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Andrew needed a cigarette. He had a pack in his pocket, and he itched to light it and taste the bitter nicotine, but being chased by two squad cars full of pigs and four delinquents that wanted Andrew’s head on a pike left him with little opportunity. He hadn’t been the one to tip off the police about their little gatherings, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that the road was ending and Andrew was coming up on a dead end.
He ducked behind a dumpster, bending over to catch his breath in an attempt not to pass out. He might be able to pack a punch, but running had never been his forte.
Red and blue lights flashed across the wall as one of the cop cars crawled past, the pigs scanning for any sign of Andrew or any of the other guys that had scattered after the raid. Andrew knew to give it a couple minutes before leaving his stinking sanctuary, and he waited a few more in case they circled back or one of his former associates tried to ambush him. Hopefully the pigs would arrest them and leave Andrew to get caught street-fighting another day.
When the coast was clear, Andrew left the alley and started back to the dilapidated house he shared with his deadbeat mother and sick brother. He needed to be home before Tilda got back from whatever gutter she had spent the night in, or before Aaron woke up and needed his meds. Aside from Andrew’s late-night escapade, the streets were silent as Andrew walked through the city he had lived in his entire life, but was never able to call home.
Andrew had picked up his street-fighting habit halfway through his junior year of high school, when Aaron’s condition had worsened and Andrew’s mounting responsibilities had grown too much, even for him. If it weren’t for Aaron, Andrew was sure he’d have run away and headed somewhere east, anywhere but California. But he would never abandon his brother; he was unwillingly to break the promise he made to him when they were children and leave him, sick and vulnerable, to Tilda’s negligent care.
It was on nights like these, when the breeze made Andrew’s skin prickle with left-over humidity, that he waited until Aaron was sound asleep in his bed and Tilda was long gone before he left their ramshackle little house with its sagging gray walls and peeling white paint for the night. The street-fighting provided some money that Andrew used to put food on the table and meds for Aaron, though not that much. Mostly it was a way to let off a little steam. Apparently, beating the shit out of people and getting beat in return was a great stress reliever. Though, Andrew supposed, now he’d have to find another venue. He doubted he’d be welcomed back to the old one, even if it didn’t get shut down by the pigs.
Andrew flexed his hand until his knuckles ached. They were bruised, he’d need to ice them when he got home. Andrew was so preoccupied with cataloging his injuries, that he almost walked right past something that shouldn’t have been there.
Situated in a vacant lot that had been empty for years was a building, tall and impossible against the inky black of the sky. It was square and blocky, blending into the neighborhood in the way all abandoned buildings did. Drab paint that coated the outside had chipped away in spots to reveal faded, crumbling brickwork underneath. On the inside, the windows were covered with thick, red curtains that stifled faint yellow light Andrew could see creeping from behind them. Andrew stepped over tiny flowers and leafy weeds that grew out of cracked concrete stairs that led to double doors at the front of the building and was struck with the sudden urge to knock, though the place looked like it hadn’t been touched in years.
Light seeped in from under the door and when Andrew pressed his ear to its splintered wood, he could hear a faint humming coming from the other side. It reminded him of a bit of a heartbeat. He took a step back, craning his neck to see the whole front of the ugly thing. A sign hung above him, faded letters painted onto rough wood.
Foxhole’s Traveling Library. Around it was a carving of a leaping fox, front legs touching its tail to encircle the words.
“What the fuck,” Andrew whispered.
The thing was, the lot the library sat on was next to the 24-hour convenience store that Andrew liked to stop by for snacks and cigarettes before his matches, and it had definitely been empty two hours ago when Andrew passed it. It looked as if someone had dropped a giant building in the middle of the lot and just left it there.
Before Andrew could think too hard about it, he heard the wail of sirens and saw the flashing red and blue of police cars rounding the corner. He couldn’t go to the convenience store since the owner, Mick, didn’t like him very much and would turn him over in a heartbeat. That left one last option.
Andrew shoved his shoulder against the boarded-up doors of the library, expecting more resistance, but the doors gave easily and he tumbled inside.
The library on the inside was a completely different sort of strange than the outside. While the outside was all crumbling infrastructure and OSHA violations, the inside was something straight out of a dream. It seemed a lot bigger than the outside could have hinted, with rows upon rows of shelves stuffed with thousands of books, stretching as far as Andrew could see. He was pretty sure he could get lost in this place, even with a memory as good as his.
