And this man clearly regretted not using up his allotted time earlier. Owl rocked back on his heels, his frustration growing with every exasperated sigh Bill let out. Why? He hadn’t done anything to deserve this. “If you need more books, sir-”
“If I need more books, I’ll seek out this place’s master,” Bill said, sniffing. “I don’t need ‘help’ from children who’ll waste the little time I have.”
“I’ll be-”
“Really, how old are you?” Bill said, setting his book down and peering at Owl over the rims of his massive, horn-rim glasses. His hair coiled around his balding head in thin, greasy strands. “You can’t be more than ten. Don’t you have parents to be terrorizing instead of bothering me?”
Owl clenched his teeth, the man’s words echoing through his mind. If he was being honest...he’d wondered the same, some nights. The stories he’d found on the Library’s shelves all showed people his age in...well, in situations not this. His situation wasn’t normal, that much was clear. Jean had told him he was seven, but when he saw characters that age, even if he outwardly looked like them, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was older, somehow. Much older. And no matter how hard he pushed himself, he couldn’t remember anything like ‘parents’.
Just a pair of blurry shapes, swimming up in the moments before he found sleep. Nothing more.
But this was his job. Jean was trusting him. “If you need me, sir, I’ll-”
“Oh, just bugger off and leave me be,” Bill said, turning back to his book with a sneer.
A hand pressed down on Owl’s shoulder before he could turn and run.
“Is something the matter?” a woman’s voice said, carefully cheerful. The tension building in him bled away. Jean - Crow. Good.
Just as surely, though, shame rose to take its place. He didn’t need her help. He shouldn’t need her to save him, like...like the child this man thought he was.
Bill’s face lost a little of its derisive set. “Ah...your apprentice was dragging his feet, and-”
“I understand,” Crow said, and the icy chill in her voice sent a shiver down Owl’s spine. “I do apologize for any inconvenience. If you have any further requests, you may address those to me personally.”
Her fingers squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. Owl slumped another inch lower. They were looking. Everyone was looking, by then, all their other guests and everyone. He just knew it.
“See to the others, Owl,” Crow said. “Be off, now.”
She swatted at his shoulder, and he darted away before she could say another word. Somewhere behind him as he fled, he heard someone chuckle.
He ran. Most of the guests were there, in the study they’d set aside. But some would probably linger in the living wing the Library had created upon their arrival. It jutted off from alongside the sitting room, a narrow hallway with wide, ancient oak doors lined up one after another.
Some of them would be sleeping in, or relaxing there still. They had to be. And so, Owl could definitely lurk about in the comfort of the sitting room and still be able to tell Crow he was ‘working’. Definitely.
A smile grew across his face as he darted down the hallway, jogging along comfortably, and the firelight painted the walls ahead of him. As soon as he came through the doors, he hurled himself into one of the giant chairs by the fire, curling up into a ball on the cushion.
He couldn’t take off his coat. He couldn’t take off his mask. He couldn’t even lower his hood. And so he stared at the mantle, still bundled up from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head, and fumed.
Each of the glass orbs waiting over the fireplace glimmered faintly, ratcheting another millimeter along their circle. He ground his teeth together, staring at the half-dozen symbols marked onto the clock. According to Jean, each one of the symbols was one of their visitors. They’d all set aside a different number of stamps on their slip, their library card. Some would remain in Alexandria for longer than others, but the angry Mr. Parker would be the first to go.
According to the clock, though, he wasn’t going to be free of their guest anytime soon.
Burying his face in his knees, Owl shook his head, curling up a little tighter.
* * * * *
Flames crackled around him.
Owl lurched, backpedaling wildly. The dirt crunched under his boots, shifting with loose stones and gravel.
Crow pressed closer, taking one unbothered step after another. Her black mask gleamed with a lustrous lacquer, reflecting the firelight in spots of reds and oranges. Slowly, she raised one hand.
Embers sparked around her palm, curling and coiling into streaks that burned hotter and hotter.
Don’t just run, Owl screamed in the silence of his own mind, forcing his legs to stop shaking. Don’t let her push you back like this.
His fingers snapped wide, swathed in heavy leather gloves. He couldn’t do it on his own - not from scratch. Not with adrenaline filling his head and making him dizzy.
But a jug had been set at the end of the practice yard’s benches for just this reason. He reached toward it, willing his image to life.
For a single, nerve-wracking moment, nothing happened. Don’t doubt. Doubt kills. His fingers tensed, grabbing at the air.
And then a river of water poured from the jug, burbling and bubbling across the open space toward them.
“Eyes front!” he heard Crow call, though. Out of time.
Spinning, he brought his hands back to the front - and the water responded in kind, spraying out into a sheet.
It caught the fireball Crow hurled, exploding into a cloud of mist and steam.
Now. Owl broke into a run, his eyes fixed on his teacher. She’d just cast. She’d just attacked. If he was going to throw her off balance, he’d have to be fast.
His fingers twirled at his
