Enchanted Ivy

knew a few families like that at home. The mothers always chatted politely with Lily's mom, but they'd look at Lily with pity when they thought she wouldn't notice.

The looks had only gotten worse in recent years, as Mom forgot more and more. Lily watched the alum gesturing as she described the carrel where she'd written her thesis. Lily bet that no one had ever looked at that woman with pity. She wondered if Tye would look at her with pity once he knew about her mom.

Focus, Lily, she told herself.

She spotted a sign that said VISITORS. One short conversation later (including liberal use of the words 'prospective student'), and she was in possession of a temporary visitor's pass. She sailed by the guards, bypassed the reference room with its vaulted ceiling and Gothic windows, and headed to the elevators that bore the label, STACKS. There was a handy-dandy guide beside the elevator door identifying which floor had which set of books. The 900s were on C-level, it said, three floors below ground level. Piece of cake, she thought.

As she rode the elevator down, she wondered how large this library was to have three levels under ground. She pictured secret catacombs deep below the earth.

The doors slid open on C-level, and she saw her imagination wasn't far off. She stepped off the elevator to face darkened rows of bookshelves. Catacombs indeed.

Behind her, the elevator whirred as it rose, and then there was silence. No voices. No footsteps. No scratch of pencils, no click of laptop keys, no rustle of pages. Kind of creepy, she thought. She walked forward, and her shoes slapped loudly on the floor. It was so phenomenally quiet that she felt as if she should tiptoe. She wished Tye had come with her. She didn't like the feeling that she was the only person on the entire floor.

Only the center aisle was lit. Each aisle had its own light switch (either to conserve energy or to increase creepiness). Shadows shrouded the books. Lily hurried down the center aisle, reading the call numbers on the labels: 870s, 880s, 890s, 900s, 910s, 930s. She halted and backtracked. The labels jumped from 919.98 Zoo to 930.0 Abr. Worse, the 915 shelf and the 930 shelf were flush against each other so that you couldn't walk down the aisle to check for the 920s. How did anyone ... She spotted a crank on the endcap of the row.

Oh. Right.

Stepping back, she noticed that every other bookshelf was flush against its neighbor and each had a crank to separate the shelves. It doubled the number of bookshelves that could fit on the floor. 'Clever, Lily,' she muttered to herself. 'Way to impress the Old Boys.' At least Tye wasn't here to see her flummoxed by sliding shelves.

As she turned the crank, the shelves groaned and lurched sideways. She imagined a horror movie where the villain squeezed his victims between movable bookshelves. Attack of the Killer Librarian. Definitely a low-budget movie.

The bookshelves creaked and then settled in their final positions. Silence wrapped around her again. Lily shivered. She never thought she'd be freaked out by a library. On the other hand, she'd never been in a dimly lit, preternaturally silent library buried three floors below sunlight and fresh air. Walking quickly down the row, she scanned the shelves for the call numbers. Like the label had said, the books jumped from 919 to 930. 'Where—?' she began to ask out loud.

Screech! The bookshelf shifted toward her.

'Hello? I'm in here!' she called. 'Please stop turning the crank!' The shelf rattled closer. She darted down the row and burst into the center aisle. 'Hey, I said—'

No one was there.

The crank continued to turn unaided until the bookshelves slammed together. She leaned forward to examine the crank. She didn't see a motor. So how—

Clang, screech!

Across the aisle, a second bookshelf shuddered, then shifted. Lily backed away as the crank whirred faster. Jolting sideways, the bookshelf slammed against the next shelf. Books rocked, and then the library fell silent again.

Okay, she thought, this is seriously creepy. Maybe she should return to the nice, sunny lobby and ask the librarians at the information desk where to find the 920s. She liked that idea. Lily headed for the elevator.

Metal shrieked, and a bookshelf shot across the center aisle to block her path. Several books tumbled off the shelf and landed at her feet. Her heart hammered in her rib cage. 'This isn't funny,' she called. 'You can stop now!'

She didn't hear anyone. Maybe it was a malfunction. Or it could be part of some automatic air-out-the-books maintenance routine, the library's version of an automatic sprinkler system. Not that she'd ever heard of such a thing, but there had to be a nice, logical explanation for why the shelves were suddenly acting possessed.

Lily speed-walked down a row. As she reached the end, the bookshelf sprang back and slammed against the brick wall. She ran back to the center aisle. All around her, dozens of bookshelves lurched forward and sideways. Metal crashed and shrieked. Books tumbled to the floor. She screamed as a set of shelves crashed together in front of her.

'Help!' she yelled. 'Someone, anyone, help!'

She zigzagged through a moving maze. As shelves slid, she plunged through gaps. Aisles and rows slammed shut behind her.

Up ahead, Lily saw an old card-catalog cabinet. Hip height, it was an island in a storm. Lily raced toward it, ducking her head as books sailed off the flying shelves. The bookshelves zoomed around her faster and faster. Reaching the cabinet, she scrambled on top. A shelf smashed into the brick wall on one side of her, and then a second shelf crashed into the wall on the opposite side. A third shelf sailed directly toward her. Lily screamed and threw her hands in front of her face—

The shelf halted inches from her fingertips.

Everything fell silent again. All the bookshelves were still. Crouched on top of the cabinet, Lily listened, but all she heard was her own breathing, fast and loud.

She had to get out of here. Now. Before it started again.

Sliding off her perch into the narrow space between the cabinet and a bookshelf, Lily yanked books off the lowest shelf. She could clear a shelf, crawl through, and then run for the elevators. She'd emptied half the bottom shelf before she noticed the call numbers on the spines of the books: 921.

'Bastards,' she said out loud.

Lily clapped her lips shut before she said anything worse. The Old Boys could be listening. She bet they were watching her right now through video cameras, chortling to one another as they sipped port in their leather chairs. They'd succeeded in scaring their newest candidate with mere bookshelves.

What sort of college admissions test involved terrifying the applicant half to death? Lily took a deep breath and told herself to focus. She could tell them what she thought of their practical joke after she had her automatic-acceptance guarantee. For now, she had to find that book.

Lily ran her fingers over the book spines. 921.45 Bre, 921.45 Div, 921.45 Lin, 921.45 Zar ... She didn't see a 921.45 Wil. She stood up and checked the other shelves.

A few book titles caught her eye: Rituals and Music of the Northern Ogre Clan, On the Behavior of Brownies, Goblin Genealogy. She plucked a book at random off the shelf and flipped through it. Mermaids, a Life Cycle of. It mimicked a research book, complete with charts and graphs and footnotes. It even had drawings of mermaid skeletons and diagrams of mermaid respiratory systems. Someone had put a lot of work into this parody. Replacing it, she selected another book. This one, Chimeras of Today, was the same: hundreds of pages of detailed 'research.' She returned it to the shelf and noticed that none of the books in this section had a publisher's logo on the spine. Maybe this was some sort of odd, self-published fan fiction stash? Or, ooh, maybe these were instruction manuals for some kind of elaborate homegrown Dungeons & Dragons game. Or fake dissertations. She bet the authors were the Old Boys themselves. If her grandfather (who read only literary fiction by either semidepressed writers or authors who eschewed all adverbs) had written one of these, she was going to tease him mercilessly.

Lily scanned the section. Cane ... Card ... Carr ... aha!

She pulled a book off the shelf and read the title: Dryads, a History by William