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As a child Karina and her siblings attended the summer program at the local library. Her brother, Tate, always grumbled about having to go, but Karina loved it.
Three days a week they would sit around the conference table in the community room and do crafts or play games. After they ate their packed lunches, they were free to read books and soak up the air conditioning in the children's section, which was Karina's favorite part. Ensconced in her favorite bean bag chair near the hamster cage, Karina lost herself in the magical world of Crestomaci, the dapper wizard in the works of her favorite author, Diana Wynne Jones.
In high school Karina's first job was at that same library, shelving books after school. Her friends didn't get it, they thought tiptoeing around, silently shelving books sounded boring. But to Karina the peace and quiet of it was what she loved best about her job. Home was always too loud, with Tate and his friends yelling or slamming doors or wrestling, and the TV was always blasting. At work, she could think deep thoughts or let her imagination wander to the alternate magical universes of her favorite childhood stories. If she could have lived at the library, she would have.
It made perfect sense, therefore, that Karina chose to study library science in college. Her dream after college was to work at the library in her home town where she had so many happy memories, bringing the whole thing full circle. But alas, it was not to be. While she was away at school the library lost its funding, and the building was put up for sale. Karina was heartbroken. That library had been a part of her, and losing it felt like losing a limb.
A few weeks after Karina acquired her newly minted diploma, she received a letter from an organization called The Grimoireum Arcanum, with a very familiar return address on the envelope. The letter, typed on expensive thick linen paper, explained that the private collection had moved into the former public library building and was in need of an Assistant Archivist. If interested, she was directed to present herself at ten minutes to midnight at the waxing crescent moon for an interview.
Karina read the letter through twice, before the signature caught her eye. The letter was signed “C. Chant, Director.” Karina stared at the elegant script as an image of a tall, dapper wizard in a velvet smoking jacket rose unbidden from her memories of those long-ago summers at the library.
“Cresto—” She bit back the name before it fully escaped her lips.
No, there was no point in summoning him. After all, she’d be seeing him soon enough.
