The librarian.

A New Leach

The next day couldn’t have been worse. The headache came as a shock — he hadn’t had more than one drink, and a hangover would be a mystery. He wobbled his way to the bathroom, his head throbbing like some bubbling gum. Did I hit my head on something? After his warm bath, his head was on fire.

He managed to get dressed, carefully watching his step so he wouldn’t fall face-flat onto the marbled floor. He leaned against his pillow while buttoning his wrist buttonholes. The slam came again, and now its impact was alarming — it sent a shock through him. He slid the drawer open, praying his declining vision would hold.

He ruffled through the collection of tablets and singled out one in a blue and red blister pack. It read Anactodyn. He broke out three from the pack and swallowed them hard, squeezing his face. Now he was beginning to burn up. He knew that taking a stroll to the kitchen would be a death sentence, so he ordered breakfast from a nearby restaurant.

A call came in. He grabbed his phone from the bed, still munching his roasted potatoes.

“Hello?” The urgency in the voice struck a note of getting over whatever it was about to provide. Desmond just kept munching, letting the silence take possession of his response.

“Desmond, you are to show yourself at school immediately. You’ve got business with the school master.” The voice quality was as clear as the device would allow, so Desmond had no problem recognizing Leonard’s discomfort. Desmond hadn’t foreseen that his unrefined personality would have caught the class governor’s attention, and now even his voice seemed to strangle Desmond for whatever deed he might have committed or omitted.

“I’m sick.”

“You’re what?” … Desmond hung up. He felt their undue conversation had reached a standstill sufficient to afford its dissolution.

---

The ring sent a shudder through his slumber, piercing the verge of his dream world and shattering its threshold into some unforeseen nightmare. Desmond sprang up from his sleep, his forehead beading with sweat and his palms damp and slippery. Apparently, someone had majored in doorbell usage through college. He slid off his bed and slipped into his slippers before strolling toward the living room. A dull weight seemed to shift in his head as he held it in his hand.

Peering through the peephole, he found not quite a man of respectable dressing—clad in a suit and sneakers—looking the other way. Someone was certainly making an effort to keep up appearances.

“What do you want?” he called from behind the door, loud enough for the intruder to hear. The man straightened his blazer as though trying to impress Desmond without being seen.

“Your father sent for me,” the stranger replied, his voice husky with an accent that could make half the women in the world crawl on their knees. Of course, Desmond had seen this coming. The management had probably contacted his father to chastise him for his impudence. What could possibly go wrong? And if there was anything Desmond had learned, it was when to refuse one of his father’s proposals.

“Don’t come in.” Desmond noted the man’s shoulders looked broad enough to tear down the door in seconds.

---

Connor—or at least, that was what he called himself—dropped Desmond at the entrance of the school before changing course for another of his father’s errands. He walked into the premises, covered in eyes. This held little to no weight for him. He just walked. From his vantage point, he could already assess what was burrowing in their minds, and half of it was nothing close to exultation. He was something worth scorn, and he bathed in its glory.

“What took you so long, mask-face?” Leonard’s voice was unmistakable. Of course, Desmond knew what this was about. The self-anointed expert felt it reasonable enough to show off his watery, blunt food hole, given that the entire school’s foolery seemed to have exalted Desmond’s reputation into some sort of para-god. Desmond couldn’t be bothered with the effort of a dramatic turnaround or an exchange of drool and spit, so he simply abandoned poor Leonard in his failed plot of mischief.

When he got to the supervisor’s office, he twisted the doorknob, and it gave way to the infuriated face of Mr. Gould, with his assistant in tow—but no father.

“Why are you late? And who gave you permission to just waltz into my office like it’s your father’s chamber?” His face looked hot enough to bake sausages.

Desmond walked in calmly, scanning the room for any sight of the old man. He wasn’t here. So why was Desmond? Just then, he turned toward the other side of the room, and his gaze fell upon a reflection like moonlight on water. His eyes felt strange at first, but she was there, standing just under Mr. Gould’s ugly-but-striking frame.

Her eyes… her nose… there was something about her he just couldn’t figure out.

“Desmond! Are you short of hearing? I asked you a question!” Mr. Gould’s voice cut sharply through the air.

“I reckon it was rhetorical…” His lips moved, but his eyes stayed fixed on the charm. “…sir.” She must have been concealed by the side wall—explains why he hadn’t been blinded yet.

“Your mannerisms have come into question,” Gould began, clearly losing patience. “As for your father’s influence and participation in this school’s development—you should be facing the door by now.”

For once, Desmond willed the spell broken and faced his raging supervisor.

“What’s she doing here?” he asked calmly, and the supervisor’s jaw dropped.

“I’m a student at this school,” she said, her voice the kind that could chain Maleficent to a doorpost without a guard, “just as you are. And I expect you to treat Mr. Gould and me with such respect.”

Her eyes—deep blue and ash gray—held their corners majestically, each carrying a fierce, burning, yet alluring torch that made its point clear. Seré la última luz que brillará ante tus ojos. Were the contacts laced? He hadn’t even noticed when he turned back to her. She was somewhere between teasing him and holding him in chains. His headache seemed to escalate.

“What do you want from me?” The question had no specific recipient, but Mr. Gould produced a badge pin with the image of a three-headed dog—Cerberus—and an inscription that read: The Tome Guard. He placed it on the table.

“Henceforth, Desmond, you have been appointed and will be declared the school librarian at the upcoming induction ceremony,” the supervisor announced. Then, as if to hammer his point home, he added, “Courtesy of your dad.”

