Spellbook of Memory

Spellbook of Memory

Alexandra A. Cheshire

Published by Howling Wolf Books at Smashwords

Copyright 2020 Alexandra A. Cheshire

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All characters, events and places in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people or places past or present is strictly coincidental.

Table of Contents

The Reset Spell

The Memory Spells

The End of All Spells

The End of the Avatars

The Last Will and Testament of Cora Daniels

About Alexandra A. Cheshire

Other Works

In memory of Mr Jeffy

I wish you had known how much you would be missed

The Reset Spell

One

They warned me the library is a strange place. Well, this library specifically. One rumour says it's built on some kind of magical fault lines. Another says it was built over the tombs of long dead royalty. Yet another says it's plain old haunted.

But I needed a set number of hours of work experience. And the library was the most appealing option. Yeah, I know they haven't been able to keep staff. And sure, there are rumours about it being closed for good. And yes, weird occurrences get reported all the time by both staff and patrons. It isn't like I was signing on permanently. I could get enough hours just by sacrificing my spring break. Which really isn't much of a sacrifice at all. Not for me. Not when I would spend most of the time at a library somewhere anyway.

The work keeps me busy. They have me covering for the lack of other bottom level library employees. I get all the menial tasks and then some. It frees up the professional librarians to do whatever it is professional librarians do and keeps me running from the time I step through the doors in the morning until the time the janitor lets me out sometime during the late evening. I get the books and other materials checked in and then shelve them properly. I run errands of all descriptions. I take and pass on messages. I set up for various programs and events and then help clean up afterwards.

All this to say, it really wasn't a surprise to one day be shelving books in the third floor reference section of non-circulating materials, and discover a book glowing a shelf over. I ignored it and kept shelving books. I knew I had about half an hour and then I would be needed to set up for preschool story time. The book glowed brighter and brighter, then started vibrating. And then it vibrated right off the shelf. I picked it up, put it back where it belonged, and returned to shelving the rest of the books. But it didn't stop glowing or vibrating, only now it was knocking the books around it off. I finished shelving as many as I could, realized I was going to have to run all the way down to the main floor children's story corner, and made a mental note to file a report with someone later.

Preschool story time is a whirlwind activity from the beginning of set up until the last tired, cranky tot is coaxed away by their frazzled parent. In the commotion, I completely forgot about the glowing, vibrating book up on the third floor.

Especially since, once story time was cleaned up, I was needed to set up for some charity event taking place in the large conference room that evening. And then I had novels to shelve in the mystery section of the circulating collection. And then I had the bins of returned materials to check in, sort, and shelve. The janitor let me out especially late and I stumbled home to collapse into bed.

Those who know me work hard to maintain the illusion that I have a legal guardian actively working to look after me and what little I inherited from my workaholic absentee father, after he keeled over from a massive coronary event. No one ever knew who my mother was and my father discouraged any and all questions on the subject. His will named some stranger my guardian and trustee, but no one ever figured out who or where said person was. The executor of the will conspired with what few friends my father had to allow me to remain in the only home I had ever known, continue my schooling, and generally survive. And everyone pretends not to know I live alone, mostly unsupervised except for the occasional visit from the high school vice-principal or the executor of my father's will.

I guess it would be different if I was like any other teenager at my school. If someone thought I would skip out on school or fail to eat or some other irresponsible action, they might try harder to incorporate me into another family. But I'm so used to looking after myself. My father was certainly around even less than those who check on me now. I manage my own finances. Pay my own bills, what few I have. I shop, cook, and eat. I don't miss school. I never seem to get sick, even when everyone else around me is. I find time to do my own laundry and mend my worn out clothes. I hate shopping for anything other than groceries, so the longer things last, the happier I am. I can and will mend just about anything I wear or use around the house. My idea of fun is a trip to the library to curl up in a corner and read. Or check out books to bring home to curl up and read. Needless to say, I'm not friends with any of the so called 'normal' teenagers I go to school with.

I can't wait to graduate high school. Not because I need to find a job to support myself. I can continue my current lifestyle nearly indefinitely on the money my father left. Especially combined with the little bit of extra I'm granted for being an 'orphan'... whatever that really means. I want to graduate and be done with high school so I don't have to deal with silly children who like to pretend pulling stupid stunts makes them somehow grown up. I can find work or not as I choose. I have no real desire to continue my education, despite encouragement that direction, because it would throw me right back in with the same kind of people I want away from.

I dream despite my exhaustion. I dream of glowing books... giant old tomes pulsing light and floating in circles all around me. I dream of library stacks full of glowing, vibrating books. I dream I'm frantically trying to shelve them all in their proper order. Trying to make them behave and quit glowing. Trying to finish a never ending task so I can move on to another one.

