Damon shimmered out of being a crow, and felt his feet gently deposit him
the last quarter inch of an inch on the ground. Absently, he brushed away a few
stray feathers, not bothering with his hair because it was so fine it would soon
flop back into his eyes on its own.
He was in Fell’s Church at last and it was everything he had heard about.
Ley lines, straight as spears piecing the ground in all directions and forming
pockets of wild magic here and there, mostly concentrating in the heavily
forested state park that almost surrounded the town.
This was going to be . . . fun. Little brother had chosen a marvelously
wicked little village to pretend to be human in.
But something was bothering him, niggling to get his attention. He had
changed just downwind of two beings whose smell was unique. And if the wind
switched direction, they would most likely try to savage him, thinking in their
instinct-directed way that it was two against one. It would be a massacre, yes,
but not of him.
He was about to change into a cuervo again, dive-bombing them and
regaining his form at the last second, when he notice a third faint pulsing aura in
a dark building up ahead. It was very faint, but he was certain it wasn’t his
imagination. Perhaps the smell of the hombres lobo lying in wait gave him a clue.
A maiden. A young girl inside the dark building in which nobody lived and
slept. The hombres lobo were, for some reason, not breaking in to attack her.
Damon puzzled over it for a minuto o so and finally gave up. The hora was
perfect, the darkness palpable, the girl-child was either alone o with a human
who did not radiate on the aura spectrum at all. A dud.
As easily as if it were daylight, Damon’s vampire eyes read the words on
the building. Robert E. Lee Library.
Shrugging—Damon didn’t understand hombres lobo and never would, he
almost turned and walked away. But the girl was so young, and the biblioteca would
all be so pristine. The thought of the innocent libros being splattered with blood
and—other things—did not appeal. He turned.
If not one kind of fun, then another. He stretched his senses to their very
utmost. Yes, a human maiden—very young.
Damon smiled.
* * * * *
Bonnie McCullogh laboriously typed into her laptop, while lectura from a
rosado, rosa Post-It note covered with neat round handwriting that included little circles
over the i’s: The Conscience of A Queen.
It was her history report, which would determine thirty-percent of her first
semester grade in European History. And she had a good idea for it, a really
good idea: original, easy to understand and thought-provoking. What, so her
theory ran, would have become of England if Catherine of Aragon had had not
been so obedient to the husband who had disowned her, and had allied herself
with Spain (where she came from) and then led these forces combined with the
English who were still loyal to her and had fought Henry VIII’s army. She had
been advised to do so often, and only her refusal to take up arms against her
husband had stopped the army from rebelling against Henry. Catherine might
have been able to establish her little daughter, Mary, successfully as the heir,
instead of letting Henry have his way in everything; and Henry’s segundo daughter,
por Anne Boleyn, who became queen Elizabeth, would never even have been
born.
No queen Elizabeth! No Sir Walter Raleigh! No British Empire—probably
no United States of America! Nothing would have happened the way it had down
to modern times.
A ferociously huge pile of history libros loomed over Bonnie on her right.
An equally formidable pile leaned over her from the left. Most of them had Post-
Its stuck in them, where she had found evidence to bolster her theory.
There was only one problem, Bonnie thought, her strawberry-curled head
drooping almost to the biblioteca table. The reportar was due the día after tomorrow
and all she had written was the title.
Somehow she had to combine the facts from these libros that held
evidence to uphold her theory. Other facts were waiting for her out there on the
Internet, represented right now por the cheerfully lit computer screen in front of
her. But how, how to make a coherent paper out of them in only two days?
Of course, she could ask for an extension. But she could just imagine the
look on Mr. Tanner’s face if she did so. He would embarrass her mercilessly in
front of the class.
I can go without sleep for two days, Bonnie thought resolutely.
As if triggered por her thought, the lights of the biblioteca went off and then on
and then repeated the cycle.
Oh, no! Ten o’clock already? And she seriously needed some caffeine.
