I bang my fists against the library doors. The dim light inside makes it so hard to see anything. 

“Please,” I say, as if they can hear me. “It’s for a project.”

A project. Really. What a believable excuse.

I hear the creaky wheels of a cart being pushed around and low mumbles that I can barely make out. There’s someone in there–I’m sure of it. 

Please, please, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep if–

I bang on the door once more. 

The creaky wheels come to halt and I hear footsteps coming towards the door. There’s the sound of jangling keys followed by the groan of the door. 

An angel with soft purple hair in overalls stands there, looking more of a farmer than a librarian. They’re wearing big brown combat boots covered in dust and is surprisingly young. Looks surprisingly young, I should say. 

“Isn’t it your bedtime?” they ask. “They/them. Don’t get the other librarians’ pronouns mixed up with mine. Please. I didn’t die for them to be forgotten all over again.”

“It’s for a project,” I repeat, trying to make it sound important. “Due tomorrow.”

“Do you have, like, a note or something?” They glance behind, eyeing the cart. “I’ve got a ton of reshelving to do. If this is a project about how to reshelve in the fastest way possible, please, step right in. I don’t want to stay up till three again. Did not have time to restock my supply of coffee and energy drinks–they are hella expensive at the store, did you know that? Practically costs my whole salary. But what do expect, I’m just–”

“Mrs. L gave me, uh, verbal permission,” I interrupt. Then I add, “I can help reshelve a few books, if you want.”

They close their mouth, a sneaky look creeping up on their face. 

“Reshelve all of the books,” they say. “And I’ll get you that spellbook.”

“WHAT–” I lower my voice, hoping no one heard me. “How did you know about that?”

They grin, revealing rainbow colored braces. “What, did you expect me to believe you needed to go to the library for a project? Get a better excuse next time, kid. Don’t think I can’t see that thing bulging outta your pocket. I don’t know what magic voodoo you plan on doing with it but leave me out. Trust me, kids here are crazy.”

I freeze. “Students come here to do magic?”

“Yeah, what do you think they come here to do, study?” 

They’ve got a point.

The way to the spellbook area (which includes a secret door under the librarian’s desk and a very long staircase journey), the librarian walks with a spring in their step. They must hate reshelving. 

I know a few more things about them as they ramble on about the hardships of their life. Their name is Cup (don’t ask me why, I have no clue) and they love Twilight. Of course, talking about Twilight, they spent the next bajillion hours talking about how much they love it and spoiling it for me. 

Their favorite color is purple (“And brown, I guess,” they say, shrugging). 

They had a dog that got killed because their dad is a psycho. (Which is why their mom left.)

They like stairs better than elevators.

They’ve been dead for 3 years. 

They’re 19.

There’s a lot more stuff that I may or may not have tuned out. I’m sorry, I just did not care. 

“Anyway,” Cup says once we arrive at the door, “you can’t tell anyone about this.”

The door’s really small. Made out of thin planks of wood, it looks really delicate–so delicate that I’m scared it’ll crumble if I  touch it.

They don’t seem out of breath at all. To be honest, they seem to have gained more energy, which my brain can’t possibly compute how. 

I, on the other hand, am worn out. My legs feel like they could snap in half any minute, and I remember why I don’t exercise. 

“Do you understand?” Cup looks at me with a serious face. 

“Yes.” I lean on the wall for support. “I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

“Good.” They smile, pushing open the door. “Get your ass in here.”

I drag my tired body into the mysterious room that contains the spellbook that could reveal Emery’s deepest, darkest secrets. 

This better be worth it. I couldn’t have walked all that way for nothing. I’m so tired…