Soft carpet crumpled under his fingers. Daniel stopped.
He’d fallen into another room, he saw - a sitting room of sorts, with a row of overstuffed chairs laid out in front of another, even larger fireplace. When he looked to either side, his unease building, hallways lined with doors stretched out as far as he could see.
“I know. I know, it’s going to be a problem.”
His eyes snapped forward, drawn by the sound of whispering.
There was a woman sitting in one of the chairs, he finally saw. She had a mug of something hot and steaming in her hands, lifted to rest under her nose. Her eyes gleamed dark and unhappy, her face tight-drawn.
But he’d recognized that voice.
All of his confusion and uncertainty and fear came to a head in that moment, pushed over the edge by the sight of the woman. He didn’t understand. But his heart was still hammering in his chest, and there was no room left for rational thought in his mind. He hurled himself across the room before he could reconsider.
“Miss Jean!”
No. No, that was wrong, he realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Miss Jean was old, with wrinkles and grey hair and everything. The woman sitting in front of him looked much younger. She might have been one of his teachers, even, with soft brown hair clipped to her shoulders and deep-set green eyes. There wasn’t even the trace of a line across her smooth, perfect skin.
And yet, that too-young woman turned at his cry, meeting his bewildered gaze with a smile. “Daniel. I figured you’d be up soon. Want some juice?”
The question was just so horribly, painfully normal. There was no way for him to respond in kind. He hit the chair beside her hard, clinging to it desperately. “Where’s my mom?”
Her expression tightened, going wooden. She stood, crossing to a metal case set against the wall, and pulled a pitcher of amber liquid from within. The acrid smell was all too familiar. Apple juice. Jean didn’t look at him as she poured a glass. “Now, I know this has to be confusing for you, Daniel.”
“I want to go home. Where’s my mom?” His voice rose plaintively. “Where are we?”
Jean held the glass out. He took it, moving more on habit than an sort of conscious decision. She eyed him, taking in his pout and the way his lower lip was just beginning to tremble. He was doing well. Better than she’d expected, really. But he was a child, and there was only so much he could be expected to take.
She knelt in front of him, resting her hand on his shoulder as he started to sip. “Daniel, your mom’s not here right now. But she’s not far, so don’t worry. You’ll see her again really soon, all right?”
He wiped his nose on his sleeve, beginning to sniffle. “H-How’d I get here?”
Jean sighed. “Look. I’m- I’m a librarian. You know what a librarian is, right?”
Daniel went quiet. He was still pouting, still looking as though he might break down at any moment, but for the moment, he waited.
Jean smiled gently. “Well, you see...I asked your mother if you might like to come see my library. I thought you’d enjoy a tour.”
His eyes widened, lighting up at the word ‘tour’. He’d been on field trips before, with his class, and they’d always been fun.
Her teeth gleamed in the flickering firelight as her smile grew. “Would you like that?”
Daniel hesitated, glancing around one last time. She’d explained, yes, but something...something wasn’t right, all the same. A tear dribbled from one eye.
But it did sound fun.
Slowly, cautiously, he nodded. His eyes never left Jean’s face as she stood, reaching a hand toward him.
He took it.
* * * * *
The day that followed was like nothing Daniel had ever experienced before. Jean made sure of that.
He followed close on Jean’s heels, all but swept away in a blur of excitement, as she led him from room to room. Each and every sight that spread out before him was enough to steal his breath away. She’d promised to show him her library.
She did.
Hall after hall played out, separated by looming oak-and-iron doors that swung open to reveal towering shelves stacked high with texts. Everywhere they looked were heavy, leather-bound books just like the ones in the bedroom - but rolled parchments lay alongside them, yellowed with age. Wooden racks with skins stretched across them were propped up around their feet, painted with something that smelled foul enough his nose wrinkled. She even saw him eyeing what looked like etched stone tablets tucked into one corner.
The rooms were every bit as varied as their contents. Sometimes, they didn’t even seem like they connected to each other. The two of them would walk through one room, built tall and solid with stone blocks and chandeliers like an old castle from his stories - and then cross through a doorway and be standing in a terracotta room that had sand piled in the corners. Other times Jean led him into rooms that seemed more like caves than any sort of building.
At first Daniel clung to her side, sniffling faintly, as if she’d vanish if he let go. As if he’d be lost forever in the maze, surrounded by wall after wall of books. The rooms were dark, and she could hear what sounded like whispers from within the shelves. Dreamers. She sighed. Every time a hushed voice reached his ears, he pressed closer to Jean.
The farther in they went, though, the more he seemed to settle. His confidence crept in with every doorway they passed through, eked on by
