Page 3 of The Alien in the Archive

As we leave the desk, the moment feels heavier. This is it—the point where we go our separate ways. We’ll see each other again, yeah…but this is always a big moment. I’m taken back to when we finally got out of the convent—when he went to Berkeley and I went to Harvard.

At least we can see each other outside of work this time around.

“Well,” Riley says, forcing a grin. “Stay out of the haunted sections, okay? One of us should make it back alive to tell the tale.”

“Try not to fall off a platform,” I shoot back.

We bump elbows and start to walk away, but Riley stops.

“Love you, sis,” he says. “Go get ‘em.”

“Love you too.” I smile. “Raise some hell.”

We part ways, and I look down at my ID card for directions. A glowing path is illuminated in front of me, heading east.

Alright. Guess that’s the way.

I walk through the lobby of the Grand Library, slightly wistful over having to miss the library proper…but I keep moving, seeking out the lift. I find it at the end of a quiet hallway, a square stone platform with railings that don’t look nearly high enough. I chance a look up toward the higher floors, and even I get a little queasy.

Here goes nothing.

I step onboard.

The platform rises, making my stomach drop…but the excitement is too great for any fear to quash it. The light changes as I rise toward the Obscuary, shifting from warm gold to cool blue. Vines crawl across the stone walls as the architecture grows older, darker. My heart pounds with every level we pass.

They say this is the oldest place in the library, that many parts of it that remain uncharted by librarians, too labyrinthine to navigate.

I can’t wait to get inside.

At last, the platform stops. I step off into another hallwayof dark stone, and I find myself in front of a massive black gate. Glowing runes shimmer across the surface, and hooded statues flank the entrance, their faces obscured.

Standing before the gate is Professor Davina Ferhalda.

Her bronze skin gleams, her antlers adorned with golden chains that catch the flickering lantern light. She’s taller than I expected, blue robes sweeping the ground. Her eyes—sharp and crystalline grey—study me for a moment.

“Professor Ferhalda?” I ask.

“And you must be Patience McRae,” she says, smiling. “Please, call me Davina.”

I exhale, smiling back. “Hi, Davina. I’m Page.”

2

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Davina’s office is—thankfully—not nearly as ominous as the gate to the Obscuary.

The circular room is lined with towering bookshelves, glow lamps hovering in midair, and illuminating texts on Ancient Borean art, Skoll religious practices, and the Human Bronze Age. Everything about it feels cozy, lived in. Stacks of books sit scattered across her desk; many of them dog-eared, with colorful slips of paper sticking out like feathers. Notes scrawled on scraps of vellum and alien parchment are pinned haphazardly to a corkboard behind her, connected by looping threads of glowing ink.

It’s messy, chaotic. Nothing like the cold, eerie perfection of the Obscuary’s entrance.

Davina gestures to a plush chair across the desk. I sit, trying to hide how small I feel in her presence. Even seated, she’s impossibly tall—seven feet at least, not counting the antlers that sweep up from her temples. The antlers glint faintly in the glow lamps, delicate golden chains strung between their points. I get the sense that she’s fully aware ofhow intimidating she looks, because as soon as I sit, she relaxes into her chair, softening her crystalline gaze.

“I hope the trip to the Archive wasn’t too daunting,” she says, her voice warm and smooth. “We keep the entrance…unwelcoming. It discourages curious outsiders.”

I let out a brittle laugh. “I get it. The texts here—they’re priceless.”

“Indeed,” she agrees, though her expression darkens slightly. “But it’s less about the books and more for intruders’ safety. The Archive has a way of…resisting those it deems unworthy.”

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