The Librarian's Notes

Found three books in Section VII that I did not shelve there.

I keep meticulous records — wine-dark ink on cream paper, the old way — and I know where every spine belongs. The Viscount's Folly lives in Romance, gaslight and silk. The Candlemaker's Apprentice belongs in Coming-of-Age, ink-stained fingers and beeswax. The Third Doorhas always been Fantasy, keys that don't exist and hallways that do.

All three were in Biography this morning. Wedged between real people with real graves.

I moved them back. Checked the lock on the side entrance (still broken, still on my list). Probably someone's idea of a prank, though I can't imagine who'd bother.

Ibara's been sleeping more than usual. Found her curled in a sunbeam by the eastern window, but when I called her name she looked at me like she was trying to remember who I was.

Just for a second. Then she yawned and knocked a bookmark off the desk. The bookmark she knocked off had something scribbled on the back — not my handwriting. Just a string of characters: 1-GOL/KU.ENOTSKNI

Probably nothing.