The Book Worm
by Jon Hansen
Monica gritted her teeth. She’d become a public librarian to help people, get them the answers to what they needed to know. Meaningful work. Heck, she’d even settle for the branch’s grumpiest regular, Mr. Jürgenson, to find his smile. Instead she was trapped every weekend in the office, buried in library board paperwork. Her branch was severely understaffed, which left her trying to cover everything. She hadn’t even processed last night’s returns yet. She glanced over at the piled books. To her surprise, the top one jumped.
What the what? Monica thought, as the cover jumped again, as if something unseen had tried to open it. She’d once found a mouse trapped in a book’s cover spine. She cringed at the thought, then the cover smacked open.
Monica gasped.
The book’s inside had been hollowed out to form a hiding place straight from a spy thriller. However, instead of a USB drive or a fake passport, inside lay a small dragon. It sat up. It had a triangle-shaped head with bright ruby eyes. Its green skin glittered under the office fluorescents. Monica’s stared as it unfolded two graceful wings.
Was it a pop-up book? Or origami? The library didn’t have anything this elaborate.
Without warning it sprang into the air, wings beating back and forth. Spellbound, she watched it fly around the office, the breeze from its wings rustling her papers. As if satisfied, it landed on the computer monitor, claws digging into the plastic. Content with its perch, it regarded Monica.
“So,” she said. “Not origami.”
Monica’s staff knew not to bug her on Sunday as she finished her reports. Now she ignored those reports in order to research the tiny creature exploring her desk. So far she’d had no luck at all. The library’s databases had no animals even close to it, and the word “dragon” led to fantasy novels and Game of Thrones reviews. Sighing, she moved on to research the book itself.
The title was stamped on the leather cover in worn gold, but not in English. It didn’t resemble any language she had ever seen before. She couldn’t find anything similar in any library catalogs or used book sites, not even eBay.
Most of the book’s pages had been chewed through the center to make room for the dragon. The remaining text was also incomprehensible, written in the same unknown language.
The front cover had an heavy latch and lock on it, the kind a paranoid lunatic might keep on their diary. The shackle hadn’t caught, however, thanks to a greenish gunk along the shaft. As Monica cleaned it off, she considered what she had found. Whoever had done it had made a book into a cage to hold a living creature. That bothered her.
Monica turned back to the creature curled up on her ignored paperwork. It couldn’t be a REAL dragon, could it?
The dragon yawned, showing tiny teeth. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to be afraid of her. She reached out and ran a finger across the top of its triangular head. Its papery skin was warm and smooth.
As she continued petting the dragon, a strange tingling sensation ran up her finger. She jerked her hand back in surprise. “What was that?” she said.
Monica shook her hand, trying to work out the tingling sensation. Instead of fading, it began moving up her arm. Her muscles ached and twitched as it moved up and up into her face. A headache blossomed behind her eyes and she gasped in shock. It faded almost immediately, but her whole head felt strange. No, not her head. Her eyes. The tingling feeling had settled into her eyes.
“What did you do to me?” she said. The dragon chirped back.
She rubbed her eyes, trying not to panic. Her eyes felt warm, a feeling she’d never had before. Was the dragon poisonous to touch? But why would it be affecting her eyes, why not her finger?
She blinked her eyes repeatedly, trying to get them to focus. There, to her surprise, the strange words on the book’s cover moved. She watched in disbelief as they rearranged themselves to become clear English. “The Reclusive Book Worm,” it read.
Monica caught her breath. Hand trembling, she flipped open the book to the halfway point. She caught a sentence fragment at the top of the page:
The sorcerer who gains a Book Worm is fortunate.
Indeed, if he has a quick eye and a quicker knife—
Then the tingling faded, and once more the words became indecipherable.
How was this possible? Foreign languages weren’t Monica’s strong suit, and she relied on translation websites to get the gist. Still, she had been able to read it for a moment after she had gotten that odd tingling. It was almost…
“Like magic,” she said.
“Uh, Ms. Davis?” She turned to see Zara, the front desk attendant, in the doorway. “Someone’s here about something they lost?” she said, frowning.
