Golden Ghouls (A Greek Ghouls Mystery Book 4) by Alex A. King

Author:Alex A. King [King, Alex A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-22T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Is it breaking and entering if you’re only entering and not breaking? I worked through the argument in my head as I rode to the library. Look at me, pretending to be a Greek philosopher.

The library wasn’t locked. It never is. There’s no return slot. Instead, if you want to return a book after hours, you can waltz right in and leave it on the counter.

I slipped inside and closed the door behind me.

In the dark, the library was a different creature. Most things are when you remove the spotlight. Instead of welcoming, with the strange, calm current mass quantities of books tend to emit, tonight the library seemed to vibrate with an inaudible warning. There was knowledge here, but to access it you better have your library card ready, or else. And the book gods help you if you didn’t return your reading material on time.

Ghost librarians roamed between the stacks, judgmental and stern, even in death. Popi was a new, bright flavor of librarian. These women were old school. Make noise at your peril, and never enter the building with food or liquids.

I cleared my throat. Quietly. Like meerkats, their heads rose and swiveled in my direction.

“I’m looking for information,” I said in a low, respectful voice. I wanted their help, not their ire. I dangled the bait. “Could you please help me?”

They couldn’t resist.

Kyria Chrysanthi floated forward. In death the library’s previous librarian still dressed for the job she’d committed to in life. Severe gray pencil skirt that terminated mid calf. High-buttoned blouse. Sweater vest. Her hair was caught up in the same strict bun she wore every day of her life, without a single escapee strand.

“Come back when the library is open,” one of the other librarians said. They cackled. Kyria Chrysanthi snapped her judgmental gaze to them. The cackling quit.

“Aliki Callas,” she said. “I remember you. No late books. No books harmed while they were in your care. I will help you.”

Excited chatter broke out.

“Wait—she can see us?”

“She can see us!”

“Shh!” Kyria Chrysanthi pointed to the sign on the wall, the one with all the library rules. “Being dead is no excuse for being loud.”

“I can see you,” I admitted, “and I need your help. Earlier when I was here, you acted as if you knew something about my grandmother’s stolen body.”

Kyria Chrysanthi made a face. “The new librarian is young and inexperienced. She is so busy with new programs at the library, programs that have nothing to do with books, that she has forgotten what she is.”

“A librarian?” I said.

“A librarian. Librarians know things, and what they do not know they know how to find. They keep order. They help when it is required. And to do so they must also be in constant pursuit of new knowledge … and old.”

“Am I correct in assuming you possess that old knowledge?”

“Of course! Merope’s librarians have always kept a diary of sorts. A logbook. In it we record all the island’s secrets as we uncover them, in hopes that they might one day be useful to someone.

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