The Cloisters

by Katy Hays

and I hurried to the end of the library, then slipped into the stacks before it had a chance to open. I made my way through the staff hallway, past the kitchen. My head down in the poorly lit hallway, I nearly made it to the lobby before I ran, literally, headlong, into Leo. “You okay?” he asked, holding my shoulders and looking me up and down. “Yes. Sorry. I’m—” I was too flustered, too out of breath from hurrying to focus on the words I wanted to say. “Slow down, Ann. It’s a museum. No one’s saving lives here.” “Right. I know.” I exhaled. “I was just trying to make the shuttle.” “It just left,” he said, taking a step back. “Shit.” “Why don’t we walk?” He motioned for me to go ahead of him. The way his arm moved reminded me of the way he had stretched it above Rachel’s head—the strength of it, the possessiveness.

Patrick laid out five in a grid, face-up. The illustrations

certain he would have shared it with me, but I never

It’s kind

up back in

caretaking to do.” She flicked on a switch that illuminated

McGuckin, James Iacobelli, Halle Porter, Yvonne Taylor, Paige