Monica nodded. “I’ll be right there.”
Out at circulation Zara nodded at an unfamiliar man near the front desk. His face was thin and pale, with a long Billy goat beard beneath a unpleasant frown. He wore a black suit with a bright red bowtie and gave off a curious sour fragrance. A bit odd, but the library helped all kinds.
Monica locked on her best customer service smile. “Good morning, sir,” she said in honeyed tones. “I’m Ms. Davis, the librarian on duty. How can I help you?”
The man regarded her for a moment, the frown deepening. “A piece of my property was brought here by mistake,” he said. “I want it returned.”
Monica revised her opinion: he looked like a pill. Still, she was a professional.
“Of course, Mr…” Monica paused. Several seconds passed as she waited to see if he had any manners.
The old man looked sour. “Mr. Kurat.”
“Mr. Kurat, a pleasure.” Her smile shifted into a more concerned look. “I’d be happy to help. What did you misplace? And do you know when you left it here?”
“I did not leave anything,” said Mr. Kurat. “My former assistant did this.” The emphasis he put on the word ‘former’ made Monica wonder what had happened to him. “The incompetent fool included a volume of mine with several belonging—here.” He made a flicking gesture, dismissing the entire library.
“Oh, I see.” Monica gave a polite chuckle. “Well, it happens more times than you’d think. I’m sure it’s mixed in with the returns. Can you tell me the title, or describe it for me?”
“It is extremely old and quite distinctive. Nothing like the common dross filling these shelves.”
Monica’s smile did not budge. “Well, I’ll be happy to look. I’m sure it’s been set aside. Wait right here and I’ll go check.” Mr. Kurat gave a grudging nod, and Monica headed back.
Back in her office, the book still sat on the desk but the dragon had vanished. She frowned. Where could it have gone?
She spotted it on the repairs bookcase, peering from behind a battered dictionary. As soon as it met Monica’s eyes, it ducked. “What’s going on?” she said.
She pulled the book out to reveal it had backed into a corner of the shelf. The little thing shivered like a page in a cold breeze. “It’s okay,” she said, as she stroked its head to try and soothe it. Once more the strange tingle ran up her finger into her head. Her vision clouded over, then cleared.
Monica knew that she wasn’t herself anymore, that she wasn’t human. She didn’t know what she was, but she was afraid. She looked up to Mr. Kurat. The strange man looked down at her. His lips turned back to showing a mouthful of fangs. Then he bent towards her, opening wide to take a bite. Monica flinched away, and the vision faded. She had been the dragon, but was herself again. She knew with absolute certainty what she’d seen was true.
“Are you afraid? Of him?” said Monica. The dragon shivered again, and she came to an immediate decision. “Don’t worry,” she said. Returning a misplaced book was one thing. But an animal in distress? That was something else.
She picked up Mr. Kurat’s book and latched the cover shut, making certain it locked. Then she found the paper towel she’d used to clean the lock and wiped the green stuff into the keyhole. It might buy time. “All he wanted was the book,” she said, “and the book’s all he gets.”
She marched back out to Mr. Kurat. “Is this the—” she began, but Mr. Kurat yanked the book out of her hands. “I guess it is then.”
Mr. Kurat muttered to himself as he inspected the book. “What is this? This here?” He pointed at the gunk in the keyhole.
Obediently Marcia looked. “I have no idea,” she said. “Pistachio butter? Perhaps from your assistant’s breakfast?”
Mr. Kurat gritted his teeth and muttered something harsh. Monica couldn’t make out the words, but her skin crawled. It reminded her of before with the dragon, but this was worse. She felt an uneasy queasiness, but she fought it off, smiling all the while.
After a moment the feeling passed. Mr. Kurat narrowed his eyes, then without a word, turned and strode out through the security gates, still clutching the book. Monica blew out her breath.
“Wow, so rude,” said Zara.
“Yes,” said Monica. She headed back to the office. “Let me know when he comes back.”
“When?” she heard Zara call after her.
