Page 10 of The Librarian of Souls
“Tea?” I ask, closing the door firmly. I watch the subtle movements he makes as I work behind him. Arlo swallows and nods.
The process of making tea takes no time at all. The fragrant Darjeeling leaves float in their strainer for a few moments before I place it aside and pour the steaming liquid into cups that already have their splash of milk. I set the sugar pot on the tray and arrange some digestives onto a plate as well. Arlo is quiet the whole time, barely breathing as if that will cover up the anxious tart flavour he is adding to the room.
I set the tray down over the newspaper and take my seat. For some time, I stare at him while he simply stares at the tray. His clothes are very well worn, the jeans dirty and his threadbare flannel shirt is stained in multiple places. He has clearly been ‘roughing it’ before coming to Gwenmore. The tart scent of his anxiety is tinged with that rotting taste again. The show must go on, as they say.
Tea in one hand and my pen in the other, poised above a new archival manila file folder, I speak again.
“Arlo O’Shea. Is that your full name?”
“Arlo Christopher Matthew O’Shea,” he responds quickly, like he has practised saying his full name.
“Pronouns?”
“What do you mean?” He looks up at me as he asks the questions, and I squint for a moment.
“For example, I use the pronouns He and They to refer to my gender,” I explain cautiously. There is still his fear trying to overtake my senses, but no malice.
“Oh, oh, I catch your meaning, Mr. Ravenscroft.” He takes a digestive off the plate and then I scent it. Like a moulded cheese, his embarrassment coats my tongue just as I take a sip of my own tea. I hold in my grimace. “I, well, I was born a boy, though I guess now I’m an It.”
I don’t hold back on my expression then, utter bewilderment running through me, trying to determine what exactly that means and how exactly to handle this now very delicate situation. My intentions were not to throw open the doors to the great spectrum of gender identity, but here I am. Arlo stuffs the biscuit into his mouth as well as if that will cover up what he’s said.
“I will mark He/It in your file, but I am going to recommend some books you check out before we leave today. If you ever feel like these no longer fit you or you would simply like to update them, please let me know and I will do so.” I take a sip of my tea, ready to move on with this interview. “Date of birth?”
“November 19th, 1929.”
“And when did you become a ghoul?”
“May 1960,” he answers. “I don’t know the exact date.”
“Can you give me a brief summary of what occurred?”
“It really ain’t polite.”
“Tell me anyway,” I say, observing the way he fidgets. His fingers tremble around the hot cup of tea and his knee starts to jump. He is ashamed of what he has done and what he did to survive.
“I was a miner, and there was a cave-in. A few of the other guys and I were trapped for days. To stay alive, we ate somebody.” Arlo’s words are quiet, his emotions an overpowering scent that makes me want to open the door for fresh air.
“Survival is what we are about, Arlo, no shame in that.” I am surprised to find myself trying to comfort this creature, especially when he poses a potential threat to my darling, who could easily be his next meal if she doesn’t return to me soon. Or any monster’s meal, for that matter. I clear my throat as my sands threaten to expose themselves. To show that I am a threat despite my manners. “Now, I am going to ask some more personal questions. My only request is honesty.”
The ghoul and I chat for another hour, and my file on one Arlo C. M. O’Shea becomes full knowledge. His unwanted immortal life has been of penance and hunger. He is self-aware enough to realise when his hunger is getting too strong, yet so consumed by the guilt he will let himself suffer, creating his own hell since he seemingly cannot send himself there. After the tea has long since been finished and I have whisked away into the small staff kitchen to clean and replace back amongst its set, Arlo is almost relaxed.
I give him a short tour of the library. Pointing out community resources, the tech stations, and lavatories before taking him back to the front desk so he can obtain his library card. While one of the random humans on staff manages that, I head through the new metallic shelves to collect the book on gender identity I want Arlo to read. It was written by a harpy who I had the pleasure of hosting during their book tour, truly a fascinating creature. But this book is an excellent aperitif for Arlo and his journey of self.
Book in hand, I see that he is still getting his photo taken, so I turn back towards my office to collect my belongings for tonight’s meeting. We might as well walk there together at this rate. I pick up my satchel, make sure the inkwell in my pen is full, and lock my office door. There is hesitation to slide my keys into my bag. I will attend the meeting, even though there is very little choice on the matter. Except what if she comes to the library and I am not here?
I cannot miss my darling.
“Fuck, finally, another human being.”
The voice is too loud for the library and too annoying for me. The person marching towards me is older for a human, dressed in some casual workwear that came from a department store. He is all and all average at best.
“Jesus, you need to talk to your staff. Two hours ago, I tried to get some skinny punk who was loitering back here to help me, and he ran away from me.”
Arlo.“With an attitude like this, I would not wish to speak to you either,” I say, derision slipping through my tone. “What book are you looking for?”
“I’m doing research on city history because a buddy of mine found this thing and…”
Oh. He is one of those people. There is a special breed of humans, usually older men like this one, obsessed with history and conspiracy theories. The theories are usually right, but telling the humans that would reveal the darker side of the world to them that they aren’t ready for. Gwenmore, in particular, being a city built as a haven for all monsters, is rife with folklore and carefully hidden away secrets.