A gilded spiral staircase gave off a burnished glow in the warm light that emanated from various dimly-lit lamps on the walls. They were old-fashioned, oil-lamps cast in iron that gleamed in the flickering light. Andrew craned his neck upwards and counted eight floors that looked identical to the one he stood on. There were paintings too – delicate oils of people hung in gold frames on walls painted white and masterfully-crafted marble busts of long-forgotten people tucked between the bookshelves. They were fanciful and detailed in a library that seemed to be made up entirely of fancy and detail.
Andrew drew closer the bookshelves and inspected the books. Most of them were leather-bound and embossed with gold foil and several were in different languages. He ran his finger down the spines, feeling the rough bumps from the binding and wondered how they got there. It seemed an innocuous question; someone had to have put them there. But Andrew couldn’t help but think that the books had always been there, that there was no other place for them to be.
He walked around for a bit, wandering through the shelves and studying the strange books in them. There were no markers that indicated what genre was in, but occasionally he passed tiny golden placards that listed names and places. One simply read, Forgotten Books.
As far as Andrew knew, the library was empty. He hadn’t seen a soul in the hours he’d been there; no one perusing the shelves of books or studying the artwork like he would have expected. He supposed they could have been on the upper levels, but there was no one at the help desk behind the stairs, either. But Andrew couldn’t help noticing that there was no dust that coated the shelves. The place seemed well-kept, so someone must have been attending them.
Andrew could spend hours here – days, if he really wanted to. But if Tilda found that he had snuck out again, he’d have more to worry about than a dust-free counter in a seemingly-abandoned library. He retraced his steps through the maze of shelves, noting that it took more time finding his way out of the library, and was outside before the sun had fully begun its assent into the dull gray of the morning sky.
The next day, the library pervaded his thoughts. After his shift at the warehouse, he went to visit the library again, except the lot was empty when he arrived. There was no sign of the huge building that had been there hours prior, not even the skeletal remains of it. Weeds swayed in the breeze where the library was supposed to be and Andrew was left wondering if he had simply dreamt it all.
The second time Andrew saw the library, he found it by accident, tucked in an alley about two miles from his house. It was a lot narrower than the library in the lot, and it sat crammed between two apartment buildings and a back wall. Andrew would not have recognized it if it weren’t for the sign that read, Foxhole’s Traveling Library fixed above the doorway.
The inside, Andrew discovered, looked exactly as it had when he first saw it. The same shelves with their strange labelling system were where he’d found them that first night, and Andrew was greeted with that familiar humming sound, like a thousand tiny wings beating in unison. The library still seemed impossibly huge compared to the outside, and Andrew swore he felt a buzzing beneath his skin.
It greeted him like an old friend, far too familiar for only seeing it once before. He’d stubbled across the library weeks ago, but Andrew felt like he had known this place for years.
The second level was almost identical to the bottom one, and Andrew spent his night circling the section of shelves labeled “Books Well-Traveled.” He expected to see maps and atlas’, depictions of the world and places Andrew would never see – and there were a couple – but most of the shelves held books with tattered covers and heavily-creased spines. As far as Andrew could tell, there was no rhyme or reason to the organization of the books. On one shelf, he found Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone slotted next to a near-unrecognizable copy of The Great Gatsby.
“You’re new.”
Andrew almost dropping the books he held in his arms to the carpeted ground below as someone spoke behind him. He whipped around to see a man standing at the end of the shelf. After spending hours alone in the library during his first visit, Andrew hadn’t expected to be interrupted by anyone.
The man wasn’t much taller than Andrew, or much older, with dark red hair that fell around an impish face in lose curls. He regarded Andrew warily, assessing him with a sharp quirk of an eyebrow. His face was covered in thin and circular scars and his eyes were shrewd and blue like a summer’s sky. He was very pretty, Andrew noticed.
His heart was still beating much too fast, as if he’d been caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. He shoved the books back onto the shelf. “Who are you?”
“Neil,” the man said after a long pause.
Andrew blinked. He glanced at the plaque that was supposed to tell him what genre he was in, but simply stated Books Well-Traveled instead. Right underneath it, inscribed in tiny letters, was Neil Josten. Baltimore 2008 – Dublin 2010.
“That’s my shelf,” Neil confirmed, correctly guessing Andrew’s line of thought. His eyes narrowed. “What’s your name?”
“Andrew.”
