Mad Woman Rambles

Thank you for your patience. There was birthday shenanigans afoot. Now I am back on schedule. Enjoy!

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The George Peabody Library is a marvel of architecture. The Greek revival building with its sandstone bricks and ornate features glowing softly in the morning light. Craig opened my door and ushered us to the doors that appeared to still be locked. Standing there in front of the doors, a stiff breeze shifts my trench coat. I shrug my coat up around my ears. The cold sucks and I am finding it very annoying that Craig doesn’t seem to be bothered by it in the slightest.

Breathing on my hands, I complain, “Why are we here so early? The library isn’t even open yet and this chill isn’t agreeing with me.” The last part came out a bit more whiny than I meant for it to be. ‘Who said that? Ew. I know that wasn’t me. Gods, I hate women like that.’ Craig just smiled his annoyingly cute smile and looked at his watch.

“Patience beautiful,” he said moving closer to me and rubbing his hands up and down my arms. My face, and other parts of me, flushed from the heat he was throwing off. Energy poured from him, coating my skin exposed to the elements. Warmth washed through me and I had to fight the urge to kiss him. Especially when his lips were so close to my face when I looked up at him.

His mouth hovered so close all I had to do was reach up and capture his lips with mine. Temptation, thy name is Craig White! And I have no willpower as I drifted closer to the promise of … what? Not sure but I wanted to find out.

Keys jingling in a lock startled me out of the moment. I cleared my throat and stepped away welcoming the bite of chill in the air. My gaze shifts to the library door and an older man in a tan cardigan and khakis with a plaid button down on. His graying hair was mussed, and his big horn-rimmed glasses took up most of his face. However, the power he possessed flowed off of him in waves causing me to gasp and turn back to Craig.

His smile found its place back on his face trying to quickly cover up the look of hurt that was there moments before. A sinking feeling hit me in my core, but I refused to acknowledge it. His dopey sad puppy dog eyes would not work on me. We have more pressing things to worry about than his lovesick feelings. We need to get this book and get out of here as quickly as possible. A nagging feeling in my gut is urging me to move us faster. Yet, despite myself, my hand reaches out and squeezes his as the older man opens the door.

“Your highness,” the older man says addressing Craig, bowing slightly before pulling him into a huge bear hug. Their relationship was a lot closer than I first realized. I wonder who he is to him. Then turning to me. “You must be Minerva. I have heard quite a bit about you. Seeing you here now it all makes sense.” He finished with a chuckle and stepped aside. “Let’s get you in out of this chill.”

We filed inside and followed the man into the library proper. My jaw hit the floor. I think I even drooled a little. Inside the George Peabody Library I felt like I stepped into a place suspended between worlds—a sanctuary where knowledge hums softly beneath layers of dust and light. Columns of iron and shadow rise toward a vaulted glass sky, where daylight spills like sacred fire, bathing the books in quiet gold. Each balcony curls outward like the edge of a scroll, every spine a talisman inked with the memory of those who came before.

Even the air feels magical as it shimmers faintly, as if the space itself is breathing—pages flutter without wind, and the scent of old paper carries the weight of secrets long kept. Standing on the ground floor and looking up all around me I felt as if I was in its heart. Its beat making us feel both watched and welcomed, as if the walls remember. What it remembers is anyone’s guess. To say I am floored is the understatement of the year.

“She was voted one of the most beautiful libraries in the world,” the older man stated. “I have loved working within these walls form the moment she was built.” He pronounced proudly as he cleaned his absurdly large glasses.

I felt him before he spoke. His hands caressed my arms causing a chill to follow in their wake. “Everyone is awed by her the first time,” he whispered.

“I am sure,” I replied taking a deep breath as I step out of his comforting touch. Turning to our host, “You know my name. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” I asked. I wouldn’t extend my hand until I knew who and what he was. Some of the older beings in the universe are particular about touching.

“Where are my manners?” he uttered shaking his head and walking over to me. Reaching his hand out for me, he answered my question. “Finneas Albert, guardian of knowledge and purveyor of the most delicious mead this side of Fairy.” I shook his hand feeling that he pulled back the energy that had been flowing from him when we first met.

“It’s nice to meet you. No thanks to princey boy here. So rude. I know his mother raised him better than that,” I joked. Finneas laughed and slapped Craig on his shoulder shaking him from his sulking mood.

“Oh, ho ho. You have your work cut out with this one, my boy. May you continue to work to earn this one. Your father would be proud,” Finneas stated. “Come, let’s get you what you are looking for. The book is this way in our private collection in the basement.”

He motioned us to follow him through a couple of corridors and down three flights of stairs. The basement seemed like any ordinary library basement. Books, boxes, and dust reigned supreme down here. I was not impressed in the slightest. That was until we came to an unassuming wooden door. If Finneas hadn’t brought us to it I would have overlooked it. I didn’t even sense the magical signature on it until his hand waved over the handle.

