The Magic of Stories

4 - The source of magic

These were good news, but still. "You're sure no one has been hurt so far?"

She nodded and swirled her cup. "Also, when many people at the same time think about a character, the chances are greater the magic works. Like with the butterfly, or with Dobby."

"This lowers the probability of something dark slipping in, I guess."

"I'm tempted to say yes, as I have never witnessed the manifestation of anything menacing. Perhaps except for Luca. The young man is pleasant enough, but I don't know where he came from or what story he belongs to, and that bothers me. I searched for his origin in vain. If you find out more about him, please let me know." She downed her tea. "But we should get back to work."

With another sigh, I arched my brows to give her my best puppy eyes. "One last question, please?"

She laughed. "Go ahead."

"Why here? In the library, I mean. I've been reading all my life, but I have never seen a butterfly appear before."

She scratched her neck. "That's a good question, and I don't know the answer. Something in this place seems to be conducive to the phenomenon. Perhaps it's the collection of all these stories, or something in the building. Who knows?"

While she explained my future duties at length, my mind drifted, and I couldn't help wondering if perhaps it wasn't the building but a person channeling the magic? A specific person with an unlimited compassion for this library and a personality full of love? But I kept my suspicions to myself.

After lunch, I prepared the children's corner for the Wednesday afternoon reading hour, placed the sitting cubes in a semicircle and distributed drawing utensils onto the low tables. In the meantime, Marjorie rearranged the children's drawings on the white board behind the sofa to make room for new ones.

"We let our young guests draw something from the story and pin up the pictures afterwards, if they don't want to take them home. I think it gives the place a friendly touch, and I always find it fascinating what kids see as the core of a story." She placed the pictures she had removed in a folder, closed it, and handed me a book. "I think you should read to our little friends today, so you get used to it."

I tried to talk her out of it, but despite my wish to see her working the magic once more, she insisted and didn't let me off the hook. So I ended up reading from Charlotte's Web to a mixed group of kids, a few young ones accompanied by older siblings or their parents.

To my relief, I didn't stumble over too many words, and while some played with the crayons, most seemed engrossed in my performance. When I finished, Marjorie pressed my shoulder and whispered a "well done" into my ear.

I had been too busy reading to check if the piglet Wilbur or Charlotte the spider appeared to my audience, but I doubted it. At least I hadn't made a fool of myself.

The second part of the afternoon, I was supposed to supervise the children, help them find books, and sharpen the coloured pencils if necessary. As I walked from table to table, I realised quite a few kids had drawn piglets and spiders. A fuzzy warmth wrapped me like a blanket of appreciation.

One of the older boys sat alone, absorbed in his drawing and oblivious to the surrounding room. Over his shoulder, I glanced at his work and couldn't help but wonder.

"This is pretty. Is it a spaceship?"

He looked up, his grey eyes reminding me of someone, but I couldn't place it. "Yes, it's called the Strawberry Mollusk."

"Hm, this is an interesting name. I've never heard of that one, but I like the colour. I bet pink spaceships are on the rare side."

He shook his head, laughing. "No, this is the only one. My sister told me all about it. Here in the nose is the cargo hold, and this is the gravity ring, see? It's always turning so you don't float around in the ship while you want to eat something or brush your teeth."

Artificial gravity—the boy's sister must be a true science fiction geek. "And who is that looking out of the window?"

He looked at me as if I had lost my marbles. "That's Wilbur and Charlotte, of course, and their alien friend who saved them and brings them to their planet. Because the farmer wanted to slaughter Wilbur."

I had to admit this was a nice twist to the story and was impressed by the boy's vivid imagination. "When you have finished the drawing, will you allow me to pin it up on our board over there?"

His gaze followed my pointing finger, and he shrugged. "But it's not like the other pictures."

"True, but I like it—and how the alien saves Wilbur."

He contemplated me with a frown before he nodded. "I guess it's fine."

Steps clicking on the floorboards announced Conny. When I turned around, she smiled, but not at me. "Hey, Danny. I see you befriended Lynn."

The boy jumped up to hug her. So, this was Amber's little brother, Conny's son. No wonder he had a knack for spaceships. Probably he would draw the Heart of Gold next week, or Marvin the paranoid robot.

"Mum, she read to us from the book with the spider and the pig, but she also knows about spaceships."

Conny raised a brow. "Well, I'm glad you finally found an expert. Is it alright if I abduct Lynn for a moment? We have some organisational stuff to discuss with Marjorie and want to give her a proper goodbye. But your sister should arrive in half an hour, and you can call me anytime if something is amiss."

Danny shrugged. "Don't worry, Mum, I'm sure Cat will drop by soon."

I longed to hear more, but followed Conny back to the front desk. She narrowed her eyes and pinched her nose. "The boy has me worried with his world full of imaginary friends."

"How old is he?"

"Turning nine in two weeks. Old enough to stop believing in talking cats and sparkly dragons, I reckon."

But also young enough to believe in alien visitors saving pigs from being slaughtered, it seemed. I couldn't help but find him adorable. "I'm aware this isn't my business, but I think at his age, you shouldn't let yourself get stressed about his imagination. He seems like a clever and nice kid to me, and most important of all, his heart is in the right spot."

Conny's shoulders sagged. "Thanks, I guess you're right. It's just that sometimes, I fear it's my fault that he is so withdrawn and a dreamer. I don't spend enough time with him, and he lost his touch with reality when his father died."

I glanced at Danny over my shoulder, wondering if he felt the same. Oblivious of our talk, he had his head bowed over his drawing again. Beside him on the table sat the blue tabby, grinning and giving me a mischievous wink from emerald eyes.