Neil scrutinized him for a long moment, as if trying to puzzle something out. Then his expression turned sly. He slid next to Andrew beside the bookcase and pointed to the novels Andrew had hastily put away.
“You put them in the wrong spot,” he said. He reached around him and rearranged three of the books. “They’re chronological.”
Andrew frowned at the three novels Neil had sorted. “Hamlet was written before John Steinbeck was even born,” he felt the need to point out.
Neil looked at him with a strange quirk to his lips, as if there were something Andrew didn’t get. Obviously, he didn’t feel the need to explain because he ignored Andrew’s comment. “You can read the books, but you need to log it with Wymack first,” he said. “He’s the one in charge here.”
Then he plucked a seemingly-random book off the shelf and handed it to Andrew. He turned on his heel and disappeared before Andrew could even get a word in, navigating through the bookcases with an ease that spoke of true familiarity. Andrew glared after him, intrigued despite himself and irritated about it.
The book Neil had given him was a battered edition of Watership Down. Andrew rubbed his thumb over the hard cover, feeling the small tears and scratches in the plastic covering. Watership Down had been Andrew’s favorite book as a kid. He hadn’t read it in years, but he still had his own copy safely hidden under his bed. He didn’t know why Neil had given him this book in particular, or why he had seemed so wily about it. Andrew flipped through the pages, skimming through passages he had long since read and memorized, before replacing it on the shelf in its nonsensically designated spot.
Andrew passed the help desk on his way downstairs, and noticed that it was no longer unattended. The man standing behind the desk was a hulking bear of a man, with thick muscles the size of Andrew’s head and flame tattoos crawling up his forearms. He hunched over what looked like a log of names and book titles. He didn’t look like what Andrew would picture as a librarian.
“Welcome back,” the man – Wymack, Andrew assumed – sighed. He glanced up at Andrew and squinted at him. “You’re not taking another book, are you? You’re supposed to return them afterwards. This is a library, not a charity.”
Andrew stared at him. His hands were empty, and he hadn’t taken anything when he left the library two weeks ago. Rather than parse the meaning, Andrew asked, “What is this place?”
“Foxhole’s Traveling Library,” recited Wymack. “The sign’s outside. I thought you’d have learned to read by now.”
Apparently, no one in this weird library was going to give him a straight answer. The old quack behind the desk leveled him one last stern look before returning to his log. He scribbled something at the bottom of the page and said, “Stay as long as you’d like, but we close at sunrise. No taking any more books until you learn how to use a library.”
“I haven’t taken anything,” Andrew said and Wymack glared at him.
“I changed my mind,” he said gruffly, snapping his book shut and placing it flat on the desk in front of him. “We’re closing now. Goodbye.”
Not seeing the point in arguing, Andrew gave him a sarcastic two-finger salute and turned around. As he was leaving, he couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes watching him. The prickling in the back of his neck grew too much as Andrew was crossing the threshold to the alley outside so he glanced back. He saw something small dart behind one of the bookcases, a flash of red before disappearing again. Andrew stared hard at the shelf, but detected no other movement.
The sense of someone watching him followed Andrew home, but he couldn’t see anyone around whenever he scanned the street. His fingers brushed the armband of his left arm, taking comfort from the outline of his pocket knife. The hard ridge of his knife beneath his fingertips gave him more semblance of security, but Andrew didn’t feel completely safe until the door was firmly shut and locked behind him.
He didn’t know what to make of the library. It wasn’t normal, that much was obvious, but Andrew was hard-pressed to call it magic. He didn’t believe in superstition or something as stupid as magic. Things that bent the laws of time and physics didn’t fit into Andrew’s worldview, and a shapeshifting-traveling-not-magical library certainly wasn’t allowed. Andrew rubbed his forehead, feeling the beginnings of a migraine starting behind his eyes.
Maybe the sleep-deprivation and stress were finally catching up and he was losing it. The library and its strange inhabitants were simply a figment of Andrew’s imagination and all he needed was to sleep it off. He checked the clock that still hung in the kitchen, despite being about two hours off, and climbed up the stairs to the room he shared with Aaron. If he went to bed now, he’d still have a couple hours before he had to clock in at the grocery store.
When he stepped into his room, he noticed that the window was wide open. Aaron was asleep in his bed across the room, dead to the world for another couple hours before he’d wake up, but the latch was unlocked and the moth-bitten curtains shifted in the wind. Andrew frowned; he definitely hadn’t left the window open when he left. Aaron must have woken up and opened it himself.
