himself as he dragged the ladder around the room to near the door. Taking the books under his arm, he climbed up to the catwalk with careful feet. He followed the narrow walkway around the room, shelving books as he went.
He stopped at the end where a standalone locked wooden cabinet housed the leather-bound books. It came up to maybe his waist. No one knew what was inside of them, but they were supposedly very powerful. The owner of the orphanage, some old woman, was a descendant of a witch from a distant land. The kids guessed that the books were spell books.
Tilting his head, Mathieu wondered if he could pick the lock. He just wanted to touch them and smell them. The smell of books was his favorite. Wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans, he knelt down and took the lock in his hand, he looked at it closely. Something told him that more than just a key was required to open it. He ran his tongue over his top lip, considering. It wasn’t something that he did often, but he could sometimes force things to do what he wanted them to do. He wasn’t able to explain how, but sometimes…
He stared at the thick silver lock, trying to envision its inner mechanics. They would be like tumblers, he imagined, old and hard to shift. Once he had a clear picture in his head, he imagined trying to force the tumblers up with his mind. How it happened, he wasn’t sure. One moment the lock had been securely closed, attached to the cabinet; now it lay in his hand, open.
The door slowly swung outward, no longer restrained by the silver lock. Delicately, he hung the lock on the railing before looking back down at the ground floor. When he was sure no one had entered while he’d been distracted, he turned to the slightly ajar door of the small cabinet. His heart started to pound in his ears as his fingers touched the smooth wood.
If the rest of the wood in the house had a warm feel to it, this did not. It was cold and hard, unyielding. Touching it made his fingertips tingle, much like the cold water earlier had. The pounding in his ears got louder as he pulled the door open.
Mathieu hesitated, eyes roving over the thick volumes. One in particular, however, caught his eye. The others were weathered, brown leather books.
This one was different.
Its cover wasn’t leather; instead, it was some sort of deep red fabric. The writing on it was perfect cursive done in thick purple stitching. It also was significantly thinner than the others. While the rest looked like they could be used as weapons, this one was much more dainty and elegant. His hand shook slightly as he reached out for it. His instincts were screaming at him to stop, to not touch it. But he had to know.
The fabric of the cover was the softest material he’d ever felt. Mathieu’s fingers plucked it off the shelf and out of the confines of the cabinet. Looking at the cover, he realized that the words had disappeared as soon as his hand had touched it. The book wasn’t overly heavy, and it made him feel focused, in control. He couldn’t help the grin that broke out across his face or the way his fingers gently caressed the cover of the book. Peeking into it, he flipped through the empty pages. It struck him as odd that the pages would be blank, but he didn’t question it. He just knelt there, mesmerized.
Finally, he partially listened to his instincts, closing the cabinet and securing the lock back onto it. Quickly, he followed the catwalk back to the ladder and climbed down. Tucking the book into the corner of a shelf, he finished putting away the rest of the books.
He bit his lip. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he was going to keep the book, but the question was where to put it to keep it safe. Stealing wasn’t something he wanted to be known for. Retrieving it from the corner, he tucked it under his shirt and ducked out of the library, pulling the door tightly closed behind him. He looked left and right before all but running down the hall to the main stairs and up them. His room was just down the hall when he heard noises that seemed out of place. People were in his room.
Mathieu swore under