Ivory Angels

Chapter One- Game One

 I finish dusting the final book on the shelf. Part of my job is making sure the books are kept in pristine condition. For me, it's quite easy. I'm able to control and make wind, so dusting is as easy and aiming my hands at and then away from the books. I'm glad I learned the power before taking this job. If I hadn't, my wrists would hate me for using feather dusters all the time.

It's a little odd that the books need to be dusted so often. The library is dead. While that would mean dust settles more, no one is checking the books out, so there's no demand for clean books like there would be back in my hometown. I get around one person every two days. But this library belongs to my boss, and this is her home. So I'm staying here until I get another job. I don't mind. At least it's impossible to get bored. I mean, how could I? I have thousands of worlds at my fingertips. I can get lost in them for hours at a time. Dashing highwaymen, extraterrestrial life, societies of elves and orcs and dwarves. Yes, it is indeed lovely. In fact, I'm just about ready to start a new book.

I run my hands along the spines of the books when I come to a stop at a particularly thick number. The title branded into the spine reads 'A Kingdom of Black and White.' I open the cover to look at the note tag that will explain the plot. It's inspired by chess, I think. It's about a kingdom divided by their magic. One half uses dark magic, the other light. It's a centuries-long battle for the conquering of the territory. Seems interesting enough. I tuck the book under my arm and carry it to the desk. I'm checking it out for myself when something catches my eye. I look over to it and jump out of my skin.

A young man, around nineteen or twenty, is sitting at one of the chess tables. Although, my estimate could be wrong. It's hard to tell how old he is. For one, his face keeps shifting in and out of focus. In fact, his whole body does. At first, I think something's wrong with my glasses. But then I realize, it's not that he's blurring or my eyesight has been impaired further. No, he's actually fading out of my vision. By himself. He goes from nearly solid to a flesh-colored mist. He has this desaturated quality to him like he's covered in white tulle. He's staring at the chessboard, seemingly very perplexed and lost in thought. I shake my head, thinking I'm going crazy. But it seems like he's actually there. Maybe it's his magic ability? Invisibility, but he can't control it most of the time?

I clear my throat and he looks up at me. "Hello, sir," I say tentatively. "Is there anything I can help you with? A rulebook, perhaps?" The man laughs at me, his white teeth reflecting light as if they're diamonds. "Do I really look that old to you?" He asks. "I mean, I know I've been dead for a hundred years, but I don't think I aged in that time. Did I?" I'm too stunned to respond to his questions. Dead? He's dead? I'm- I'm staring at a dead person? The notion is, quite frankly, horrifying. I swallow back the nerves. "I- uh- no. You look fine, for someone who's..." I trail off. I find it rude to assume someone's age, man, woman, or anyone in between. He smiles at me again. "One hundred and eighteen, if you count how long I've been dead," I nod slowly. So he's my age. I adjust my collar nervously and go back to my question. "Well, s- Is there anything I can help you with?" I repeat. "Rulebook, candles, maybe a book to read?" He shakes his head. "I've been playing chess for over eleven decades. I know how to play," He taps his chin. "You know what I could use? A partner. Come, play a game with me,"

I frown. Sure, I've slacked on the job before. But that's always attentive slacking. Sweeping somewhere already clean, or reading at the front desk when I should be sorting returns, or trying to find how to sneak to the indoor bakery when it's not my lunch break. Harmless things, really. But this? Actively playing chess, diverting my attention to something else? It feels wrong. "Come on," The young man presses. "Who's going to hurt you? Mrs. Winstrobe? Surely she can't get out of bed without help anymore, let alone hurt you," "How do you know Mrs. Winstrobe?" I ask him. "She was my employer," He explains. "She learned about life magic, I think. Made her live a really long time. Come, play with me, play with me,"