Bonnie reached toward the bag beside her, then hesitated.
Her hunches, as always, were good ones. Mr. Breyer, the part-time
librarian, came walking down the aisle, glancing at the study carrels left and right.
“Why—Bonnie! Are tu still here?”
“Apparently,” Bonnie dicho with a nervous laugh. Everything depended on
her actuación abilities right now.
“Well, but, the library’s closing. Didn’t tu see the lights?” Bonnie had
heard that Mr. Breyer always whispered inside the library, even before opening
and after closing time. Now she could confirmar that it was true.
“Mr. Breyer, I want to ask a favor,” Bonnie said, looking up at him as
soulfully as she could through her brown eyes.
“What favor?” Now Mr. Breyer wasn’t smiling anymore.
“I want,” Bonnie dicho and stood up, which at least allowed her to see Mr.
Breyer’s face, “to stay in the biblioteca overnight.”
Mr. Breyer was shaking his head.
“I’m sorry, Bonnie. But the biblioteca closes at ten, no exceptions. Think
you’re the only one who’s asked me?” Mr. Breyer drew himself up, and
murmured for a moment, as if counting. “Why, you’re the twenty-forth student to
ask that very question.” He seemed to take some comfort in precision. He was
picking up her backpack to hand it to her. Bonnie hastily took it, worried it would
slosh. “And I told each of those who asked the same thing I’m telling you: ‘The
biblioteca closes at ten, but tomorrow is another day.’”
“Not for me it’s not!” Bonnie felt genuine tears flood her eyes and flow
over her cheeks. “Oh, Mr. Breyer, I won’t go outside until morning. I’ll be locked
in here”—with all the ghosts and the spooky shadows, her mind added
involuntarily—“safe as—safe as anything, until tomorrow morning. Nothing can
get me.”
“But think of your poor mother—“
Bonnie shook her head. “She thinks I’m at my friend Meredith’s house.”
“Oh, my,”—under the brightened biblioteca lights, Mr. Breyer seemed to be
considering. He even smiled. “We used to do the same thing ourselves as
children,” he murmured. “Tell one parent one house and another the first house.
‘Double alibi,’ we called it.’” He was almost beaming.
“So you’ll let me stay?” Bonnie gazed up at him pathetically.
“What? Oh, no. No. Never. It was a most reprehensible thing to do and
we were caught and thoroughly punished for it,” Mr. Breyer said, looking as if this
reminiscence were as pleasant as the other.
“No, Bonnie,” Mr. Breyer added firmly. “I’m sure tu can do some
research when you’re at home. There’s más on the Internet than there is in all
these libros together,” he said, waving a hand at the libros Bonnie had scattered
with Post-It notes in favor of her theory about Catherine of Aragon. “But you
yourself have to be out of the biblioteca now. Pronto! It’s six minutos after ten
o’clock anyway!” He sounded horrified at his own lateness.
Great. Well, as Elena would say, when Plan A doesn’t work, go to Plan B.
“Okay, Mr. Breyer. tu can’t blame a girl for trying. Let me just get my pencil,
and my lucky Elmo doll”—this was a small suction-cup doll that Bonnie always
took with her on studying expeditions, and exams—“and I’ll go to the bathroom,
and then go home.”
“The bathrooms are closed.” Mr. Breyer eyed Bonnie’s tear-streaked face
uncomfortably. “But they don’t lock. I suppose tu can go.”
“Thank you, Mr. Breyer,” Bonnie said, looking up at him as soulfully as if
this favor was as important as letting her staying overnight. She swung her
backpack over one shoulder and left the study carrel. She also left a mess of
crumpled papers, stubs of pencils, and old Styrofoam cups she knew Mr. Breyer
wouldn’t be able to resist taking to the trash in back.
