Page 41 of Kraved By Krampus

“Interesting choice of words.” She takes a measured sip. “Tell me, have your manuscripts always moved when you talk to them?”

My head snaps up. “How did you—”

“Or perhaps we should discuss why your tea never grows cold? Or why children’s eyes light up when you tell them stories?”

“That’s just...”Just what?My certainties crumble like sugar in hot tea.

Mrs. Redmond reaches across the table, her ink-stained fingers closing over mine. “Magic doesn’t simply vanish, my dear. It transforms. Changes. Adapts.” She squeezes my hand. “Much like the stories you write.”

I stare at my half-empty mug, watching the liquid swirl with memories of shadow and magic. “I don’t understand any of this.”

“Understanding comes with time.” Mrs. Redmond rises from her chair, her cardigan buttons catching the light. “What you need right now is perspective. And perhaps...” She pauses, adjusting her glasses. “A few answers.”

“Answers would be nice.” My fingers trace the rim of the mug. “I feel like I’m drowning in questions.”

“Then come with me back to town.” She begins gathering our empty mugs, moving with precise efficiency. “There’s something at the library that might help shed light on your... situation.”

My gaze drifts to the window where snow continues to fall. “The roads—”

“—are perfectly manageable with the right methods.“ She pulls that mysterious key from her pocket again, its surface gleaming with odd symbols. “The same way I arrived.”

The right methods.The phrase echoes in my mind, reminding me of how little I truly know about this world I’ve stumbled into. About myself.

I push back from the table, decision made. “Let me get my coat.”

“Bring your mother’s fountain pen as well.”

My hand freezes on the back of my chair. “How did you know about—”

“The same way I know many things, dear.” She straightens her cardigan, with buttons that seem to be twinkling. “Now hurry along. Time flows differently when magic is involved, but even it has its limits.”

A sharp tingle races up my arm that is holding on to Mrs. Redmond’s as she slides her key into an ordinary-looking door.The metal glows, symbols flickering across its surface like living things. My fingers tighten around Mom’s fountain pen in my pocket.

“Close your eyes, dear. The first time can be disorienting.”

I squeeze them shut. The world spins, a rush of cold air whips past my face, and my stomach lurches as if I’m on a roller coaster. When the sensation stops, the scent of old books and leather replaces the cabin’s pine.

We’re in the library. How are we in the library?

My eyes flutter open. We’re standing in the rare books section, surrounded by towering shelves that seem to lean in curiously. The familiar creak of old wood and whisper of pages fills the air.

“That was...” I steady myself against a shelf, trying to find words.

“Quite efficient, isn’t it?” Mrs. Redmond moves between the stacks with practiced grace. Books shift on their shelves as she passes, like dogs straining to get attention. “Much better than driving in this weather.”

I follow her, noting how the shadows between the shelves seem deeper than usual. More alive. “The library feels different.”

“You’re seeing it with new eyes.” She pauses at an ancient oak desk, running her fingers along its surface. “Places hold memory and magic, if you know how to look.”

A book slides off a nearby shelf, landing at my feet with a soft thump. When I bend to pick it up, the leather cover warms beneath my touch.

“Interesting.” Mrs. Redmond peers over her glasses. “The books seem quite eager to help today.”

“Help with what exactly?”

“Understanding who you are, of course.” She gestures to the book in my hands. “Your mother spent quite a bit of time in this section.”

My heart stutters. “My mother? But she was just a regular librarian.”

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