Miradey

What Wizards Do For Love

"There was only the one book," said Ben.

"Others have dozens," Bookman Red said matter-of-factly.

"Is having only one bad?"

"I'd be more concerned about having none, sir," replied Red. "Answering your question, good or bad, it is impossible to say. Some say having one means a person is ill-suited for match. Others say that the appearance of single book is the revelation of a perfect match. A fated suit."

A match of fate. Ben felt a stirring at the promise in Bookman Red's words.

"If all your desires are met for the moment, please excuse me."

Ben sighed as Bookman Red, with a respectful bow, went about his duties. This was private after all. He opened the book.

He saw no words but wondrously, densely detailed drawings. The image was a young girl clothed in a ratty sack standing in a moonlit cavern. The carcass of a long-dead dragon lay at her bare feet, its skeleton protruding with sharp, metal spines. She held aloft in a bleeding hand one of those spikes and it was like a long, glinting needle, flat as a blade and nearly the length of Ben's arm. A frown pinched his brow and he leaned down to examine the frames of the drawing on this page. It was entirely composed of small characters. "Extraordinary," Ben murmured. The look and feel of them was familiar and he suddenly knew why. Then felt frustrated and a little angry again. They were, again, of specific Afric origin. Knowledge lost to the tramplings of time and the New World, its order, and its chains. In no way was he fluent or capable of easy reading but he knew bits and pieces of the language. Ben didn't know anyone who could read it. Their knowledge of themselves was broken, much of it lost or smothered from history.

Well this was one stolen-lost thing he wouldn't let slip into history's forgotten annals. Love was at stake here. True love. A perfect match. I'm bloody well not going sit in the library trying to decipher it, Ben thought. Closing the book, he glanced about surreptitiously then slipped the cupids ledger under his robes. Holding it securely clamped with his right arm, he rose and headed for the atrium. Very nearly colliding with Baber and injuring himself on the veritable giant. Dislodged after bumping Ben's head, the corner of a singed, dogeared yellow book, unmistakably a cupids ledger, popped out of Baber's greatcoat.

The spine of his book read Bronwyn Westfield.

"Westfield?!" Ben burst out in a loud whisper. The name was only highly held among the most notorious names in the entire wizarding village. The Westfields, Eastfields, Northfields, and Southfields were mercenaries of magic who allied, usually loyally, with whatever House they chose but refused to abide by any laws of the Houses that contradicted their sense of loyalty. Committing acts and fulfilling quests no one on either side would dare do in order to further the interests and agendas of their House.

Shushing him silently, a blunt finger to his lips, Baber gazed moved left to right as if checking the corners before he said, "You taking yours too?"

Ben nodded, containing his guilt admirably and setting aside the matter of the title of Baber's book for the moment.

"Mind your book and I'll mind mine," Baber told him echoing something of Bookman Red's earlier sentiments to Bookman Green.

They both headed as inconspicuously as possible into the atrium. An odd phenomenon, seeing such a large wizard simply vanish, but the moment Bookman Green appeared at the library's archway behind them, Baber was gone.

That sort of magic had always made Ben a little queasy so in a moment's hesitation of considering it, his feet continued carried him forward across the lobby. The door was in sight. Almost there... He quickened his pace casually, as if merely attempting to return timely and expeditiously to his desk after lunch hour. Suddenly, Ben flew backwards as though the book in his hands had given an almighty jerk to return to its home on the shelf. Of course he didn't relinquish his hold on the book, so Ben didn't make it to the door bearing his "borrowed" treasure nor did the book return to its shelf. Book still in his clutches, they both landed halfway across the atrium, halting after a long, undignified, squealing slide on the squeaky clean floor. The ledger tugged hard in his grasp but a winded Ben held fast.

"Those books cannot be removed from the premises," said Bookman Green. He stood in the archway of the main library just as before, finally looking at him though his expression was even more openly displeased than before.

"You didn't stop my companion," groaned Ben, turning over and righting himself slowly. Marble floors could be so terribly hard when a wizard got slammed into them by a jinx.

"He was very quick for one his size. In any event, an infraction in the library can only be addressed after it has occurred."

"It's mine," argued Ben. "You can't stop me from taking something meant to be mine."

"All the same. It is property of this establishment."

Ben stood, despite his aches and pains and straightened his robes.

"I am not leaving without it."

With that he took a deep breath, bracing himself for his least favorite part of magical transportation, and promptly vanished from the library.

Bookman Red appeared in the library atrium a second later, gaze trained beyond the glass doors.

"Are you seriously letting him leave with that book?" Green said irritably with a dose of indignation. "And that brute?"

"Love makes wizards do crazy things," said Red unconcerned with his brother's mood. "In any event, I sent a report while he was getting up off the floor. The Shadows are coming. They will retrieve the book."

"Good."