Andersen Lacey Carter - Magic For Dummies

I zzy

M y alarm buzzes and my head jerks off the book in front of me. Did I really fall asleep? Sighing, I pick up my phone and glance at the screen, then do a double-take. Midnight? Wait, no. My alarm was supposed to go off just before nine, when the library closes .

How did this happen ?

I turn off the alarm, then look slowly around the darkened shelves of the library. Yes, Im in my usual corner, tucked away from all the noise, but someone should have seen me before locking up the library .

The librarians do a sweep at the end of the day, right ?

The truth is, I dont know, because I dont make a habit of passing out face-down in my books, in public, while researching. But Im exhausted. Studying has been hard enough, but following my last lead had me dragging my butt right back here .

Freaking bad luck. Just what I needed during finals week .

The library has always been the one home I can count on. I might bounce from family to family, but every new town has a library to lose myself in. But now? With the silence and the deep shadows, for the first time in my life, the library doesnt feel like an old friend. It feels... dangerous .

When I stand, my chair scratches noisily across the floor. I freeze, heart pounding. The sound seems to echo through the darkness, and a chill runs down my spine. Calm down, Izzy. Youre not a kid. You know monsters dont exist. Youre fine .

Taking a deep breath, I will myself not be scared but it doesnt work. I just need to grab my stuff and run for the door. Maybe an alarm will sound, but hopefully Ill be halfway home before the police arrive .

Actually, I need to be long gone by then. The last thing I want is to give my foster parents a reason to think Ive decided to be a trouble maker. Right when theyre no longer legally required to keep me around .

My mind starts turning. Its midnight on a school night, but my foster parents havent called. Im kind of hurt that they didnt notice I never came home, but at least Im not in trouble. So I better get back before I am .

I stuff my books into my bag and zip it up. Picking up my phone, I check the time again, then notice the date. Oh boy, its officially my birthday .

Happy freaking eighteenth birthday to me .

Sighing, I grab the mountain of microfilm and try to stack it in a neat pile at the edge of the table. My hands, shaking ever so slightly, knock the entire pile on the floor .

Shit, I mutter, kneeling down .

Theres easily two hundred slides, all of newspapers from the day of the fire, the day our house burned down in flames .

Its the same day my mother disappeared, abandoning two six year old girls. But no matter how much time I spend in the library, Ive never found anything about my birth mother, the fire, or my twin sister Eleena .

As I gather up the pile, tiny flames on one slide catch my eye, and I freeze. Reaching for that one slide, I hold it up beneath the thin glow of the emergency light. I see the outline of a woman holding two children with a house burning behind her .

Heart racing, I slide into my chair and pull the microfilm reader closer. I put the film in place and turn the machine on. Looking down at the magnified, brighter article, I read :

F irefighters responded to the scene of a fire at 417 Mayfield Drive in the early morning of October 7th. They tried to control the blaze, however, it spread to four neighboring homes before it could be extinguished. No lives were lost in the fire, but the cause of the fire is still unknown .

T here was more, continued on another page. A page I didnt have .

I stared, my gaze going to the image. My mother and Iwe look so alike. The same mousy brown hair. The same brown eyes. And yet, her expression takes my breath away. Its the one I remember so well a look of complete and utter misery. Except it wasnt just on the day of the fire. She wore her misery like a cloak every day of my life .

Suddenly, the vague memories of her sharpen. This was my mother. A tiny woman holding two girls as our entire lives burned to the ground .

Were all covered in ash and soot in the photo. Distant memories come back to me .

When Eleena and I woke up, our room was already so hot and we were choking on the smoke. The two of us hid in our bedroom closet, trying to get fresh air. Eleena was crying so hard she couldnt even talk to me. And then my mother ran into the room, shouting for us, frantic the memory of her fear lances my heart all these years later .

When she dragged us out of the closet, the fire was everywhere. Smoke billowed along the ceiling and flames raced through the walls. The flames beat on our skin painfully and I could barely draw a breath .

And yet, my mother half-carried, half-dragged us through it all and out the door, somehow avoiding the wood and beams falling in the smoke and fire around us .

Im shaking, fighting back memories that make no sense. We didnt walk through the fire. We couldnt have. So why do the memories feel so real ?

Then, my gaze goes to my twin sister. She looks so small and frightened. Just the way anyone would expect a child would look during one of the most terrifying moments of their lives. And then, when I look to myself, a strange sense dances along my spine. I dont look scared. I look determined .

Maybe even angry .

My stomach flips. That was so long ago, and yet, now I have an address. A place to start this investigation. My mothers name has always turned up nothing. It was like she didnt exist. But I had to keep searching. Even if she vanished, I had to find my sister. And now I had a clue to finding out just where she ended up .

A sound rolls through the library like a wave. A sound like a creaking of tile .

Everything inside of me tenses. Is someone else here with me ?

Heart pounding, I flick off the microfilm reader. And then, even though I shouldnt, I put the film gently into my backpack and zip it up softly. I want to search through the rest of the pile to find the other half of the newspaper article, but a terrible feeling twists through my gut .

If I dont get out of here, Im going to get hurt .

Inching around the table, I hear the sound again. Not footsteps exactly. Almost like a hoof on tile. Its strange though. It sounds like the person making the sound is moving slowly .

One step .

Two steps .

Three steps .

Hes slowly creeping closer to me .

Sweat rolls down my spine. I grab my backpack and slip it silently over my shoulders. The person is between me and the elevator, but I can make it to the stairs. I just have to be quiet enough and fast enough that they dont catch me .

I head through the shelves, moving away from the sound that continues to fall softly. Whoever it is doesnt walk like a security guard. Those sound like the steps of someone whos hunting something .

The thought enters my mind and makes my stomach turn. Thats exactly it. The person sounds like theyre hunting. Like theyre searching for something .

Is it a creep? A thief? Someone who knows Im here alone ?

I dont know, but I need to get away. The instinct crawls over me like ants creeping over my skin .

When the red exit sign over the stairs comes into view, a wave of relief moves through me. Ive almost escaped. Just a little further .

The clomping sound continues. And now, now I think I hear the person breathing. Deep, ragged breaths that sound threatening for some reason .