Monica’s mind raced. If the dragon gave off magic, it would explain why Mr. Kurat wanted it back. She didn’t know what he planned, but if the dragon feared him, it couldn’t be good. The whole thing seemed fantastic, but she couldn’t deny what she’d seen. Calling the police or animal control became a much less viable option.
She tried to think of somewhere safe to hide the dragon. She had a brief fantasy of keeping it in the library, wandering among the books to delight the patrons.
As she entered her office, she heard low crunching sounds. The little dragon had begun hollowing out the dictionary. It had already chewed through quite a few pages, leaving a dent large enough for it to curl up in.
“Making a new home? Or getting lunch?” The dragon paid no attention, still chewing. Monica sighed. Even if Mr. Kurat gave up, she couldn’t leave it in the library. She needed to take it somewhere it would be safe.
It was almost lunch. She’d tell Zara she had an errand and duck out to her apartment, a brisk ten-minute walk away. Her terrier would be outraged, but the dragon and the dictionary would be safe enough in the bathroom until she could figure out what to do next.
The dragon didn’t move as she closed the cover on it. “Okay, little guy,” she said. “Going to take a quick trip.”
As she put on her jacket, she heard loud shouting out in the lobby. Not ordinary shouting, from an angry parent or a belligerent drunk, but loud enough to make Monica’s bones vibrate: “WHERE IS IT?”
Her stomach clenched. She cracked the door and peeked out. Maybe someone on YouTube?
Mr. Kurat stood in the lobby. His appearance had changed from eccentric retiree to downright terrifying. The air around him shimmered, and his eyes had become fiery holes bleeding smoke. Monica gaped. Was he floating?
Yes, he was.
“YOU MISERABLE THIEVES!” Mr. Kurat’s voice boomed, shaking the entire library with each syllable. Something in the back crashed. His face twisted into a snarl as he pointed at the circulation desk. The wood trembled with cracks racing across it, pak-pak-pak! before it collapsed into splinters. The computer and everything else on the desk crashed onto the wreckage.
The desk’s collapse revealed Zara, who had ducked behind it. The young woman lay frozen, eyes wide. Mr. Kurat leveled a finger at her. “YOU! COME HERE!” Zara screamed. Her body twisted, one leg up in the air. As Monica watched in horror, an unseen force dragged Zara through the ruins of the desk towards Mr. Kurat.
Zara’s terror spurred Monica to act. This was her fault, and she had to stop it. “Hey!” she shouted in her loudest voice. “Leave her alone!”
Mr. Kurat turned, then lowered his hand. Zara scrambled away. Monica’s knees trembled as those awful eyes focused on her. Then he glided towards her, hand leveled at her like a threat. “Woman, you have stolen my property,” he said. “I can smell the magic on you.”
Monica straightened. “What are you talking about? You got your book back.”
Mr. Kurat’s hand opened and the book sprang from his palm, cover open, empty and accusing. “You know what I seek.” His lips peeled back, revealing razor teeth. “I will burn this place to the ground and poke through the ashes with your thigh bones if you—”
“What the hell is going on?” Mr. Jürgenson had appeared, scowling. “This is a library! I am trying to work!”
Mr. Kurat swung around to face Mr. Jürgenson. “YOU!” he cried. “I should have known! You took it, didn’t you? Tired of being a hedge wizard!”
Mr. Jürgenson’s face shifted to recognition, and he sneered. “Oh, you stupid türapea,” he said. “Still luring children into your oven?”
Mr. Kurat snapped his fingers and a ball of crackling blue flames appeared in his hand. Then Mr. Kurat threw it straight at Mr. Jürgenson’s head, the ball trailed black sulfuric smoke as it flew. Monica gasped.
To her surprise, Mr. Jürgenson clapped his hands together before the fireball landed. Wind rushed out, churning the dusty air, and the fireball died with a hiss.
“What is this insulting nonsense?” Mr. Jürgenson said. “Throwing fire in a place of books as well!” Mr. Jürgenson clenched his hands together and said a word. At once his hands glowed dull orange, like heated metal. He shook his head at Mr. Kurat. “It seems I must toss you out myself.”
