The Library at Mount Char

by Scott Hawkins

The obsidian knife she had used to murder Detective Miner lay nestled in the small of her back, sharp and secret. She was smiling.

Americans called this time of year “October” or, sometimes, “Autumn,” but the librarians reckoned time by the heavens. Tonight was the seventh moon, which is the moon of black lament. Under its light the shadows of bare branches flashed across her scars.

Just around the next ridge, she thought. Garrison Oaks. She wanted to burn the whole place to ashes but, at the same time, it would be kind of nice to see it again. Home.

As promised, he was raising them as he himself had been raised. Most of them—Carolyn included—already had a few scars.

Carolyn’s own mom had been dead about a year at that point. Her only friend was banished. Father was many things, none of them gentle. So when, on the first frosty night of the year, Isha called Carolyn over to lie with her and her child for warmth, something broke open inside her.

Carolyn rose and stood alone in the dark, both in that moment and ever after.

“Wow!” Jennifer said. “That’s—” She looked over her shoulder at David. He wasn’t looking, but she lowered her voice anyway. “That’s amazing. It usually takes me hours to get the taste out of my mouth!” “I know,” Carolyn said. “It’s an American thing. It’s called mouthwash.”

Carolyn watched David. He eyed the bull, uneasy, and in the end stood so that his back was to it. Even now, he doesn’t like looking at it. Not that she blamed him.

“It’s the notion that the universe is structured in such a way that no matter how many mysteries you solve, there is always a deeper mystery behind it.

An onion

But her fingertips trembled with the memory of faint, fading vibrations carried down the shaft of a brass spear, and in her heart the hate of them blazed like a black sun.

Detective Marvin Miner.” He looked at Carolyn. “This guy’s a cop?” “Looks that way.” “What’d he do to you?” “Ruined my silk dress.” “How’d he do that?” “He got blood on it.”

But for the most part, Rachel learned of the future by sending out agents. The agents were her children or, rather, their ghosts. In order to make agents of them, Father required that Rachel strangle them in their cribs, usually at about the age of nine months. It was important, Father said, that she do this herself.

“The brownies aren’t for her. They’re for someone she lost a long time ago.”

“It wouldn’t help, though. It never works out the way you would think. The problem with a heart coal is that the memory always diverges from the actual thing. She remembers an idealized version of her son. She’s forgotten that he was selfish, that he enjoyed giving little offenses. It wasn’t really an accident that they saw him and the other man fucking on the couch. If he came back now it wouldn’t help. He would be gone again soon enough, only this time she would no longer have the comfort of the illusion. Probably that would destroy her. She isn’t very strong.”

She thought it was a good performance. Her twitches were indistinguishable from the real thing, and had the side benefit of camouflaging the completely genuine tremble in her fingertips.

She knew every word that had ever been spoken, but she could think of nothing to say that might ease his grief.

Carolyn’s hatred of David was second only to her hatred of Father, but in that moment she could almost have felt sorry for him. The look in his eyes as he climbed inside the bull brought to mind another Atul phrase, “wazin nyata,” which was the moment when the last hope dies.

Meat, she realized, doesn’t try to climb out.

But David was so very strong. It was not until full dark, when the bronze belly of the bull began to glow a dull orange, that he began to shriek. Whenever she thought of Father’s face, it was by the light of that fire. How rare it was to see him smile.

Only then did Father look away. She felt his gaze fall from her as if it were a physical thing. This is how the field mouse feels, when the shadow of the hawk passes him by.

He and his cub would wake under strange stars, and all the days and nights of her life would be poisoned by the sounds and smells of men.

The pit was empty. The pit was empty and something was moving out in the night.

Down in the pit, safe and comfortable, the chicken squawked.

Chapter 6 About Half a Fuckton of Lying-Ass Lies

“My name is Carolyn,” she said. “I’d like to be connected with the president.”

Most of the librarians had a horror of the neighborhood dogs that dated back to childhood. Even Michael tended to keep his distance. But Americans, for some reason, seemed to love the furry little bastards. It was one of their unfathomable quirks.

“Cram it up your ass, you crazy, horrible bitch!” He reached for the Off button, then something occurred to him. “Quick question, though, before I hang up on you.”

She spoke of insanities, but her voice was calm and certain. Her expression reminded him of a painting that frightened him as a child—Kali the annihilator, smiling as small things died. “It’s about to get very dark, you see.”

“He’s got a gun,” the short tech said. “I’ll be leaving now,” the woman with the cat carrier said.

“David would never let anyone else hurt Margaret.”

“Get me some guacamole and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

The only real escape from hell is to conquer it.

“Wouldn’t it have been…easier…to just sort of go along? I mean, your mandible wasn’t just broken, it was powdered, about the worst I’ve ever seen. And he nailed you to—” “I remember, Jennifer. I was there.”

The professional part of her mind noticed that Jennifer had used the phrase ‘Am I understood?’—Father’s preferred version—rather than the more colloquial ‘Understand me?’ that the rest of them used among themselves. Must be spending a lot of time with him,

She didn’t waste any more time thinking about David. It was the first time he had killed her, true, but he had hurt her before and she’d survived. This was her world. She had adjusted.

“You nasty bitch,” David growled, not without admiration.

“I like to plan. It’s something I’m good at. You’ve seen those guys who do trick shots in pool? Make the cue ball jump, or roll backwards or whatever? This was my trick shot.”

“Scream.” She spoke softly, in Pelapi. “Try to scream. If you scream for me, I’ll stop.” Smiling now. “If you scream for me, I’ll let you go. Going once…going twice…no?”

“I won. That’s the only rule I’m aware of.”

“Energy.” He looked at David, now completely swallowed by blackness. The ball had grown visibly while they talked, and it was warmer now. “You mean, the black stuff? That’s energy?” “Exactly.” “How big will it get?” “I’m not sure. A million miles, give or take. That’s why we came up here. We need to set him in the heavens, where there’s room.” “Come again?” “By this time tomorrow, David will be our new sun.”

“Her name’s Carolyn. She’s a niece of mine—well, sort of. She’s a pretty distant relation, actually. I see a lot of me in her, though.” “Oh?” her father said. “Weird coincidence. That’s our daughter’s name.” “You don’t say.”

No real thing can be so perfect as memory, and she will need a perfect thing if she is to survive. She will warm herself on the memory of you when there is nothing else, and be sustained.”

“Step down into the darkness with me, child.” Just that once, Father looked at her with real love. “I will make of you a God.”

“Then why did you smile?” “Because he begged. You never did. Not once.” “I might have if you’d tried to put me in that damned thing.” “No. You didn’t.” “What? I don’t—” He tapped the black folio. “The past kneels before me, Carolyn.”

“Once I even roasted you two times, back to back, so you knew, really knew, what you were in for. I wanted to see what you would do. You just looked at me.” He shook his head. “I still have nightmares.”

She sat this way for a time, watching as the new sun began to melt away the gray ice of the long winter. She was smiling.