Desmond gritted his teeth slightly. Of course, he wanted nothing to do with school, authority, or duties of any kind. He might be a bibliophile, but that didn’t make him a prison guard for its domain. Yet, his father was once again around to spin the course of his desires—an iron thorn engraved in his foot. His world was more of a mockery now, and a gun would really do a good deed.

Without a word, he grabbed the badge from the table and headed for the door.

“Do well to visit the school seamstress for your uniform,” Mr. Gould’s voice trailed after him. And just before Desmond shut the door, the words seared into his mind like boiling paint.

A uniform?

___

The road wheeled past him, and his vision was embittered by his recent realization. A librarian? What the f**k does that even mean? A shithead for books? That wasn’t how he had pictured himself in school, and worst of all, he was being branded in its ridiculousness. He had never once seen himself in that light—a starboard material. He had gotten so used to his peaceful routine and environment, and now everything was about to evaporate because of a seemingly uninspiring duty of saving and keeping books. He tightened his hold on the steering wheel. f**k! He could murder someone right now.

What about the august visitor? That part hadn’t even registered with him. Some variant she was. How had she ended up in his school? Was she stalking him? Was it a way of appreciating him, or some kind of vengeance? Apparently, Goldie had pulled off a card, and now they had an opponent… or a proponent… or—

He swerved into a new street with a billboard screaming, "The best is yet uncovered. The evolution of the song maester."

The road leading to Alice’s school was quite frivolous. It was less busy, less crowded, less noisy than other streets. People in this part of the city were more civilized, and traffic seldom held. It was a city brewing with the likes of those who wanted a quiet, solemn lifestyle. Perhaps that was why his sister’s school was built in this terrain—to keep away the noise and encourage cogitation.

He drove into the school garage just as a man in a service uniform—possibly the maintenance supervisor—shut down the garage door, then jogged to his window. He knocked on the glass, and Desmond wheeled it down slowly.

“Name?” His voice carried a foreign accent, but Desmond just shoved the ticket into his face. The man nodded after checking it and stepped aside for Desmond’s passage.

His sister wasn’t expecting his arrival, nor was the young mistress taking the class. He leaned against the door jamb by the entrance, watching the scene, and just before the teacher spotted him—

“I’m sorry, sir… are you seeing someone?” she asked, wearing a look that said just lick me already.

“De monde!” Alice screamed from her seat, relieving the tension in the room as all attention shifted to the gentleman. De monde—translated of the world in French—was Alice’s way of connoting her brother’s absurdity. To her, his behavior was characterized by a version of mundane expectation, and it was also a way of shunning his claim that he was different. In a way, he was both her hero and model. She skippered toward him as the murmur started rising.

“You look more…”

“Beautiful?”

She completed it for him, her face still glowing with smiles.

“I was gonna say youthful, but… yeah, beautiful will have to do,” Desmond said, his voice as calm as always from the dangerous comfort of his vague veil. She giggled and grabbed his hand.

“Come, let’s get outta here before my colleagues steal you away with their green eyes,” she said between smiles, pulling him after her.

Desmond looked up from her and saw the whole class frozen, their activities abandoned, their attention reverted to him. He could tell, just with his exposed eyes, what lustful thoughts were starting to mold inside their deluded minds. Even the mistress seemed unhinged by the disruption, her eyes feeding on him.

He had never been one to favor girls’ academies, but his sister’s disdain for the other gender had led her to enroll in one. One could only imagine how long it had been since they’d had contact with the opposite s*x.

They took the elevator all the way to the school rooftop. There, they were alone—free from the chatters and twitters of students, management, workers, and whatever other creatures crawled beneath them. Alice moved to the parapet and leaned on it, watching the city from above. With the curiosity and fading interest in her eyes, Desmond could imagine how many times she’d been here.

“So what brought you to my coven?” she finally asked, her face still turned to the view below. Desmond joined her, slapping his palm on the brick, scattering sand and dust.

“I needed to breathe,” he simply said.

Alice looked at him, doubt already mustering.

“What did he do now?” she inquired, her knuckles sinking into the gaps within the parapet.

Desmond sighed.

“I don’t wanna be a librarian.”

Alice gave a short laugh.

“A librarian? Seriously?” She shook her head, then returned her gaze to the view. “I mean, it really doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” she said, bemused.

“I know…”

“You love books… it’ll give you an opportunity to be closer to them.”

“I know…”

“So… what’s wrong?” She watched him again, slightly worried.

“It’s an order. I don’t do well with orders.”

He gripped the railings, eyes fixed on how much he loved the atmosphere up here.

Alice walked toward him and placed her hand over his, squeezing slightly.

“Don’t be hard on yourself, brother. Even the summer has its heatstroke…” She paused, looking into his brown eyes, hoping her words would make an impact. “You’re gonna weather through these storms… I promise.”

He looked at her and felt at peace. Even if the world went crazy, his sister would always be there for him.

Just then, the roof access door opened, and two of Alice’s colleagues burst in, loud and funky in pink.

“Hey Alice, you wouldn’t mind introducing us to your handsome brother, would you?” one said boisterously.

“Yes, Alice, we wouldn’t mind taking a selfie,” the other added, chewing gum.

“Janet and Mariah,” Alice hissed. “Those two don’t know when to saddle their asses.” She turned toward them with mean intentions, but before she could act, one of the girls exclaimed—Mariah, the gum-chewer.

“Holy s**t! Who’s that hottie just across the building? Is she your brother’s girlfriend?” she whined.

“Oh, she’s so cute…” Janet chimed in.

Alice and Desmond swiveled, and Desmond’s hand dropped from the parapet. Just across the building, on the rooftop opposite theirs, was the same mysterious girl—the one who now seemed to find joy in haunting him.

She smiled at Desmond and gently waved her hand.

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