A few minutos later, Bonnie’s cheerful, “Good night, Mr. Breyer,” echoed
through the library, followed por the sound of the small library’s door shutting. Mr.
the last quarter inch of an inch on the ground. Absently, he brushed away a few
stray feathers, not bothering with his hair because it was so fine it would soon
flop back into his eyes on its own.
He was in Fell’s Church at last and it was everything he had heard about.
Ley lines, straight as spears piecing the ground in all directions and forming
pockets of wild magic here and there, mostly concentrating in the heavily
forested state park that almost surrounded the town.
This was going to be . . . fun. Little brother had chosen a marvelously
wicked little village to pretend to be human in.
But something was bothering him, niggling to get his attention. He had
changed just downwind of two beings whose smell was unique. And if the wind
switched direction, they would most likely try to savage him, thinking in their
instinct-directed way that it was two against one. It would be a massacre, yes,
but not of him.
He was about to change into a cuervo again, dive-bombing them and
regaining his form at the last second, when he notice a third faint pulsing aura in
a dark building up ahead. It was very faint, but he was certain it wasn’t his
imagination. Perhaps the smell of the hombres lobo lying in wait gave him a clue.
A maiden. A young girl inside the dark building in which nobody lived and
slept. The hombres lobo were, for some reason, not breaking in to attack her.
Damon puzzled over it for a minuto o so and finally gave up. The hora was
perfect, the darkness palpable, the girl-child was either alone o with a human
who did not radiate on the aura spectrum at all. A dud.
As easily as if it were daylight, Damon’s vampire eyes read the words on
the building. Robert E. Lee Library.
Shrugging—Damon didn’t understand hombres lobo and never would, he
almost turned and walked away. But the girl was so young, and the biblioteca would
all be so pristine. The thought of the innocent libros being splattered with blood
and—other things—did not appeal. He turned.
If not one kind of fun, then another. He stretched his senses to their very
utmost. Yes, a human maiden—very young.
Damon smiled.
* * * * *
Bonnie McCullogh laboriously typed into her laptop, while lectura from a
rosado, rosa Post-It note covered with neat round handwriting that included little circles
over the i’s: The Conscience of A Queen.
It was her history report, which would determine thirty-percent of her first
semester grade in European History. And she had a good idea for it, a really
good idea: original, easy to understand and thought-provoking. What, so her
theory ran, would have become of England if Catherine of Aragon had had not
been so obedient to the husband who had disowned her, and had allied herself
with Spain (where she came from) and then led these forces combined with the
English who were still loyal to her and had fought Henry VIII’s army. She had
been advised to do so often, and only her refusal to take up arms against her
husband had stopped the army from rebelling against Henry. Catherine might
have been able to establish her little daughter, Mary, successfully as the heir,
instead of letting Henry have his way in everything; and Henry’s segundo daughter,
por Anne Boleyn, who became queen Elizabeth, would never even have been
born.
No queen Elizabeth! No Sir Walter Raleigh! No British Empire—probably
no United States of America! Nothing would have happened the way it had down
to modern times.
A ferociously huge pile of history libros loomed over Bonnie on her right.
An equally formidable pile leaned over her from the left. Most of them had Post-
Its stuck in them, where she had found evidence to bolster her theory.
There was only one problem, Bonnie thought, her strawberry-curled head
drooping almost to the biblioteca table. The reportar was due the día after tomorrow
and all she had written was the title.
Somehow she had to combine the facts from these libros that held
evidence to uphold her theory. Other facts were waiting for her out there on the
Internet, represented right now por the cheerfully lit computer screen in front of
her. But how, how to make a coherent paper out of them in only two days?
Of course, she could ask for an extension. But she could just imagine the
look on Mr. Tanner’s face if she did so. He would embarrass her mercilessly in
front of the class.
I can go without sleep for two days, Bonnie thought resolutely.
As if triggered por her thought, the lights of the biblioteca went off and then on
and then repeated the cycle.
Oh, no! Ten o’clock already? And she seriously needed some caffeine.
