Page 55 of A Time of Witches

Maybe due to the peppermint tea?

A glance at Lilith’s watch indicated nine in the morning. But she’d seen Jacinda in the afternoon previously.

A look around the bottom floor confirmed Jacinda was not in the vicinity.

Lilith climbed the stairs and her birthmark tingled. A certainty settled into her gut.

She was on the right path.

The figure of a maid moved from one doorway to another, an amorphous white bundle in her arms. Lilith avoided the figure, contemplating which bedroom was Jacinda’s when a flash of heat burned over her birthmark. She turned to find the entrance to the library and a familiar figure within.

Lilith could make out Sybil’s face a little better now. One very similar to her own, with high cheekbones, a broad mouth, and hazel eyes.

“Sybil?” Lilith said softly.

Sybil moved to the desk, not seeming to hear. She wore the same green silk dress as before.

The realization came with the reminder of how Lilith had heard the clattering pan and breaking glass two days in a row.

Was this one day in history happening over and over again?

“Sybil.” Lilith spoke louder this time, desperate for answers.

The woman picked up a book from the desk and walked toward Lilith.

Not seeing her at all. Not the way Jacinda had.

Was Jacinda the only one who could see Lilith?

Sybil exited the library, and Lilith sighed in defeat.

None of this made a lick of sense.

She approached the bookshelf instead, seeing through texts that were no longer there, and shuffling about mouldering books that appeared to be decades old, with yellowed pages and curling paperback covers.

When her fingers skimmed the shelf to the left of the hearth, her birthmark prickled.

If nothing else, her birthmark was handy.

A number of books remained on the shelf, sagging against one another like a line of dominoes with nowhere to go. Their spines were cracked and faded, reflecting an array of publications likely from the twentieth century. As if occupants had resided in the house for quite some time during the last hundred years or so.

She recalled how Asher ignored her questions about the most recent occupants. Had he lived there?

The book lover in her wanted to find out what each book title was, to open them one by one and breathe in that precious, ineffable smell of old books. But she was on a mission.

Her fingers skimmed the row Sybil had paused by yesterday, recognizing some of her own favorite reads. Jane Eyre, Emma, The Scarlet Letter… Whoever curated this library had great taste. A hint of the books existing during Sybil’s time was visible, but the titles were too transparent to read.

The old copy of Jane Eyre looked like the ancient 1980s paperback from Mrs. Bayard’s English class. Lilith set it aside to bring back with her. Classics needed a good rereading from time to time.

A resounding thwack made Lilith jump. The book beside Jane Eyre had flopped forward, falling into the newly empty space.

She removed the book from the shelf when a shadow against the end of the shelf caught her attention. Her fingertips skimmed the area, finding something hollow along the side.

Frowning, she leaned forward, straining to peer into the shadows amid a dingy stream of morning sunlight. Still unable to see properly, she felt around the space again. Yes, there was a distinct gap at the front of the bookshelf there.

She stuck her head into the shelf to study the unusual construction. Where the decorative trim connected, there appeared to be a gap, about an inch wide and five inches high, easily covered by a book. And entirely undetectable, unless…well, unless someone decided to stick their head into the bookshelf.

Without thought, she reached for the hole, pushing her fingers into the darkness.