It All Started With A Book

Chapter 9: A Different Kind of Shadow

Exhaustion gnawed at my bones. The night's adventure, the unnerving encounter with the guardian, and the gnawing uncertainty about its intentions left me yearning for sleep. But as I drifted to slumber, a nagging worry pricked at the back of my mind.

Alice.

My phone had remained stubbornly silent the entire day. Usually, a text exchange peppered with book talks and silly observations would erupt after my late-night escapades with Ethan. Today, there was nothing. My stomach twisted with a growing sense of dread.

Alice wasn't just the friendly librarian anymore; she was my confidante, my anchor in the increasingly bizarre world I found myself entangled in. She had listened patiently to my rambling accounts of cryptic visions and whispered prophecies, offering a cup of tea and a gentle smile even when my revelations seemed teetering on the edge of insanity.

Slipping out of bed, I padded downstairs and found my parents engrossed in their usual evening routine of poring over spreadsheets and financial reports.

"Going to check on Mrs. Johnson?" my mom inquired, her brow furrowed in concern.

Miss Johnson was an old family friend who had recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer's.

It wasn't unusual for me to visit Alice after school, especially if I had a particularly perplexing passage in the Book of Exile that needed deciphering.

I mumbled an affirmative, not trusting myself to speak further. The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. My mom, bless her obliviousness, simply smiled and reminded me to be back before dinner.

The walk to the library was shrouded in a sense of foreboding. The usually bustling town square felt eerily quiet, the setting sun casting long shadows across the cobblestones.

Reaching the library doors, I pushed them open with a creak. The familiar scent of old paper and leather mingled with an unfamiliar cloying sweetness, a smell that sent shivers down my spine.

The library was deserted. A single lamp cast a circle of golden light on the librarian's desk, illuminating a pile of neatly arranged papers. On top rested a single crumpled tissue, a tell-tale stain blooming on its surface. A wave of nausea washed over me.

Panic clawed at my throat. I called out for Alice, but the only response was the hollow echo of my own voice bouncing off the dusty shelves. Hurriedly, I scanned the library, a growing sense of dread building with each empty aisle. Finally, I found her.

Alice lay crumpled in a chair at the back of the library, a single book clutched loosely in her hand. Its title, "Understanding Chemotherapy," sent another jolt of fear through me. Kneeling beside her, I gently nudged her shoulder.

"Alice?" I whispered, my voice cracking.

She stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttering open. A grimace of pain crossed her face, a stark contrast to her usual warm smile.

"Amber?" she croaked, her voice raspy and weak. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," I blurted out, tears stinging my eyes. "You weren't feeling well, and I..."

A pained cough interrupted me. Alice dabbed at her mouth with the crumpled tissue, her hand trembling slightly.

"Just a bad day, sweetheart," she rasped, forcing a smile. It didn't reach her eyes. The book on chemotherapy lay open on the floor beside her, a bookmark marking a page titled "Side Effects."

The truth slammed into me like a physical blow. Cancer. Alice, my rock, my confidante, was battling something far more terrifying than any mythical creature hidden in a book.

Shame washed over me. Here I was, consumed by saving a world I barely understood, while the person who had always been my anchor was facing a fight far more personal and immediate, a fight she had been silently waging alone.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I cried, the words tumbling out in a rush. "We could have fought it together, like we fight everything else."

Alice offered a watery smile. "Fighting mythical creatures is one thing," she rasped. "This... this is different. But you being here, knowing... it makes it a little easier to face."

We sat in silence for a while, holding onto each other, sharing the weight of the secret that had been tearing Alice apart. The battle for Aethel seemed distant now, the urgency replaced by a fierce protectiveness for the best friend who had always had my back.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed, shattering the quiet moment. It was a message from Ethan, a cryptic symbol I didn't recognize followed by a single urgent word:

Ethan: Meet me. Library. Now.

My heart hammered in my chest. Between the pressing message and Alice's revelation, I felt torn in two. Glancing at my friend, I frowned.

"Alice," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion, I need to go somewhere for a bit. But I promise, I'll be back as soon as I can. We'll face this together, okay?"

Alice nodded weakly, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. Despite the pain etched on her face, a faint smile played on her lips. "Go," she murmured. "I'll be here. There's a kettle on if you need a cup of tea when you get back."

With a heavy heart, I raced out of the library, the weight of two burdens pressing down on me. Reaching the front side, I found Ethan pacing anxiously near the back shelves.

"What is it?" I demanded, the urgency in his eyes mirroring my own.

"The guardian," he stated, his voice low and serious. "It responded. It wants us to meet with... someone."

He handed me a worn scroll, unfurling it to reveal faded writing and intricate glyphs. It pulsed with a faint magical energy, the same energy I had experienced during the ritual.

"It calls this person the Weaver," Ethan continued. "Apparently, they can help us understand the crystal and its purpose. But..."

He hesitated, his brow furrowed in concern. "The Weaver resides in a hidden realm, a place accessible only through a special portal. It's... risky."

My mind churned, torn between the urgent message from the guardian and the responsibility I felt towards Alice. "Can it wait?" I asked, the words catching in my throat.

Ethan understood my unspoken worry. "Maybe," he conceded, his gaze softening. "But the guardian seems impatient. This fight for Aethel... it might be reaching a critical point."

I looked back at the library, a silent promise hanging in the air.

Taking a deep breath, I made a decision. "We go," I declared, my voice firm despite the turmoil within. "We find this Weaver and learn what we can. But after that, I need to be here for Alice. She..."

My voice cracked, and I swallowed back the lump in my throat. Ethan placed a hand on my shoulder, his touch a source of silent support.

"I understand," he said gently. "We'll find a way. We always do."