The Library of Lost Things

Prologue: The Library of Lost Things

"No running on the stairs, Elias!" he mocked his grandfather's voice, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

He came to a stop at the foot of the great staircase, its mahogany glowing dimly in the moonlight.

"Careful, Elias," he said as he climbs the stairs, speaking more quietly now, his tone just the same as his grandfather's. "Wouldn't want you to tumble down now."

He gained the landing, the hall opening out before him and bordered on one side by a somber procession of ancestors staring down from disapproving eyes.

He could feel their eyes upon his face, weighted with condemnation and requirement. "Y'all don't pay no mind to them," he grumbled, remembering the dismissive wave of his grandfather's hand. "They're just mad 'cause they didn't get to have none either."

"The workshop of magic," he stammered, his heart racing with anticipation.

His hand reached out towards the doorknob, and he felt it chilly to his touch. He wanted to turn back at this point, with a wave of trepidation passing over him.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. He had come this far; he wouldn't turn back now.

He pushed the door outward, and it creaked under his weight in protest. The attic was dark, and the moonlight filtering through grimy windows barely lightened up the crowded room. There was a thick scent of dust: old wood and forgotten memories.

Elias stepped inside, heart pounding. "Just like he left it," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat.

With a half-afraid, half-hopeful heart, he took one cautious step into the room, his hand extended to touch once again the familiar objects that cluttered shelf upon shelf, the tools, gadgets, inventions that filled the attic.

He felt a connection; a sense of belonging-a reminder of the man, who had shaped his life, the man who understood him, the man who believed in him. 

He stumbled over a loose floorboard and cursed under his breath.

Regaining his balance, he turned to a large door he hadn't noticed, which was carved with an intricate design-a door tucked away in one corner and almost obscured by a towering stack of dusty canvases.

Curious, Elias stepped closer, his heels clicking on the cavernous space. He ran his fingers over the complicated carvings, tracing the whirling patterns that seemed to twist and shift beneath his touch.

In his hand, the brass handle lay cold, its metal nipping at his skin. The door creaked noisily-it could have been heard throughout the entire house, so it seemed-as it swung inward to disclose a sight that arrested Elias's breath in his throat.

The room beyond the door wasn't quite as Elias had expected. It wasn't some other rare, dust-laden attic room stuffed with cast-off belongings.

Actually, it was a library, a grand, imposing library that seemed to go on and on. Towering bookcases lined the walls, their shelves spilling over with ancient volumes bound in leather and velvet.

The air hummed with quiet energy, impressions of ancient knowledge, secrets. A single shaft of light pierced through the high arched window, illuminating motes of dust that were dancing in the air. The smell of old paper and leather invaded his nostrils-

a smell that comforted him,

speaking of hours upon hours lost within stories. Elias stepped inside, his footsteps deadened by a thick, crimson carpet seeming to absorb all sound.

He ran his hand along the spines of the books, the title some sort of familiar utterly

"Sir? Were you reading something?."

On the very other side of it, a figure stirred. A girl, no older than himself, sat at a big oak table, her head lowered in a book. Her hair cascaded down, shining like silver that seemed to defy gravity, in rivulets of gold streaming gently through the window. She looked up as Elias approached, startlingly violet with an intensity,

"Who is it?" Elias whispered, catching the hushed tone.

The girl cocked her head to one side, anticipation favoring over alarm in her expression. "I can ask you the same question," she returned-was it with a laugh?-her voice as if some far-off chimes sang. "This is my library."

Elias's face clouded over. "Your library? But it is my grandfather's house."

The girl smiled-a slow curve of her lips. "Perhaps," she said, and her tone held a hint of amusement. "But this library belongs to those who find it."

She snapped the book shut, and the cover came into view, with its strange symbols etched into it, none of which Elias could read. "I am Seraphina," she said, extending a long, slender hand toward him. Her skin was cool and smooth-much like polished marble.

Elias wavered, a sense of comfort yet again washing over him.

This girl, this Seraphina-she was a lot of things he had never seen before. There was an almost extraterrestrial quality to her, the feeling of mysteries whirling around her that interested and wholly unnerved him.

He placed his hand in hers. His rigid fingers met with her smooth hands. A surge of energy passed between them, a spark that lit a strange warmth in him. "Elias", he said in a barely audible voice. Seraphina's smile spread wide, and a hint of mayhem played in her eyes.

"Welcome, Elias," she whispered, voice like silk. "To the Library of Lost Things."