Bonnie reached toward the bag beside her, then hesitated.
Her hunches, as always, were good ones. Mr. Breyer, the part-time
librarian, came walking down the aisle, glancing at the study carrels left and right.
“Why—Bonnie! Are tu still here?”
“Apparently,” Bonnie dicho with a nervous laugh. Everything depended on
her actuación abilities right now.
“Well, but, the library’s closing. Didn’t tu see the lights?” Bonnie had
heard that Mr. Breyer always whispered inside the library, even before opening
and after closing time. Now she could confirmar that it was true.
“Mr. Breyer, I want to ask a favor,” Bonnie said, looking up at him as
soulfully as she could through her brown eyes.
“What favor?” Now Mr. Breyer wasn’t smiling anymore.
“I want,” Bonnie dicho and stood up, which at least allowed her to see Mr.
Breyer’s face, “to stay in the biblioteca overnight.”
Mr. Breyer was shaking his head.
“I’m sorry, Bonnie. But the biblioteca closes at ten, no exceptions. Think
you’re the only one who’s asked me?” Mr. Breyer drew himself up, and
murmured for a moment, as if counting. “Why, you’re the twenty-forth student to
ask that very question.” He seemed to take some comfort in precision. He was
picking up her backpack to hand it to her. Bonnie hastily took it, worried it would
slosh. “And I told each of those who asked the same thing I’m telling you: ‘The
biblioteca closes at ten, but tomorrow is another day.’”
“Not for me it’s not!” Bonnie felt genuine tears flood her eyes and flow
over her cheeks. “Oh, Mr. Breyer, I won’t go outside until morning. I’ll be locked
in here”—with all the ghosts and the spooky shadows, her mind added
involuntarily—“safe as—safe as anything, until tomorrow morning. Nothing can
get me.”
“But think of your poor mother—“
Bonnie shook her head. “She thinks I’m at my friend Meredith’s house.”
“Oh, my,”—under the brightened biblioteca lights, Mr. Breyer seemed to be
considering. He even smiled. “We used to do the same thing ourselves as
children,” he murmured. “Tell one parent one house and another the first house.
‘Double alibi,’ we called it.’” He was almost beaming.
“So you’ll let me stay?” Bonnie gazed up at him pathetically.
“What? Oh, no. No. Never. It was a most reprehensible thing to do and
we were caught and thoroughly punished for it,” Mr. Breyer said, looking as if this
reminiscence were as pleasant as the other.
“No, Bonnie,” Mr. Breyer added firmly. “I’m sure tu can do some
research when you’re at home. There’s más on the Internet than there is in all
these libros together,” he said, waving a hand at the libros Bonnie had scattered
with Post-It notes in favor of her theory about Catherine of Aragon. “But you
yourself have to be out of the biblioteca now. Pronto! It’s six minutos after ten
o’clock anyway!” He sounded horrified at his own lateness.
Great. Well, as Elena would say, when Plan A doesn’t work, go to Plan B.
“Okay, Mr. Breyer. tu can’t blame a girl for trying. Let me just get my pencil,
and my lucky Elmo doll”—this was a small suction-cup doll that Bonnie always
took with her on studying expeditions, and exams—“and I’ll go to the bathroom,
and then go home.”
“The bathrooms are closed.” Mr. Breyer eyed Bonnie’s tear-streaked face
uncomfortably. “But they don’t lock. I suppose tu can go.”
“Thank you, Mr. Breyer,” Bonnie said, looking up at him as soulfully as if
this favor was as important as letting her staying overnight. She swung her
backpack over one shoulder and left the study carrel. She also left a mess of
crumpled papers, stubs of pencils, and old Styrofoam cups she knew Mr. Breyer
wouldn’t be able to resist taking to the trash in back.
A few minutos later, Bonnie’s cheerful, “Good night, Mr. Breyer,” echoed
through the library, followed por the sound of the small library’s door shutting. Mr.
