1. Bailey

Abang rang out in the library's attic overhead, and my heart froze.

Someone was inside the library with me.

A short time ago, I'd released a sigh of relief, and even the pile of work waiting for me on my desk couldn't steal my joy. I'd always savored the quiet and solitude I found in this quaint brick building, where I could sit, open a book, and dive into a magical world. Or stroll through the stacks, brushing my fingertips across the book spines.

Belle's beast had nothing on this place.

Rolling ladders? We had three.

Endless collections on every topic? We had you covered.

Cozy nooks for reading? We had five on this level.

Another subtle sound echoed from above.

Swallowing hard, I rose to my stockinged feet, and crept to my door and swung it open, wincing when it creaked.

"Hello?" I croaked, my voice echoing back at me in the long hallway outside my office.

After the theft of the glorious tome on loan from the orc kingdom, I was skittish.

And angry. How dare someone break into the library and steal a book?

I waited to the count of ten, and when I didn't hear anything further from upstairs, I returned to my desk.

An hour ago, after shooing everyone out, I'd closed and locked all the doors and sunk into my big leather desk chair bequeathed to me by the prior head librarian, my beloved mentor and substitute mother, Helga Merryweather. She died a year ago, and I missed her.

Imagine, me only twenty-eight years old and the new head librarian. If Helga hadn't put in a good word for me before she passed . . . Well, I didn't want to think about that. The loss of her mattered much more than a job.

Steam swirled off the cup of Earl Grey tea I'd brewed and placed on my desk. As the sun slid away, leaving darkness peppered with a few stars behind, I sipped my tea while poring through papers. Only the floor lamp behind me cut through the shadows—and just barely at that.

Maybe I'd imagined the sound.

Peering overhead, I waited, my toes curling in my stockings.

When it was clear I must've imagined the sound, I made a note to have the janitor set some mouse traps in the attic. I returned to the pile of papers, trying to make sense of why a shoe company had sent the library an invoice.

Low footsteps rang out, and I gaped at the coffered ceiling, cringing. My mouth went dry, and fear tightened its grip on my spine.

If this was daytime and patrons were around, I'd use my most stern librarian voice to call out. No, I'd stomp up the back staircase, wrench open the door to the attic, and snarl at whoever thought they had the right to explore the upper level of the building. During daylight hours, it would be mischievous kids. Or a woman lost while trying to find the bathroom.

But after the building was locked up tight? I didn't want to imagine who it could be—not after the theft.

I pawed through my desk drawers, but I didn't carry a gun. Or a bow and arrows. Where was a switchblade when a girl needed one?

Shuffles upstairs were followed by a low thud.

Should I call 9-1-1? Of course. What was I thinking? I lifted my phone only to find I hadn't plugged it in during lunch like I'd planned, and the battery was dead.

"Leave the building," I hissed, stuffing my feet into my shoes. I rose from my chair with my purse and phone in hand. The chair squeaked, but not loudly. Spying the black metal stapler that had also belonged to my predecessor, I latched onto it, clutching it to my chest like it was a shotgun ready to fire. I tiptoed to the door and carefully turned the knob.

The door needed to be lubed, and it creaked again as I tugged it open. Holding my breath, I pinched my eyes shut and remained motionless, as if doing so would keep me from being seen.

Rapid footsteps echoed overhead.

My heart came to a shuddering halt before kicking into high gear. I bolted down the hallway toward the front of the building, wishing the back door didn't alarm when it was opened and that I could escape that way since it was closer.

Reaching the foyer, I skidded across the antique wooden floorboards that clicked and groaned beneath me. Damn old place I'd loved since I was six, and I snuck into the library after school because I dreaded going home. Helga Merryweather caught me hiding on a window seat and handed me a book, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, book one of the Narnia Chronicles. I read it, then the next, and soon I'd devoured them all. I came to the library almost every day after that and pored through the shelves for something new. It was only natural I get my master's degree in Library Science.

Gasping and with shrieks erupting from my throat, I reached the big glass front door. I scrambled with the three locks—cursing the orc security guard who'd insisted they be installed to protect their precious book. We all knew how that turned out.

Finally, I unlocked the door. I wrenched it open and stumbled out onto the big open stone deck beyond. I nearly fell on my kitten heels while rushing down the granite stairs, and I kicked them aside to run more easily when I reached the paved walkway.

Still clutching the stapler and my purse, I scrambled out into the parking lot.

Stomps rang out nearby, followed by a few grunts, but I didn't look. I wouldn't do so until I was sitting inside my car with the doors locked. Streetlights blazed beyond the lot, but they didn't shed enough light to do more than keep me from tripping over something. Certainly not enough to make me feel safe.

As I approached my vehicle, the only one in the lot, I grabbed my key fob, grateful I'd clipped it to my purse handle and hadn't buried it inside.

Wrong time to be thinking about being buried, Bailey,I thought as I drew closer to my car. The headlights flashed as I unlocked it, and with my purse swinging from my arm, I reached out for the door handle.

A hand dropped onto my shoulder.

Shrieking, I whirled, kicked the person in the shins, and chucked the stapler at the enormous, shadowy being.

It smacked against a tall orc's forehead.

Groaning, he dropped to his knees and tumbled onto his butt.