Page 28 of Wings of Reverie

He ground out her name like he was chewing a mouthful of rocks. Because Periwinkle had done it again. Before he could finish getting the words out, she’d taken off down the hall, fluttering through salons and studios and back down to the first floor, where the stacks were still crowded with fairies picking out books.

“This one’s about the Mainland winter holidays. What do you think?” she heard one sparrow man ask a friend.

“Grab something on windology. Or getBeauty and the Bees, she keeps talking about it,” his friend said. Then he held up a book with a tree house blueprint on the cover. “What do you think?”

“If you give him that one, he’s going to beat everyone in the snow lantern competition,” the first one teased. “So that one’s a no.”

As Weaver finally caught up with Periwinkle on her way to the Keeper’s study, still grumbling his annoyance, she wanted to ask him which he thought were louder—the winter fairies, or the books themselves. All around them, mystery stories whispered spoilers, cookbooks called out ingredients lists, and zoology books quizzed readers on the different languages of dragons.

She loved the Hall of Winter. She wished Weaver understood.

“This is a bad idea,” he hissed at her.

“Don’t worry,” she insisted. “It’ll work.”

Weaver rolled his eyes. But Periwinkle just flew on into the study she knew so well. “Dewey,” she called. “We need a little help.”

Dewey looked up from his book and smiled.

The Keeper of All Fairy Knowledge had thin white hair and glasses, and pale skin wrinkled with his long years. His cane was propped against a teetering stack of books on dustology and wingology, just one stack of hundreds arranged in a way only he understood.

“‘We’?” he asked, brandishing his quill pen. “Howdy-do, Periwinkle.”

Periwinkle glanced around, confused. When she realized Weaver hadn’t followed her, she shook herself, like she’d just misspoken. “Hi, Dewey. Sorry, I meant ‘I.’I’min need of a little help.” She gestured back at the doorway, at the larger hall behind it. “It’s my first Book Flood, and I need some advice.”

“Your first Book Flood!” The Keeper’s face broke into a smile. “I’d forgotten. I heard what happened,” he added. “But why do you need my help? You know the hall as well as anyone.”

“I know. But since it’s my first Book Flood, I was hoping to give my friend something special.” She furrowed her brow. “Is there a section here in the hall for books that are a little more…unusual? Books that are extra old, or brand-new, or sort of—out of the ordinary?”

She couldn’t specify exactly what she was hoping to find. But Periwinkle had a hunch.

“Oh, now that’s an interesting idea,” Dewey said. “Yes, I’ve got a private section here in the hall. It’s for books that are real old, or sort of rare, or a little sensitive,” he said. “Now, I’ve got a few scholars—you know, dust-talent fairies and tinker-talents andhealing-talents and the like—who I don’t mind taking a look. But I trust you, and whoever you trust.” He winked at Periwinkle. “Follow me.

“Yumpin’ Yetis, it’s crowded today,” the Keeper called over his shoulder, leading her through the shelves. “Busier every Book Flood. It’s just over here.” Periwinkle stayed close as he led them past a section of books organized entirely by color, and another snoring like hibernating winter animals. Eventually, he came to one screened off by a sturdy wall of ice, in an empty corner of the hall Periwinkle had never explored before.

“Take a look here, and see what you find,” he said, unlocking a door in the panel. “I’ve got books no one can translate, and some translations I haven’t finished, a few books on scout training and dangerous creatures, a few books of old legends. One book has pages of ice with no words on it. Oh, and one is just a little pouch of paper crumbles. It’s so old it fell right apart!”

“Jingles,” Periwinkle said.

“Oh, just you wait.” With a chuckle, Dewey ushered them inside the private section. Periwinkle gasped.

She’d been expecting the Keeper to show her a charming little nook, a few dozen books at most. But when she followed him inside, Periwinkle found the shelves were so tall and wide she could hardly see the end of them.

“Almost all of these will be out in the general collection someday,” Dewey said wistfully. “But, you know. It takes longer than you’d think to finish a book.”

“I’ll bet,” Periwinkle said.

There would be something here, she was certain. The question was if she would ever find it.

Her face must have looked worried, because Dewey crossed to her side then and patted her on the arm. “I’m glad you get to see the Frost Festival, but it may be strange to be away from your friends. I know you’re not used to being alone,” he said kindly. “So you let me know if you find yourself at a loose end.”

You have no idea, Periwinkle wanted to tell him. The words very nearly slipped out of her mouth.

But then she glimpsed a title that stopped her heart.

Boot-Warming: A Lost Talent.

Trying not to let her hands shake, Periwinkle picked up the book. “Dewey,” she said, “what is this?”