lanky girl poked her head out from behind the stacks. “Not true, Professor Ashcroft. At least, not for the summer holidays.”
“You speak Chinese?” I couldn't help myself. When Marian had mentioned her summer research assistant, she hadn't told me the girl would be
a teenage version of herself. Except for the streaky, honey-colored hair, the pale skin, and the accent, they could have been mother and daughter.
Even at first glance, the girl had a vague degree of Marian-ness that was hard to describe and that you wouldn't find in anyone else in town.
The girl looked at me. “You don't?” She poked me in the ribs. “That was a joke. In my opinion, people in this country barely speak English.” She
smiled and held out her hand. She was tall, but I was taller, and she looked up at me as if she was already confident we were great friends. “Olivia
Durand. Liv, to my friends. You must be Ethan Wate, which I find hard to believe, actually. The way Professor Ashcroft talks about you, I was
expecting more of a swashbuckler, with a bayonet.”
Marian laughed, and I turned red. “What has she been telling you?”
“Only that you're incredibly brilliant and brave and virtuous, quite the save-the-day sort. Every bit the son you would expect of the beloved Lila
Evers Wate. And that you'll be my lowly assistant this summer, so I can boss you around all I like.” She smiled at me, and I blanked.
She was nothing like Lena, but nothing like the girls in Gatlin either. Which was in itself more than confusing. Everything she was wearing had a
weathered look, from her faded jeans and the random bits of string and beads around her wrists, to her holey silver high-tops, held together with
duct tape, and her ratty Pink Floyd T-shirt. She had a big, black plastic watch with crazy-looking dials on the face, caught between the bits of string. I
was too embarrassed to say anything.
Marian swooped in to rescue me. “Don't mind Liv. She's teasing. ‘Even the gods love jokes,’ Ethan.”
“Plato. And stop showing off.” Liv laughed.
“I will.” Marian smiled, impressed.
“He's not laughing.” Liv pointed at me, suddenly serious. “‘Hollow laughter in marble halls.’ ”
“Shakespeare?” I looked at her.
Liv winked and yanked on her T-shirt. “Pink Floyd. I can see you've got a lot to learn.” A teenage Marian, and not at all what I expected when I
signed on for a summer job in the library.
“Now, children.” Marian held out her hand, and I pulled her up from the floor. Even on a hot day like today, she still managed to look cool. Not a
hair was out of place. Her patterned blouse rustled as she walked in front of me. “I'll leave the stacks to you, Olivia. I have a special project for Ethan
in the archive.”
“Right, of course. The highly trained history student sorts out the stacks, while the unschooled slacker is promoted to the archive. How very
American.” She rolled her eyes and picked up a box of books.
The archive hadn't changed since last month, when I came to ask Marian about a summer job but stayed to talk about Lena and my dad and
Macon. She had been sympathetic, the way she always was. There were piles of old Civil War registries on the shelf above my mother's desk, and
her collection of antique glass paperweights. A glistening, black sphere sat next to the misshapen clay apple I made for her in first grade. My mom's
and Marian's books and notes were still stacked across the desk, over yellowed maps of Ravenwood and Greenbrier spread open on the tables.
Every scribbled scrap of paper I saw made it feel like she was here. Even though everything in my life seemed to be going wrong, I always felt
better in this place. It was like I was with my mom, and she was the one person who always knew how to fix things, or at least make me believe
there was a way to fix them.
But something else was on my mind. “That’s your summer intern?”
“Of course.”
“You didn't tell me she'd be like that.”
“Like what, Ethan?”
“Like you.”
“Is that what's bothering you? The brains, or is it perhaps the long blond hair? Is there a certain way a librarian should look? Big glasses and
hair in a graying bun? I would have thought between your mother and me, we would have disabused you of at least that notion.” She was right. My
mom and Marian had always been two of the most beautiful women in Gatlin. “Liv won't be here very long, and she's not much older than you are. I
was thinking the least you could do would be to show her around town, introduce her to some people your age.”
“Like who? Link? To improve his vocabulary and kill off a few thousand of her brain cells?” I didn't mention that Link would spend most of his
time trying to hook up with her, which I didn't see happening.
