sera carter and the lost library

prologue.

THIS WAS THE FIFTH DOOR HE KNOCKED ON, and the only one who didn't slam the door when they saw who he was. Light flooded through the doorway, making a stark contrast to the velvet blanket that covered the sky. He had to cover his face to not be blinded. He hated the light. That's why he agreed to come at midnight when the only light came from the pale white moon. Through the cracks of his fingers, he saw a woman watching him closely. Her lips were turned down; her eyebrows seemed permanently furrowed together. Her eyes ran down him, taking in every detail. He shifted on his feet, shoving his hands deep within his disheveled coat. Without a word, she opened the door wider and ushered him inside. As soon as he was in the house, she shut the door and twisted a series of locks.

"Ma'am, I'm—" he said.

"I know who you are, Larry Marshall," she said. "I'm Dottie Knight. They told me you were coming, but I didn't think you'd be so late."

"I got lost, ma'am. All the houses look the same."

She raised a brow, looking unimpressed.

"I've never been good with directions, and half of it was indecipherable, then I lost the paper, and I couldn't—"

"Enough," she said. He shrunk back as her eyes turned cold. Then she smiled. "You look like you need some rest, Mr. Marshall. Follow me please."

She led him to the parlor room. The room was clean for the most part. He couldn't see a speck of dust anywhere. The only thing that remained out of place was a coat strewn across a loveseat. But as perfect as it was, it felt staged. They were on Broadway and Dottie Knight was the stage manager, conductor, and star of the show. She made it her mission to have everything the way she wanted it.

He looked around, trying to decide where he should sit before sinking in a plush armchair. His feet ached, the pain pulsating as he took the weight off them for the first time in ages. Across the room, Dottie remained standing, her face unreadable. She never took her eyes off him, and he squirmed under her gaze. It was no wonder she was in charge. She could make grown men go run to their mothers with tears streaking down their faces. He didn't understand how someone so physically unimposing could elicit such a reaction, but he knew that it was better for everyone to stay off her bad side.

"Do you have it?" she asked.

Larry froze. For a moment, he had nearly forgotten why he'd come. But, as he was reminded of his assignment, he scrambled to reach into his coat pocket. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dottie's nose wrinkle. His face grew warm as it dawned on him that he stuck out like a sore thumb in her clean, shiny home. While he looked like he'd just gone dumpster diving, she looked like she had just left a fancy dinner. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun, and there wasn't a single wrinkle in her clothing. He pulled out a small notebook that looked as filthy as his coat before extending it towards Dottie. She made no effort to take it, so he slowly retracted his arm.

"Just put it on the table," she said. His face became even warmer as he placed the notebook on the side table. "Have you read it?"

"There's not much that I could read, ma'am," he admitted. "Most of it's in some other

language."

She nodded, her lips pursed. "I see. What you managed to read—could you tell me about that?"


"It sounded like a bunch of nonsense, ma'am. Just the ramblings of a madman," he said. "He, or she, kept going on and on about the government lying to us. Said that politicians only look out for themselves and that, if we were wise, we'd kill 'em all."

"That doesn't sound mad at all," Dottie said. She walked across the room and picked up the notebook. She flipped through the pages, stopping on a few before shutting the book again. "Whoever wrote this must've known an awful lot."