That’s when Andrew heard the scratching from under his bed. He went immediately to Aaron, making a barrier between his sleeping brother and whoever was under his bed. But no one emerged. All Andrew heard was some more scratching, and then a quiet snuffling sound that reminded Andrew of a small animal.
For a moment, Andrew was relieved he wouldn’t have to fend off a would-be attacker, but then he thought of his books. The three novels he hid under his bed were the only things he truly owned besides the clothes on his back, and he’d kept them with him all these years. He wasn’t about to let them get chewed up by a wild animal.
Andrew looked for anything he could use and grabbed a ruler off of Aaron’s desk. The first thing he saw when he ducked his head under the bed was a shrewd pair of eyes, glowing in the darkness. Andrew jabbed at it with the ruler, and it leapt at him with snarl, making Andrew fall backwards.
It was a fox, russet-colored fur and bright blue eyes that seemed far too clever to belong to an animal. Andrew stared at it, dumbfounded, and it took him a few seconds to realize that one of his books was trapped in its jaws. He couldn’t see the cover but he didn’t need to – he would recognize this book anywhere. It was his copy of Watership Down.
“Hey – fuck.” Andrew scrambled to his feet, snatching for his book, but the fox darted out of his reach and jumped out the window. He rushed after it but was too late. He saw a bushy red tail disappearing around the corner, book in tow.
“You fucking asshole,” Andrew shouted, as loud as he dared. Tilda would be getting home any minute now, and Andrew couldn’t risk her hearing him.
Andrew shut the window and locked it, booking it down the stairs as quietly as he could. It didn’t take long to find the fox. Andrew chased after it, but it always stayed two steps ahead of him. It led him back to the dead-end alley the library had been in. Andrew rounded the corner triumphantly, expecting to see the trapped fox with his book. Instead he found a couple of trash bins and rotting cardboard boxes. No library.
Behind him, the sun was already beginning to rise. The library, and the fox with his book, were gone.
By the time Andrew made it back home, Aaron was already up and about. Andrew found him wandering around the kitchen in his pajama bottoms, rummaging through the cupboards for breakfast. He seemed okay enough, and Andrew was glad to see him out of bed.
“There’s no fucking food in this house,” Aaron grumbled before rounding on Andrew. “And you’re lucky you didn’t get caught sneaking out.”
“Did you take your meds?” Andrew asked without acknowledging the statement.
He brushed past Aaron on the way to the fridge. There wasn’t anything in there except an old bottle of ketchup and an empty pizza box. Andrew made a mental note to grab some groceries when he was done with his shift. They really didn’t have the money, but Tilda wasn’t going to do it and Andrew could ask for an advance on his next paycheck if he really needed to. Maybe he should find a new ring to fight in at night.
“Obviously.” Aaron crossed his arms. “And Mom’s passed out upstairs. She’ll be out for a couple hours but I’ll check on her in a bit to make sure she’s not drowning in her own vomit.”
“Let her drown.” Andrew slammed the refrigerator door shut. “Maybe then we’ll have money for groceries.”
“Fuck you,” Aaron said, but he sounded too tired to be angry.
Andrew tried really, really hard not to think of the library, but it slipped in and out of his thoughts almost constantly throughout the next four days. Even Aaron seemed to notice his distraction, shooting him concerned looks whenever Andrew was near. Andrew waved him off. The last thing Aaron needed was to be worrying about him.
“Is it a boy?” Aaron asked one night. He was already dressed for bed in sweats and an old t-shirt, furiously brushing his teeth as he analyzed Andrew in the mirror. Andrew shot him an annoyed look while he combed his wet hair out into something manageable.
“Mind your business,” he said, yanking at a particularly stubborn knot.
“You’re being weird,” Aaron wheedled. “Why won’t you just tell me?”
What could Andrew tell him; that he’d found a magic library not once, but twice? That he’d chased a fox that had stolen his book? That the library had practically disappeared in front of his eyes? Aaron would think he was insane. Andrew wasn’t entirely sure he’d be wrong.
Andrew practically shoved him out of the bathroom. “Bedtime, little Aaron,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Aaron scowled at him.
“I’m pretty sure I’m the older twin,” he said.
“Bullshit.”
Aaron rolled his eyes, then his expression turned solemn. “Seriously, though,” he said. “Are you in trouble?”
