The Magic of Stories

4 - The source of magic

Wednesday was Marjorie's last day at work, and she seemed as nervous as I was. Conny had the morning off, and this left me to deal with her, unable to judge if she was more afraid of the surgery or of leaving the library in our hands. Whatever I tried, she was in full mother hen mode, trying to give me instructions for everything.

I was aware I still had a lot to learn and my time was running short. But when she briefed me on the upcoming events and my role in them, my panic level rose. Would I remember all the details? I took notes and hoped Conny would help me if I mixed things up. Besides, I still hadn't asked Marjorie about the cat, the butterfly, and the blue-eyed ghost called Luca. Not to mention my coworker's obvious trouble with her daughter, but on second thought, this was a topic I should avoid.

Before the library got busy before noon, I interrupted my boss's endless explanations. "I'd like to ask you something, Marjorie."

She looked up from the planner, an old-fashioned diary with spiral binding. "Is something bothering you?"

"Yes, I'd like to know—well." Now, I had her undivided attention, but fumbled for the right words. But the librarian gave me time and an empathic smile. I took a deep breath. "I wanted to ask about the cat, and the ghost called Luca."

Her smile widened. "I knew from the start that you are the right person to run this place while I'm gone. Conny is wonderful, but she has lost her touch with magic, and I'm convinced she can't see our little visitors."

I couldn't suppress a sigh. "I must admit, I envy her."

Marjorie shook her head. "You shouldn't, Lynn. It takes an open mind and spirit to see what others can't. They don't understand, so they call it imagination or hallucinations or worse."

"I wondered if I'm nuts when the blue cat addressed me. And Luca..." I trailed off, remembering my shock.

Marjorie chuckled and fetched more tea. When we both held a steaming cup, the rich fragrance tickling my nose, she leaned back in her office chair, stirring her drink. "Where shall I start?"

It was a rhetorical question, so I just shrugged.

"Well, you are a reader, right? And I'm sure you know the saying that magic can be found between the pages of a book. Have you ever dreamed yourself into the setting of a fascinating story?"

I nodded, not sure where she was heading. When I was younger, I'd spent a lot of time in the worlds of my favourite stories.

"See? That's the secret. You are sensitive to the magic of stories, just like me. To others, a story is just rows of letters on flat paper. But to young children and a few select people, it can be so much more."

"And that's why I could see the butterfly lift from the pages of that children's book? And encountered the Cheshire Cat?"

She took a sip with sparkling eyes. "Yes. And I'm sure you'll encounter many more protagonists walking the library once you get used to it."

As long as I didn't run into Mary Shelley's monster or Bram Stoker's Count Dracula, this might not be too bad. But in my teens, I'd been an avid reader of horror stories, until I couldn't sleep anymore and, out of necessity, changed my reading preferences. To think certain things could jump at me from behind a bookshelf made me shiver. "I think I saw Dobby the other day. But I don't want to meet the Jabberwock or some scary folks from books I've read. What about mass murderers like Hannibal Lecter?"

"Well, if you call for him, he might show up. But in my experience, it's our wishful thoughts that call out to the characters, while our fears might drive them away. Unless you're in a really dark spot, you should be safe. Most people with this tendency would probably steer away from the library after a first glimpse."