At his touch, a faint blue light outlined the shape of the door humming with fae energy. The power coming from it felt ancient and heavier than any magic I had felt in a long time. ‘What secrets lay behind this door? ‘I wondered as I subconsciously rubbed my hands together. ‘Maybe something that could get rid of this fracking marker that creature placed upon me.’ I thought angrily as I rubbed the brand on my wrist.

“Here we go,” Finneas announced as he wagged his eyebrows at us and opened the door.

“Wow!” Craig and I exclaimed in unison. As we stepped through the door, an impossible world of literature greeted us. The room was twice as large as the main library upstairs. Globes of floating lights lit up the enormous space in soft colors hovering over endless rows of tables, nooks and seating areas completely covered with books and scrolls. Row after row of bookshelves stretched impossibly as far as the eye could see.

Ancient texts were on display everywhere we looked and a faint smell of sandalwood and cedar wafted through the air replacing any hint of dust, mold or must. My hands itched to spend some time here looking for the answers to all of my problems. I swallowed as I approached a nearby table perusing the words etched into a stone tablet. ‘How to attract nymphs—”

“Ha, well,” Finneas interrupted my reading as he turned the tablet over. Blushing he explained, “research for a client.” He finished by clearing his throat and gesturing for me to an empty table Craig was already sitting at.

I patted his arm and whispered, “Your secret is safe with me.” I stifled my smile as I walked over to the table. The only time men wanted to attract nymphs is when they were feeling a bit ‘lonely’. Maybe he needed to get out more. I chuckled to myself as Craig pulled out my chair.

“What’s so funny?” Craig asked and I shook my head.

“I am sworn to secrecy, but I would suggest maybe taking Finneas out for a night on the town.” I replied. Craig just nodded as Finneas approached us with a large book in hand.

“Here we are,” he announced placing the book on the stand in front of us. “This is the book of ancestors,” he explained. “It is a family grimoire it seems. There is the family history, spells and incantations. Some of these texts are older than any of us in this room. It is curious that you were sent to fetch this particular tome.”

‘I wasn’t sent to fetch anything,’ I bristled mentally at the notion. No one tells me to fetch. I think as I cross my arms and sit up straighter. I’m about to tell him as much just as Craig’s hand sends warmth through my thigh where his hand touches and the ice on my shoulder melts. I turn towards him sharply. When had his hand found its way to my thigh. Why am I not pushing it away? I think as I settle back into my chair trying desperately to hold onto my indignation but finding it very difficult.

Oh, Detective White is definitely too dangerous to be around. I muse as my thoughts wonder what other things his hands can do.

“And that is why it is important that you find Byron,” Finneas concluded jarring me out of my daydream.

“Who?” I asked because I obviously wasn’t listening.

“Byron Hughes. The feathered man the Oracle told you to get the book too,” Craig summarized for me. I shifted in my seat giving his hand, that is still on my thigh, a squeeze in thanks.

“Mr. Hughes. Got it. Do you have a picture or know of his whereabouts?” I ask trying to get to the point so we can finish this task. Being this close to Craig is making me a little restless and I needed some air to cool down from his … heat.

Finneas pulled out his smartphone and scrolled through it before turning it over to us. A photo of tall willowy man with platinum blond hair that resembled feathers, a summer tan and large blue eyes. What is with all the supe men being tall. Byron’s smile was only matched by a younger Finneas as they stood next to one another with their arms around each other’s neck. Friends from another lifetime it seems. There was another man in the picture with them that looked a great deal like Craig, and I hazard a guess that was his father. Finneas looked at the photo fondly before typing on his phone. Moments later Craig’s phone dings and he takes it out to see the shared photo.

“This is his true face; however, he has been known to change his look from time to time. He is an incredibly gifted illusionist as well as a swan shifter,” he offered. Craig sat there quietly examining the photo. His hand tightened slightly around the phone, his smile turning sad.

“You look so young and happy in the photo,” I mention trying to alleviate the somber mood that had taken place.

“Yes, that was a simpler time back then. We were at university together. Those were good times,” Finneas mused.

“Three studs on the prowl. Am I right?” I egged him on coaxing a smile out of Finneas.

“Something like that,” he replied on a laugh, clearly thinking about a fonder time. “You should be able to find him in London this time of year.”

“Why? He seems harmless. All I am going to do is give him the book and tell him to pass it along. I am not looking to be dragged into anything else,” I retort, crossing my arms again.

“A word of warning: Looks can be deceiving and his especially,” Finneas cautioned. “He is a member of the Twelve.”

“The Twelve?!” Craig uttered looking up from his phone finally. His muscles tightened causing his jaw to tick.

“The Twelve?” I questioned looking between the two men. “Who are they and why should I be worried?” I shrugged. “I am a djinn, and he is a high court fae prince.”