“I was thinking of Lena.” The silence in the room was embarrassing, even to me. Of course she had been thinking of Lena. The question was,
why hadn't I? Marian looked at me evenly. “Why don't you tell me what's really on your mind today?”
“What is it you need me to do in here, Aunt Marian?” I didn't feel like talking about it.
She sighed and turned back to the archive. “I thought maybe you could help me sort through some of this. Obviously a great deal of the material
in here relates to the locket and Ethan and Genevieve. Now that we know the end of that story, we might want to make some room for the next one.”
“What's the next one?” I picked up the old photo of Genevieve wearing the locket. I remembered the first time I looked at it with Lena. It felt like
years since then, instead of months.
“It would seem to me that it's yours and Lena's. The events on her birthday raised a number of questions, most of which I can't answer. I've never
heard of an incident when a Caster didn't have to choose Light or Dark on the night of their Claiming — except in the case of Lena's family, when
the choice is made for them. Now that we don't have Macon to help us, I'm afraid we're going to have to search out the answers ourselves.” Lucille
jumped up onto my mother's chair, her ears perking up.
“I wouldn't know where to start.”
“‘He who chooses the beginning of the road chooses the place it leads to.’ ”
“Thoreau?”
“Harry Emerson Fosdick. A bit older and more obscure, but still quite relevant, I think.” She smiled and put her hand on the edge of the door.
“Aren't you going to help me?”
“I can't leave Olivia alone for long, or she'll reshelve the entire collection, and then we'll all have to learn Chinese.” She paused for a moment,
watching me, looking so much like my mom. “I think you can handle this one on your own. At least the beginning.”
“I don't have a choice, do I? You can't really help me since you're a Keeper.” I was still bitter about Marian's revelation that she had known my
mother was involved with the Caster world, but she would never explain why or how. There were so many things about my mother and her death that
Marian had never told me. It always came back to the endless rules that Bound Marian to her job as a Keeper.
“I can only help you help yourself. I can't determine the course of events, the unraveling of Darkness and Light, the Order of Things.”
“That's such a load of crap.”
“What?”
“It's like the prime directive on Star Trek. You have to let the planet evolve at its own pace. You can't introduce hyperspace or warp speed until
they discover it for themselves. But Captain Kirk and the crew of the Enterprise always end up breaking the rule.”
“Unlike Captain Kirk, there is no choice in my case. A Keeper is powerfully Bound to act neither for the Dark nor the Light. I couldn't change my
destiny, even if I wanted to. I have my own place in the natural order of the Caster world, in the Order of Things.”
“Whatever.”
“It's not a choice. I don't have the authority to change the way things work. If I so much as tried, I might destroy not only myself but the very people
I was trying to help.”
“But my mom still ended up dead.” I don't know why I said it, but I couldn't understand the logic. Marian had to remain uninvolved to protect the
people she cared about, but the person she cared about most died anyway.
“Are you asking me if I could've prevented your mother's death?” She knew I was. I looked down at my sneakers. I wasn't sure I was ready to
hear the answer.
Marian put her hand under my chin and pulled my face up to meet hers. “I didn't know your mother was in danger, Ethan. But she knew the
risks.” Her voice was uneven, and I knew I had gone too far, but I couldn't help it. I'd been trying to get up the courage to have this conversation for
months now. “I would have gladly taken her place in that car. Don't you think I have wondered a thousand times if there was something I knew or
could have done that might have saved Lila …” Her voice trailed off.
I feel the same way. You're just holding on to a different edge of the same jagged hole. We're both lost. That's what I wanted to say. Instead, I
let her put her arm around my shoulder and pull me into a rough hug. I barely felt it when the arm slipped away and the door closed behind her.
I stared at the stacks of paper. Lucille jumped down from the chair and onto the table. “Be careful. These are a lot older than you.” She tilted her
head and looked at me with her blue eyes. Then she froze.
She was staring at my mother's chair, eyes wide, fixated. There was nothing there, but I remembered what Amma told me. “Cats can see the
dead. That's why they stare at things the way they do for so long, like they're just lookin’ into thin air. But they're not. They're lookin’ through it.”