Mr. Kurat cast aside the book and whispered something. His own hands flared a dark purple, strange energy dripping from his fingers. “Come then,” he said with a grin.
Monica had seen wizard duels in the movies, the clash of magics, with vibrant explosions set to thrilling music. This looked more like an old man slap fight. However, each time they swung and connected, a loud boom shook the library. Ceiling tiles fell, filling the air with dust.
Unfortunately, after a few traded blows, Mr. Jürgenson began to flag. His face turned grey with fatigue, and Mr. Kurat gained the advantage. Mr. Jürgenson tried to keep swinging, but then his hands dropped.
Mr. Kurat smiled. “With all your talk, you crumple like a paper ball.” He grabbed Mr. Jürgenson by the collar and began to chant. Monica couldn’t make out the words, but she could feel her skin start to itch. The lights flickered in response, and the air tasted of ozone. Mr. Jürgenson hung there, unable to do more than twitch.
Grumpy as Mr. Jürgenson was, he had tried to help. Monica didn’t know what Mr. Kurat intended, but she had to stop him. She picked up a large book from the reference desk: The National Geographic Atlas of the World, ten pounds of cloth and paper. Perfect. With quick steps, she came up behind Mr. Kurat and slammed it over his head as hard as she could.
Mr. Kurat’s chant broke off with a gurgle. He dropped Mr. Jürgenson and staggered.
To Monica’s surprise, things did not go back to normal. Overhead fluorescents popped and the library grew darker. Worse, she still heard the strange words, although Mr. Kurat seemed too stunned to speak. The voice multiplied into many, as if an unseen chorus of demonic children had taken over chanting. Monica dropped the atlas and hurried to where Mr. Jürgenson lay. “Are you all right?” she said.
Mr. Jürgenson answered in a weak voice. “His spell— We must—”
Monica had already caught on. She grabbed the old man and backed away, half-carrying him. He was heavier than he looked, but the two managed to take cover behind the new arrivals stand. As the chorus reached its climax, Mr. Kurat screamed. A thunderclap shook the library one last time, and then silence.
After a minute, Monica looked up to see what had happened. The lobby was empty. Mr. Kurat had vanished.
Behind her Mr. Jürgenson snorted. “Ha! Serves him right!” He hobbled out from behind the stand to regard a dark smudge on the carpet. “He always was too ambitious with his magics.”
“Oh my god,” said Monica. Had she killed him? “Did he explode?”
“If only!” A bit of color had returned to Mr. Jürgenson’s face. “That marvelous blow of yours threw off his enchantment, causing it to rebound upon him. From the smell, I’d say he’s been thrown to a less pleasant reality. Thank you, my dear. I expect that’s where he meant to send me.”
Monica surveyed the ruined library. The library’s disaster plans rolled through her head, as she thought about what to do first. Check on Zara, then call 911, then the library board, then…
Something touched her elbow, and she turned to see the dragon had landed on her arm.
“Ah!” Mr. Jürgenson’s eyes lit up. “A raamatulohe! The rare book worm!” He held out a hand, and the dragon sniffed it curiously. “I haven’t seen one in ages. Is this what started it all?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Monica.
“No doubt he planned eat it and its magic. What a waste.” Mr. Jürgenson shook his head. “Oh, you’re a beauty.” The tiny dragon hopped onto his hand, head cocked up to face him. With great ceremony Mr. Jürgenson bent down until their noses bumped. The dragon cooed.
A thought occurred to Monica. “Mr. Jürgenson,” she said, “you seem to know something about this little guy. I don’t suppose you’d been interested in giving him a home?”
Mr. Jürgenson looked startled. Then, for the first time Monica had ever seen, he smiled.
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Jon Hansen (he/his) is a writer, librarian, and occasional blood donor. He lives about fifty feet from Boston with his wife, son, and three pushy cats. His story, “Kings and Popes and Saints,” appeared in Year’s Best Fantasy #2, and his work has appeared in Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Strange Horizons, and Apex Magazine.