The Library of the Unwritten - A. J_ Hackwith Page 0,8
ghostlight candles. They’ll last about a day. Don’t lose ’em,” Brevity said as she saw Leto’s puzzled look. “We can’t exactly carry lit holy candles around here. Basic camouflage. Candles down below turn into cigarette lighters up here. But don’t let anyone borrow a light. It’s kinda your passport while you’re here.”
“You do not want to get caught outside of Hell without your ghostlight. Very bad things happen. Now, then, about that book . . .” Claire tucked her ghostlight into a skirt pocket without looking at it. She paused to dig the tiny calling card out of her leather bag. “We’ve got some ways to walk.”
“Ooh, taxi?” Brevity squeaked. “I’ve always wanted to ride in one of those!”
“You’re a muse—you always want to do everything,” Claire said. “If it will save time, I suppose I can fold enough for a cab. Let’s go.”
To Leto’s surprise, the taxi driver paid no attention when what appeared to be a brightly colored rave kiddie, a dreadlocked hipster, and a malnourished teenager in an ill-fitting mortuary suit crawled into his cab. Nor did he blink as Claire spent the entire ride industriously ripping strips of paper out of an ancient-looking notebook and making complicated folds. One more oddity in an odd human world, just passing through.
Claire frowned at the card before directing the cab to drive “downtown” and not stop until they lost “the smell of fish and commerce.”
The driver squinted into the rearview mirror, probably rethinking his fare. “Uh, Pioneer Square?”
Again, the librarian consulted the tiny card. “Sure, close enough.” Over her shoulder, Leto was surprised to see the neatly printed type moving and shifting across the tiny square card, reorienting with new (poetically vague) directions each time the cab turned.
As the cab pulled up to a curb, Claire finished her folding and held the slips of paper out to the driver. “Keep the change.”
The driver frowned. “What the f—”
“You dreamed of a big house.” Claire’s voice dropped, odd and strangely formal, as Leto slid out of the car after her. She leaned through the window of the cab and caught the driver with her gaze. “With a big porch and a fireplace in the bedroom. Hearth, heart, hurt. You want to take her there and kiss her in the kitchen at the end of the day, food cooking, fire inside. Secure, solid, someday. Steps. This is your first.”
The driver watched Claire’s face and blinked slowly; then a fragile smile slid over his rough features. “Yeah, the house . . .” He nodded and tucked the slips of ragged paper in his pocket. “Thanks for the tip, ma’am. You have a good day.”
Claire straightened and tucked the notebook back into her bag.
“What—” Leto began.
“A story.” Claire watched the cab pull away. “I paid him in a story, his story. It’s all most souls want, really, so it’s easy for them to accept.”
It didn’t sit right with Leto. “But we cheated him. It’s a lie.”
“A lie. A dream. Good stories are both,” Claire dismissed. “Is it so bad? He’ll remember the story, turn it over carefully in the back of his mind, feel the edges of it like he would a lucky coin. A story will change him if he lets it. The shape and the spirit of it. Change how he acts, what dreams he chooses to believe in. We all need our stories; I just fed him a good one.”
“But he’s got bills to pay. His tally will come out wrong. The money—”
“It doesn’t do no harm.” Brevity nudged Leto. “Besides, don’t get boss started. If there’s one thing librarians know, it’s stories.”
“Still doesn’t seem right.” But Leto let it drop.
They were no longer in the gleaming tourist center of the city. All around them crowded old brick giants, thick buildings with drooping rows of narrow windows, papered with faded posters of all kinds. The main street maintained an infestation of shops, windows displaying discounted baubles or closeout-sale signs. There were fewer people down here, but there was enough foot traffic that no one seemed to pay their trio much mind.
Claire scowled at the calling card before handing it to Leto. “It’s getting vague. Keep an eye on that, and let’s look around.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
WHEN THE SCRIBBLES ON the calling card finally changed, they evolved into . . . nothing. An inky, irregular period filled the tiny card under the title information. Leto held the card out to Claire for her to see. She nodded and paused on the