Page 43 of A Dead Man's B-Side
I didn’t respond, only looking to him for anything he might offer. We were about the same height, I noticed.
Though where he was lean, with a quiet strength that spoke of his discipline rather than vanity, I was slight and unassuming. At first glance, it wouldn’t look as though I could hold my own in a fight, and I preferred it that way. Years of living in danger, in the underbelly of every city, made me prioritize my physical strength.
And it wouldn’t be cocky to say I could take people like thelackeys of Callum Queen.
It was simply the truth.
“All these shelves look untouched,” I noted. I hadn’t realized that I’d noticed until my words made them true. Dust covered the books surrounding us; each row and shelf against each wall had at least some semblance of neglect.
Wolf shrugged before his voice took an amused tone, “Not a lot of people read books up here. Did you figure something out?”
I mentally shrugged past his words, looking around before zeroing in on the shelves next to the very chair that led us down this hall. “Except for this one.” I pointed to the wall of books that looked too clean, too… touched.
For a moment, I thought my words fell onto deaf ears. However, when he spoke, something seized up inside me.
“Maybe… this leads to another book?” Wolf offered as August continued searching away.
Why did I get the feeling he was trying to help me… rather than helpus?
I leaned my head away to get a better look at him before tilting it down. His eyebrows twitched the slightest bit, furrowing down as he let me scrutinize him, albeit a bit confused. But that was all he let pass through his face before huffing out a breath. “Are you… okay?”
When I found nothing but my own paranoia staring back at me, I released a breath and ran a hand over my forehead. “Yeah… just confused.”
He hummed and looked around before stilling.
Moving away from my side, he walked closer to the bookshelf against the wall. A disbelieving laugh tumbling out of his chest. “They were right there all along.” He looked back at me with a bright grin as he began to speak too quickly, “The keys. The rightful keys mean we had to look for our ownrightfulkeys. They wouldn’t be lined up for us to pick up.”
He looked about ready to continue rambling before cutting himself off. August, who stood to the side with confusion in his eyes, didn’t seem to catch on, and neither did I.
He looked between us as his smile dimmed just a little bit. “Like–for example, August Myro would look for August Myro’s key. They wouldn’t all be in the same place.”
It made sense, in a way, but this library was large, and that wasn’t a clue, simply a deduction. “So where would your key be, Wolf?”
He pondered on it, but only for a moment before snapping his fingers like a bulb had lit over his head. “Somewhere only I could find. It makes sense, even if an outsider were to stumble upon this invitation and the note, they wouldn’t know something only I would know. This part would stump them, so…” He lengthened his ‘so’ as he searched through the titles before him until he found the one book that, until moments ago, seemed to belong. “The Westing Game, I love this novel.”
August was the first one to speak, “Er… Isn’t that like–”
Wolf sent him a glare for his half-insinuation; one I wasn’tinterested in being privy to. “So… where’s the key, then?”
Wolf lifted his head to meet my gaze before looking back down and flipping through the book. And there it was. Slipping right out from between the middle pages was a heavy key. But it was unlike any I’d ever seen before. The shaft was worn smooth, from years of use, I assume. When Wolf lifted it to the light, it wasn’t the teeth that caught my attention. That was the thing, it didn’t seem to have any.
It had a small cylinder head–perfectly round with an intricate design carved into the opening at its tip. The patterns on the cylinder were delicate, almost as though they were carved by hand.
“Would you look at that?” August’s words were quiet as he inspected the key. It was silent as we both inched forward, but it was August who sprang into action, looking through the shelves before he let out an ‘aha’ and pulled outThe Hobbit.
I looked to Wolf, but he was too busy inspecting his key, almost in a trance of his own.
August, as though I were looking at him through a murky glass, found his key as well. A twin of Wolf’s.
I was left utterly lost.
Because when it was my turn to ‘take my place among my predecessors’, I hesitated.
I didn’t have a book that spoke to me growing up. In fact, reading hadn’t exactly become a hobby until I’d found it to be a useful way to pass the time inside those homes I was placed in. And even then, with so many ripped-up and coloured-in pages, it wasdifficult to enjoy the pastime until I’d managed to scrape some time alone to visit the library.
And yet, I didn’t have any favourites. Nothing in particular stood out to me. But I knew that the only pattern to look out for was something that didn’t belong in a row of ancient books, a book free of any evidence of age.
I looked through the shelves, a sense of satisfaction washing over me.
