chiaroscuro

21

Now this is a library. It's more than ten times the size of the non-spellbook library (if I can even call it a library) with a flight of stairs that leads to the second floor.

The book shelves are scattered all over the place, painted a dark shade of purple. Glow in the dark stars are stuck on the walls and ceiling, changing colors every two seconds. There's soft music in the background that sounds like a low, melodic hum.

I try not to trip over the countless bean bags scattered all over the floor. The Academy must be really fond of bean bags.

"Pretty cool, right?" Cup chuckles. "Designed it myself." They leap over beanbags and run their hands over the books. "What spellbook did you say you were looking for again?"

"I didn't say anything about–You were the one who figured out I needed a spellbook," I stutter, stumbling over the last few bean bags. I read the titles Cup's fingers are skimming over: All Sorts of Spells, Spellzzzzz, Skills for the Young, General Skills...

I roll my eyes. Guess Emery was right.

"What exactly do you need a spellbook for?" Cup gives me a side eye.

I should lie. I should tell them it is really for a project or for revenge or self defense, but I don't. I can't. Something about Cup's personality and their willingness to help (even if I do have to reshelve books) makes me feel guilty.

"Uh, it's to open something," I say.

"Damn, that explains everything."

"It's to open a book," I rephrase, then add, "a closed book. It's, like, superglued shut."

They murmur something under their breath. "So a reverse spell, kind of?"

"Yeah, basically."

After running their hands across various spines and lots of "Oh it's this one–oh wait, no, it isn't", Cup finally finds the right book. According to them, the library has no order–AT ALL. Wherever Cup wants to put a book, they put it there.

"It's not the same for the other library," they clarified. Yes, they did ramble the whole time they were looking for the book. I felt almost nauseous. "That one has to follow the Academy policy. That's why there's so few books. That and everyone just reads online or buys from the bookstore."

The spellbook says I have to recite a couple of words to open the book. As predicted, there's a catch–I only get one try to recite the spell. If I mess up, I could accidentally end up summoning a demon or some other crazy monster.

Cup teaches me how to say it, over and over again. I've perfected it after 20

tries–ok, it might've been 200.

"You're a natural, kid," they say, clapping their hands.

"It took me over a hundred tries," I groan.

Cup shrugs. "A hundred or not a hundred, I don't really care. As long as you reshelve everything, I'm willing to agree."

I shut my eyes. Damn it. I forgot about that.

Reopening my eyes, my lips spread out into a forced smile. "Yay, reshelving."

"Glad that you enjoy such a tedious job." They pat my shoulder. "C'mon."

I completely understand why Cup hates reshelving. Yes, the cart is overflowing with books. Yes, I have to order them correctly by the author's last name and use the Dewey Decimal system. That's not the part that overwhelms and pains me, to my great disappointment. No, it is the fact that some of the books are tucked behind the others.

Taking out books and putting other books behind is not a big deal, you say. Wait till you get to the encyclopedia and dictionary section, the spellbook section with glossaries at the back and indexes–and another thing. The library is already jam-packed with books. It's nearly impossible to squeeze another book in between, behind or on top of the shelf.

"Academy budget," Cup says like it's no big deal. "Most of it is used for enlarging the school. I had to use my own money to build the spellbook and skill section. Magic section, if that's what you want to call it."

Grabbing one of the books, I heave a great big sigh. I seem to be doing a lot of that lately.

While reshelving, Cup drones on and on, occasionally taking breaks to pick at the logo attached to their pants. This is basically what happens the whole time as I desperately try to squeeze books of all sizes into impossible spots.

My fingers bruised and cut, I grab a thick dictionary, bigger than the size of my chest. I turn to look at Cup for help, croaking, "Help," but they don't seem to notice me.

Finally, after all the misery, I've completed my task. All the books, tucked in and the cart, empty. It's been such a lifelong dream, and I thank each and every one of you kind, generous souls for helping me along my journey–

I'm so cringy.

Someone starts slowly clapping, startling me. Cup walks over, whistling a happy tune that I don't recognize. They scan the shelves, then the cart.

"Looks like you forgot something."

The dictionary. Shit.

Cup grabs the dictionary–with NO DIFFICULTY–and places it into my arms.

If they can carry it, why don't they reshelve? It's way easier to reshelve for them than it is for me. Why make me suffer?

I decide not to question them. A deal is a deal. If figuring out what's in Emery's diary means I have to reshelve this heavy piece of crap, then I guess I'll do it.