I stepped closer to the chair. “Mom?” She didn't answer, or maybe she did, because there was a book lying on the chair that wasn't there a
minute ago. Darkness and Light: The Origins of Magic. It was one of Macon's books. I had seen it in his library at Ravenwood. I lifted it up, and a
gum wrapper fell out — one of my mother's bookmarks, no doubt. I bent down to pick up the wrapper, and the room began to sway, the lights and
colors swirling around me. I tried to focus on something, anything, to keep from falling, but I was too dizzy. The wood floor rushed up to meet me,
and as I hit the ground the smoke burned my eyes —
By the time Abraham returned to Ravenwood, the ash had already made its way inside the house. The charred remnants of Gatlin's great
houses wafted down from the open windows on the second floor like black snowflakes. As he ascended the staircase, Abraham's footsteps
left impressions in the thin black layer already coating the floor. He secured the upstairs windows, without putting The Book of Moons down
for a second. But he couldn't have put it down even if he had wanted to. Ivy, the old cook from Greenbrier, was right; the Book was calling
him, a whisper only he could hear.
When he reached the study, Abraham rested the Book on the polished mahogany desk. He knew exactly which page to turn to, as if the
Book was flipping the pages itself. As if it knew what he wanted. Even though he had never seen the Book before, Abraham knew the answer
was in those pages, an answer that would guarantee Ravenwood's survival.
The Book was offering him the one thing he wanted above all else. But it wanted something in return.
Abraham stared down at the Latin script. He recognized it immediately. It was a Cast he had read about in other books. One he had
always considered more of a myth. But he had been wrong, because it was staring back at him.
Abraham heard Jonah's voice before he saw him. “Abraham, we have to get out of the house. The Federals are coming. They've burned
everything, and they aren't planning to stop until they reach Savannah. We have to get into the Tunnels.”
Abraham's voice was resolute, and it sounded different somehow, even to him. “I'm not going anywhere, Jonah.”
“What are you talking about? We have to save what we can and get out of here.” Jonah grabbed his brother's arm, noticing the open
page beneath them. He stared at the script, unsure he could trust what he was seeing.
“The Daemonis Pactum? The Demon's Trade?” Jonah stepped back. “Is this what I think it is? The Book of Moons?”
“I'm surprised you recognize it. You never paid much attention during our studies.”
Jonah was used to Abraham's insults, but there was something different about his tone tonight. “Abraham, you can't.”
“Don't tell me what I can't do. You would watch this house burn to the ground before you thought to act. You have never been capable of
doing what was required. You are weak, like Mother.”
Jonah flinched, as if someone had struck him. “Where did you get it?”
“You don't need to worry about that.”
“Abraham, be sensible. The Demon's Trade is too powerful. It cannot be controlled. You are making a bargain, without knowing what you
will have to sacrifice. We have other houses.”
Abraham pushed his brother aside. Though Abraham barely touched him, Jonah flew across the room. “Other houses? Ravenwood is
the seat of our family's power in the Mortal world, and you think I intend to allow a few soldiers to burn it to the ground? I can use this to save
Ravenwood.”
Abraham's voice rose. “Exscinde, neca, odium incende; mors portam patefacit. Destroy, kill, hate; death opens the gate.”
“Abraham, stop!”
But it was too late. The words rolled off Abraham's tongue as if he had known them his entire life. Jonah looked around, panicked, waiting
for the Cast to take effect. But he had no idea what his brother had asked for. He only knew that whatever it was, it would be done. That was
the power of the Cast, but there was also a price. It was never the same. Jonah rushed toward his brother, and a small, perfectly round orb,
the size of an egg, slipped from his pocket and rolled across the floor.
Abraham picked up the sphere, glowing at his feet, and rolled it between his fingers. “What are you doing with an Arclight, Jonah? Is
there a particular Incubus you're planning to imprison in this archaic device?”
Jonah backed away as Abraham advanced, matching him step for step, but Abraham was too fast. In the blink of an eye, he pinned
Jonah against the wall, his iron grip closing around his brother's throat.