Craig answered before Finneas could, “they are an order of warlocks that think they are above all laws. They are only beholden to themselves.” He turned to me. “They are very powerful and keep themselves secret for a reason. No one really knows the extent of the power they wield. We need to be very careful when we approach him.” He finished and started typing on his phone.

“Are you a member?” I asked.

“No, my dear.” Finneas laughed. “I am not powerful enough nor do I have the inclination to join that faction.” He said the last part with a bit of disdain. Nodding in understanding I think of how to ask my next question as delicately as possible knowing it probably won’t be well received by either man.

“Who is the other man? In the photo with you and Mr. Hughes,” I finally settle on being upfront. I have never been good with polite politics; why start now. Probably because the energy of the man seated beside me shifted from sadness to anger.

“I think it is time we leave,” Craig says before Finneas is able to answer.

“Right,” he says sensing the shift as well. Finneas takes a shoulder bag half the size of the book and starts shoving it inside. Miraculously, the book fits. Lifting the bag to put on my shoulder I realize I have heavier handbags than this shoulder bag.

“Wow,” I muttered to myself as Craig tries to take the bag from me. But I pull it out of his reach and sling it across my body. “My mission. My bag,” I remind him.

“If you say so,” he mutters and turns to Finneas. “Thank you old friend, I will be in touch.” They lock forearms and nod to one another before Craig leads the way out of the room. I trail behind him until we are about halfway up the stairs.

“Are you going to tell me what is wrong with you?” I ask because his sour mood feels so out of character for him that I am not sure how to react.  He just keeps on walking ahead of me, forcing me to jog to catch up. “So, you aren’t going to talk to me?” I ask as we make it to the main floor and he ignores my question. I don’t even know why I am so concerned about his current mood. Men are all the same: so moody.

“I swear men are so fracking moody. I don’t know why I thought you would be any different,” I muttered as I strode back down the corridor we went down before.

People were milling around and walking here and there making the library seem to come alive with a hushed energy. Normally, I enjoyed strolling through this type of unhurried pleasant energy, but I couldn’t fully enjoy it with the dark cloud following me to the front doors. In the atrium I reached for the door handle only to be halted before opening the door. Craig pulled me into a small alcove near the entrance.

“He was my father,” he admitted catching me off guard. It took me a second to realize he was referring to the third man in the picture with Finneas and Byron. Understanding colored the concern on my face realizing that his mood shift was grief over the loss of his father.

“I’m so sorry, Craig. I truly am,” I said wrapping my arms around him because I had been wanting to do that all day even though it was against my better judgment. He stiffened.

“Yeah, sure you are,” he replied and pulled away from me.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, very confused by the cold treatment.

“It means you are… Never mind,” he answers before trying to storm off but I catch his arm, pulling him back.

“Oh no, you don’t get to say that and leave,” I whisper-yell as a couple of people walk in from the cold. They glance our way as I pause the conversation waiting for them to continue on their way. Once they leave, Craig crosses his arms and looks down at me. Gods I hate tall men. Why is everyone so damn tall?!  “Now you are going to tell me what I did to piss you off so much.”

“You are so back and forth,” he exclaims searching for the words. “I have made my intentions known from the beginning or at least I thought I had. Then you go… We … kiss.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised by how flustered he is by my actions.

“Then you go cold on me today. But only really,” he says exacerbated throwing his hands up in the air. “I can’t get a fix on you. You are impossible!”

“I’m impossible,” I repeat. “I am many things but impossible. Ha! You are the impossible one hunting me one minute and the next coming on this quest with me like some knight in shining armor.” I poke his chest with my finger. “Where do you get off thinking every woman wants that? We don’t all want that. We aren’t all damsels in distress in need of a big strong man to rescue us!” I shouted at him.

He scoffs at me, “You could have fooled me. I seem to be saving the day a lot since I offered to be part of your ‘little’ quest.” He finished standing there smugly looking down on me. And there it was. He was just like all the other fae who looked down on my kind. I stepped back from him, bumping up against the opposite wall in the small alcove.

“You are right. I needed your help and just like the hero you are willing to be the do-gooder and save the world. Just for the record most women don’t want the hero, they want the villain because at least the villain would end the world for them. With that I relieve you of your duty, hero.” I say pointing in his face as I turn to leave.

“Oh, come on Minerva. I didn’t mean it like that,” he called after me as I approached the front entrance. I turned to him with the door partway open, the cool air rushing in to cool the rage boiling just under my skin.

“Fuck off, Detective,” I reply pushing the door open to leave only to stop in my tracks.

“Hello, Minerva. I have been waiting for you,” Mallec says in the way of a greeting. “It seems you have something I have been looking for.” He finishes before the flash-bang of the gun goes off and a searing heat enters my gut.

I hear my name being called, as Mallec, snatches the shoulder bag containing the Book of the Ancestors, from me. “Everyone wants a villain until a villain shows up.” Darkness consumes me as Mallec’s laughter follows me as I lay dying… Again. Fuck!

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