Page 1 of Mated to the Gargoyle
CHAPTER1
ANYA
WhenIsaw a lady frantically trying to access the special collections room,Imarched over.Whatdid she think she was doing?Thesign read, “Restricted.StaffOnly,” and the library was small enough thatI’dknow if she worked here.Theblonde with the messy bun continued to press random buttons on the keypad and turn the door handle, but the door didn’t budge.Ofcourse not, it was locked.Didshe think it would magically open on the next attempt?
Ihuffed asIreached her. “Excuseme, canIhelp you?”Mytone was more a reprimand than an offer to help.
Sheturned to me with a book clutched to her chest and a panicked expression.Beneathher black glasses, her pale green eyes fixed on me and widened.
“AreyouAnya?” she asked, her voice trembling and barely above a whisper.
Irecoiled in surprise.Howdid this stranger know my name? “Yes.”Itilted my head asIstudied her.I’dswearI’dnever seen her before, and yet something about her was familiar.Shewas approximately in her mid-twenties, like me. “DoIknow you?”
Hergaze darted from one end of the library to the other.Shethrust the book into my arms. “Hidethis in a safe place.Please.It’svery important.”
“What?”Igaped as my hands wrapped around the heavy book.Asshe rushed away from me,Icalled after her, “Hey.Whoare you?Wheredid you get this from?”
Shepaused and glanced over her shoulder, her fear-filled eyes imploring mine. “Ican’t explain now.Don’tlet him get it.Ibeg you.”Thenshe rushed out of one of the library’s massive doors.
“Unbelievable,”Imuttered.
Iglanced down at the leather-bound book in my hands, which was carved with spiral designs and decorated with multicolored gems that sparkled beneath the overhead light.Notitle, no author, no description on the back cover.
WhenIopened the book, my mouth dropped open.Itwasn’t whatIexpected with typographic printing, asI’dseen printed on the pages of thousands of books.No, this one was unique.Theparchment appeared delicate, and the ink added by hand.Illustratedpictures were drawn in different colors.Andwhat was written on the page appeared to be—spells.
Thatcouldn’t be accurate, could it?Icarefully flipped through more pages and gaped at instructions written in different languages, andIonly recognized some of the words.Withthe steps involved and the accompanying illustrations of hearts, amulets, and other various objects,Iguessed them to be spells for love and protection, among other things.Thevibrant ink itself seemed to almost hover above the parchment as if it, too, was—magic.
Whateverthat strange woman’s reasons for bringing it here, no doubt this book was valuable.Itmight require special handling.Itdeserved to be locked up in the special collections room untilIhad a chance to examine it in more detail.Thelibrary was closing in an hour, andI’dtake a closer look then.
Ipunched in my code to access the temperature-controlled room and then turned the handle.Itopened.Fancythat, it responded to the proper credentials rather than the frantic number punching the blonde woman had tried.
Onceinside,Iinhaled.Iloved the scent of old books.Manywere stacked upright on long floor-to-ceiling bookshelves where we could only access the upper shelves using a rolling ladder.Somewere so old and fragile they were locked under glass.WhereshouldIshelve this for now?Iscanned for an empty space and found one on a low shelf near the entrance thatIcould easily retrieve the book after closing.
WhenIreturned to my desk on the second floor above, my supervisor,Robert, was busy with patrons at the reference desk.Iwanted to tell him about the woman and the book, but didn’t get a chance.Heliked to talk, so his conversations lasted much longer than necessary as he generally turned a quick question and answer into a long discussion.Ihelped patrons with requests and soon enough, it was time for me to announce the library was closing.Robertlocked the doors, and we did a quick sweep to make sure nobody was still in the stacks or bathrooms.
“Vacationmode activated!” he declared.Henodded toward the front door. “Comeon,Anya,I’llwalk you out.”
Robertwas over two decades older than me, with more gray in his dark hair and beard than brown and a twinkle in his eyes.Heacted like a father figure, whichIappreciated sinceIgrew up without one.AlthoughIfelt fairly safe living here on the outskirts ofMontreal, it was still a city and not free of crime.
Ibit my lip, bursting to tell him about the book, but that wouldn’t be fair to him.Hewas ready to start his vacation, celebrating his twenty-fifth anniversary with his wife.IfItold him what happened, he’d be as intrigued asIwas—but he had a date with his wife tonight, andIdidn’t want to interfere with that.ForallIknew, the blonde woman was pulling a prank to mess with the librarians.Peopledid the weirdest things to get their kicks.Wasn’tthat the way with online trolls who tried to make themselves feel more important by being unnecessarily cruel to others?
Icould take a look at the book on my own, and ifIfound anything interesting,I’dshare the details withRobertafter he returned from his vacation.Untilthen,Iwas in charge of the library, which was housed in a gothic style building on the edge of a small, private university campus.
“Goon ahead,Robert.Ihave a few more things to take care of,”Ireplied.
Hefurrowed his brows. “Itcan’t wait until the morning?”
“Youknow me.”Itipped my head and smiled.Oneof the thingsIcouldn’t handle was procrastination.Theurge to get the thing done would gnaw at me, andIwouldn’t be able to rest untilItook care of it.Oh, howIenvied people who could let things go.Notme.Ihad bonded with anxiety like pages bound to a book, andIcouldn’t seem to shake it.
“Ah, right.Well,Ihave to run.MarieandIhave a reservation for dinner.Ibetter not be late—orI’llbe hearing it for the next twenty-five years!”Hechuckled.
“Happyanniversary,”Iwished him again. “Andplease tellMarieIsaid so as well.”
“Willdo.”Henodded. “Don’twork too late,” he admonished with a wag of his index finger.
“Iwon’t,Ipromise.”Heknew of my tendency to stay here after hours.Itwasn’t always work.Havingthis grand library with all these amazing books and exquisite art to myself for an hour or so was bliss—so much nicer than my tiny apartment.
Thewoman who owned this library,AdelaideLebonne, had died beforeIhad the chance to meet her.Adelaidewas a legend in both the arts community and literary circles for creating an oasis on the outskirts ofMontrealthat housed both with incredibly valuable collections.She’damassed this incredible collection and had specific guidelines for how it was to be handled after her death, the details of which were a mystery to most of us who worked here.Shemust have been quite a character.Notonly did her collection contain antiquarian and contemporary books but also significant artworks that adorned the library, from impressive paintings in gold-filigree frames to marble sculptures.
