hide it, don’t you? I am protecting it. From…from a world that is too much for it. Can you imagine what could happen if it were to become common knowledge? That such a place exists, accessible from nearly anywhere. That some place magical, for lack of a better term, waits beneath our feet? What might happen once there are blog posts and hashtags and tourists? But we are getting ahead of ourselves. You stole something from me, Mister Rawlins.”
Zachary says nothing. It is more statement of fact than accusation so he does not protest.
“Do you know why he wanted that volume in particular?” she asks. “The book he had you lie your way into this building to procure? Likely not, he was never the type to divulge more information than necessary.”
Zachary shakes his head.
“Or perhaps he did not want to admit his own sentimentality,” Allegra continues. “When one of our order is initiated they are given the first book they ever protected, in their first test, as a gift. Most do not remember the specifics but he did, remembered the book, that is. Several years ago we adjusted this practice to keep the books here or in one of our other offices. Pity he won’t get it back after going through all that trouble.”
“You’re guardians,” Zachary says, and Allegra’s eyes widen. He hopes he put the right kind of emphasis on the word so she cannot tell if it was just an observation and not a connection.
“We’ve had a great many names over the years,” Allegra says and Zachary manages not to sigh his relief. “Do you know what it is that we do?”
“Guard?”
“You are cheeky, Mister Rawlins. You probably think it is charming. More likely you use humor as a defense mechanism because you are more insecure than you want others to think.”
“So you’re guardians but you don’t…guard?”
“What do you care about?” Allegra asks. “Your books and your games, am I correct? Your stories.”
Zachary shrugs his shoulders in what he hopes is a noncommittal way.
Allegra puts down her teacup and rises from her chair. She moves away from the table and into the shadows on the side of the room. From the sound Zachary guesses that she might be unlocking a cabinet but he can’t see. The noise repeats and then stops and Allegra steps back into the light around the table, the lamps grasping again at her white suit to the point where it nearly glows.
She reaches a hand out and places something on the table, just out of Zachary’s reach. He cannot tell what it is until her hand moves away.
It is an egg.
“I will tell you a secret, Mister Rawlins. I agree with you.”
Zachary says nothing, having not actually stated that he agrees with anything she’s said and not entirely certain if he does or not.
“A story is like an egg, a universe contained in its chosen medium. The spark of something new and different but fully formed and fragile. In need of protection. You want to protect it, too, but there’s more to it than that. You want to be inside it, I can see it in your eyes. I used to seek out people like you, I am practiced at spotting the desire for it. You want to be in the story, not observing it from the outside. You want to be under its shell. The only way to do that is to break it. But if it breaks, it is gone.”
Allegra reaches a hand out to the egg and lets it hover over the shell, putting it in shadow. She could crush it easily. There is a silver signet ring on her index finger. Zachary wonders what’s inside this particular egg, exactly, but Allegra’s hand does not move. “We prevent the egg from breaking,” she continues.
“I’m not sure I’m following the metaphors anymore,” Zachary says, his gaze lingering on the egg on the table. Allegra pulls her hand back and the egg is in the light again. Zachary thinks he can see a hairline crack along its side but that might be his imagination.
“I am attempting to explain something to you, Mister Rawlins,” Allegra says, wandering back into the shadows around the table. “It may be some time before you understand it fully. There was a point in history when there were guards and guides within that space that you have briefly visited but that time has passed. There were failures in the system. We have a new one now. I would respectfully request that you abide by the new order.”
“What does that mean?” Zachary asks and before the question is finished Allegra yanks his head backward by his hair and he can feel the tip of the knife pressing behind his right ear.
“You had another book,” Allegra says, calm and quiet. “A book you found in the library at your school. Where is it?” She voices the inquiry with a pointed lightness, the same tone with which she might ask if he would prefer honey with his tea. The candle under the teapot flickers and gutters and dies.
“I don’t know,” Zachary says, trying not to move his head but the rising panic is tempered with confusion. Dorian had Sweet Sorrows. They may not have searched him well enough to get the keys out from under his giant sweater but they certainly would have found the book on Dorian. Or on his body. Zachary swallows, the taste of green tea broken heart dry in his throat. He focuses his eyes on the egg on the table. This can’t be happening, he thinks, but the knife pressing against his skin insists that it is.
“Did you leave it down there?” Allegra asks. “I need to know.”
“I told you, I don’t know. I had it but I…I lost it.”
“A pity. Though I suppose that means there’s nothing keeping you here. You could go back to Vermont.”
“I could,” Zachary says. Going home is suddenly more appealing since walking away is better than not walking out of this building at all, which is beginning to feel like a distinct possibility. “I could also tell no one about this…or that place that defies nomenclature…or that any of this ever happened. Maybe I made it all up. I drink a lot.”
Overkill, the voice in his head warns, and immediately regrets its choice of phrasing. The knife presses back into the skin by his ear. He can’t tell if it’s blood or sweat dripping down his neck.
“I know you won’t, Mister Rawlins. I could cut off your hand to ensure you that I am serious about this. Have you ever noticed how many stories include lost or mutilated hands? You’d be in interesting company. But I believe we can come to an agreement without getting messy, do you agree?”