ACIR HILLS
I hold my light in shaky hands, my arm out in front of me.
I’m a lone woman in an old, abandoned part of a historic building, and everything’s on me. Dust motes swirl in the beam. It’s bloody dark back here, and there’s only one low wattage bulb on up ahead. It casts a gloomy pallor over the hallway I’m walking through. I suppose they added that when they did renos back in the fifties, aeons ago, and never bothered to update it.
Why should they? There’s nothing back here in this closed-off, centuries-old section of Newford University. Right?
Except I think there is. Having snagged this library work study gig, I’ve had access to all the old, glorious volumes, some of which stretch back centuries. Lyndon Library has volumes in Arabic, and Sumerian. Some in Greek. I’ve been li