“No. Of course not. I —”
Abraham tightened his hold. “What would an Incubus be doing with the only vessel capable of imprisoning his kind? Do you think I'm
that stupid?”“
I am only trying to protect you from yourself.”
In one fluid motion, Abraham lunged forward and plunged his teeth into his brother's shoulder. Then he did the unthinkable.
He drank.
The bargain was made. He would no longer be sustained by the memories and dreams of Mortals. From this day forward, he would
crave blood.
When he had his fill, Abraham dropped his brother's limp body and licked the ash from his hand, the taste of flesh still lingering in the
black residue. “You should have been more concerned about protecting yourself.”
Abraham turned away from his brother's body. “Ethan.”
“Ethan!”
I opened my eyes. I was lying on the floor of the archive. Marian was hovering over me in an un-Marian state of panic. “What happened?”
“I don't know.” I sat up, rubbing my head, wincing. There was a knot growing underneath my hair. “I must have hit the table on my way down.”
Macon's book was lying on the floor, open next to me. Marian looked at me with her uncanny ESP — or not so uncanny, if you stopped to
consider that she had followed me into visions herself only months ago. Within seconds, she had a cold pack in her hand and was holding it against
my throbbing head. “You're having visions again, aren't you?”
I nodded. My mind was swimming with images, but I couldn't focus on any one of them. “It's the second time. I had one the other night when I
was holding Macon's journal.”
“What did you see?”
“It was the night of the fires, like in the locket visions. Ethan Carter Wate was already dead. Ivy had The Book of Moons, and she gave it to
Abraham Ravenwood. He was in both of the visions.” His name sounded thick and fuzzy on my tongue. Abraham Ravenwood was the original
boogeyman of Gatlin County.
I gripped the edge of the table, steadying myself. Who wanted me to see the visions? More important, why?
Marian paused, still holding the book. “Oh?” She looked at me carefully.
“And someone else. His name began with a J. Judas? Joseph? Jonah. That was it. I think they were brothers. They were Incubuses.”
“Not just Incubuses.” Marian snapped the book shut. “Abraham Ravenwood was a powerful Blood Incubus, the father of the Ravenwood Blood
Incubus line.”
“What do you mean?” So, the story folks had been telling for years was true? I had cleared another layer of fog from the supernatural map of
Gatlin.
“Although all Incubuses are Dark by nature, not all of them choose to feed on blood. But once one does, the instinct appears to be inherited.”
I leaned against the table as the vision sharpened in my mind. “Abraham — he's the reason Ravenwood Manor never burned, right? He didn't
make a deal with the Devil. He made it with The Book of Moons.”
“Abraham was dangerous, maybe more dangerous than any Caster. I can't imagine why you're seeing him now. Fortunately, he died young,
before Macon was born.”
I tried to do the math. “That's young? How long do Incubuses usually live?”
“A hundred and fifty to two hundred years.” She replaced the book on her worktable. “I don't know what any of this has to do with you or Macon's
journal, but I never should have given it to you. I interfered. We should leave this book locked up here.”
“Aunt Marian —”
“Ethan! Don't pursue this, and don't tell anyone else about it, not even Amma. I can't imagine how she would react if you said the name
Abraham Ravenwood in her presence.” She put her arm around me and gave me a halfhearted squeeze. “Now, let's go finish up in the stacks
before Olivia calls the police.” She turned to the door and stuck her key in the lock.
There was one more thing. I had to say it. “He could see me, Aunt Marian. Abraham looked right at me and said my name. That's never
happened in the visions before.”
Marian stopped, staring at the door as if she could see right through it. It was more than a few seconds before she turned the key in the lock and
swung the door open. “Olivia? Do you think Melvil Dewey could spare you for a cup of tea?”
Our conversation was over. Marian was a Keeper and the Head Librarian of the Caster Library, the Lunae Libri. She could only tell me so much
without violating her obligations. She couldn't take sides or change the course of events once they were set in motion. She couldn't be Macon for
me, and she wasn't my mom. I was on my own.
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