My father was not a sentimental man in any way. He didn't take photos, didn't keep photo albums, didn't order copies of my school pictures. Didn't care for mirrors. He shaved and combed his hair by a tiny vanity mirror in the bathroom off his bedroom and there wasn't another mirror anywhere in the house. I have some general idea of what I look like from chance reflections caught in mirrors at school, but I never waste time studying my own reflection. I have no idea what I looked like as a child. No visual reference to how much I've grown and changed over the years. I don't recognize myself in photos and never bothered to purchase a high school yearbook. Other than a teacher or two, there isn't anything from high school I want to be able to remember later in life.

I wear comfortable clothes... well, comfortable to me... and keep my hair brushed back in base of the neck ponytails. Comfortable flat shoes and sturdy jackets and hats. I'm teased for looking like 'a boy', but I don't care. The only boy I have time for is the older son of one of my teachers, who tutors me in science so I can maintain a passing grade.

Science is the one subject I have trouble making heads or tails of. Even math doesn't bother me so much. Something about my science classes throw me and it's the only course for which I have a tutor. And since he's half a dozen years my senior and very attached to his girlfriend, our relationship only exists in relation to whichever science text I'm currently fighting with.

Outside of school, the few people who see me regularly are so used to me being me, they never bother to comment on it. I go mostly overlooked by everyone else.

Like everyone else, I know they sometimes would put pictures of missing children on the side of the milk cartons or on posters on the shopping mall doors. I never pay much attention to those pictures. Missing children have nothing to do with me, before or after my father's death. Missing children are a problem for the police to resolve, one way or the other.

I wake up the morning after the glowing book incident, get up, get dressed, eat something, pack a lunch, and head off to the library for another full day of work. There will be clean up from the charity event and more bins of materials to empty. More books to shelve and errands to run. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to finish in time to stop by the grocery store for a few much needed items before going home.

Except I arrive to find men in stiff, stark black suits standing on either side of the main library doors. I pass between them, doing my best not to shiver under steely glares. Inside the library, more of the same men are talking to the various librarians, investigating books on the shelves, and examining the staff only areas. I do my best to ignore them as I tuck my lunch into the staff fridge and head for the conference room to see what needs to be cleaned up.

Cora, The senior librarian follows me into the conference room, closing the door to cut us off from the rest of the building, Did you notice anything odd yesterday?

I think back as I begin tidying up, When I was shelving materials in the third floor collection, before preschool story time. I meant to report it yesterday, but I guess I was too busy after.

You're too busy all the time, The librarian observes grimly, Staff issues or no, you don't need to work to exhaustion every single day you're here. In fact, I believe you already have enough hours to satisfy your school career counsellor.

I don't mind, I shrug it off and keep working, Not like I have anything better to do.

She sighs, shaking her head, What was it you meant to report?

A book started to glow and then to vibrate. It knocked itself off the shelf. When I put it back, it knocked down others. I'm sorry if I left a mess up there. I had to run to get downstairs on time.

No one else reported a mess up there, She purses her lips, I don't suppose you recall the title or author of the book.

I think back, I never opened it. It's one of those big old tomes with a real leather cover... charcoal grey, I think. I was shelving books in the metaphysical section, if that helps.

Somewhat. Her eyes go to the door and she looks reluctant to leave. I continue cleaning up until I have all the chairs neatly in place and the garbage in the bin for the janitor and have ensured nothing else is out of place. She just stands there, half watching me and half lost somewhere else completely. Only when I'm finished and go to leave the room, does she blink back to reality.

Cora, Her expression turns grim, I think I need you to take today off. Borrow a book or two and go relax... take care of anything you've been putting off in order to get your work experience hours in.

I can't help my frown, but nod, Okay.

She leads the way out of the conference room. I slip into the staff room to retrieve my lunch. I consider finding some reading material, but all those stiff, stark suits are giving me chills. So I settle for heading to the grocery store for food and then home.

The senior librarian is right about my having other things to catch up on. Laundry for one, which I start once I have the groceries put away. Then I throw ingredients for a thick vegetable stew into the slow cooker so I will have meals for a few days. A little light housework and keeping the laundry going kills my morning. Rereading my favourite book from the collection I inherited from my father occupies the afternoon. I feel pretty good by the time I fall into my bed for the night.

But again, I dream of glowing, floating old tomes. There's something about what happened my sub-conscious mind can't seem to let go of.

Despite the dreams, I wake feeling pretty good and turn on the kitchen radio for some music while I eat breakfast and prepare myself a lunch. Despite what the senior librarian said, I really don't have anything better to do and I know the librarians do appreciate my work there.

...Library is closed until further notice.

Frowning, I go over to turn up the radio, hoping for more details. Like which library has been closed. Fortunately, the newscaster doesn't disappoint.

In a bizarre turn of events, agents of an unidentified government service have ordered the Brightriver Library and Archives shut down as they investigate report of an oddity which occurred two days ago.

So much for going in today. But what would any kind of government agents want with the