Andrew sighed. He knew Aaron’s concern wasn’t entirely misplaced; Andrew had been picked up twice by the police and had gotten himself into deep shit more than once. There used to be a time where Andrew and Aaron told each other everything, but that had been years ago.
“I’m not in trouble,” he said, only to ease the tension from his brother’s expression. “I found a new fighting ring that I’m going to try out tonight.”
Aaron seemed hesitant, but he let the subject drop. “Do you want me to go with?”
Andrew shook his head. “I won’t stay out long tonight, just testing the waters.”
“First-aid kit is under the sink. For when you get your ass beat,” Aaron teased.
“Oh ye of little faith.” Andrew slung his jacket over his shoulder and flipped Aaron off as he left. He saw Aaron return the gesture as the door closed behind him.
The new ring was only about four blocks away from the lot the library had first appeared in, but Andrew shoved any thoughts of the traveling library firmly out of his head. Eden’s Twilight was packed when Andrew showed up, and the first round had already begun. He pushed his way through the crowd, jabbing his elbow into anyone who got too close. The place smelled of beer and sweat and the ground was sticky and covered in suspicious stains.
Andrew found a vantage point in a small alcove above the main mass of the crowd that surround the ring. Only a few people hung out on the upper deck so it wasn’t as crowded as it was below. Inside the ring, the two fighters circled each other as the audience cheered and placed bets. Andrew mentally placed a few of his own, though he didn’t put money on it or voice them out loud.
The first guy was huge, tall and muscular and covered in tattoos. He beat his fists together to the screams of his fans. Andrew was pretty sure he’d seen him fight in another ring before. It only took him a second to place his name. Gorilla. Gorilla was known for his brutal punches and strength, but he was slow and tired easily.
His challenger was at least two heads shorter than him. She was wiry and thin, with her white-blonde hair pulled into a short ponytail at the back of her head. Andrew watched her circle the ring and sat up with interest. He was too far to see clearly, but he thought he recognized the dangerous glint in her eye as she sized up her opponent. Andrew didn’t think this match would be as cut-and-dry as it seemed.
He was right.
Gorilla attacked first, lunging at the women with a loud cry, but the women dodged easily and aimed two sharp jabs to his ribs. She was fast and deadly, with precise punches and kicks that wore her larger opponent down. She fought dirty too, striking hard at sensitive places. The match was over in a matter of minutes, when the women dug her knee in the back of Gorilla’s leg and forced him down, pinning his arm behind his back until he tapped out.
The audience roared and Andrew felt impressed despite himself. The blonde women gave a sweet wave that was at odds with the way she fought and exited the ring. Andrew hopped down from his perch before the next match started and shoved around looking for someone who could sign him up for a future match. He almost slammed right into the women collecting her winnings.
There was a bruise already starting to swell on her chin from where Gorilla had punched her, but she smiled when she saw Andrew. She was dressed conservatively and her white-blonde hair was dyed into a pastel rainbow at the tips. A tiny silver cross hung from her neck, catching the flashing lights around them. It was hard reconciling the fighter Andrew saw in the ring with the sweet Christian girl in front of him.
“Hi,” she said, waving with a hand taped with bandages. “Are you Andrew?”
“What,” Andrew said. He wondered how the hell she knew his name, and if he should get out of there. If some of the people from his old ring were here, they might still be looking for someone to blame. And Andrew didn’t think he’d want to be on the receiving end of this women’s punches.
“Sorry.” The women smiled apologetically. She put her hand out for Andrew to shake. “Renee. My friend pointed you out.”
That didn’t make Andrew feel any better. His eyes slid past Renee, looking for anyone that might have recognized him. His eyes caught on red hair, a scarred face, and clever blue eyes.
“You,” Andrew said and started towards Neil. “Your fucking pet stole my book.”
Somehow, Neil looked both amused and annoyed. “Are you following me or something?”
“I want my book back,” Andrew said.
“It’s not yours. And I don’t have a pet.”
“Bullshit it’s not mine,” Andrew said, but Neil was already turning away. Andrew wasn’t about to let him get away with his cryptic bullshit again, so he followed him outside.
“Leave me alone,” Neil shouted over his shoulder but Andrew grabbed his arm and spun him around. He got a hold of Neil’s shirt and shoved him bodily against the wall.
“What the fuck is going on?” he snapped. Neil blinked at him, unimpressed.
“Why should I give you anything,” Neil said, “when you’ll just take it?”
Andrew was so fed up with people accusing him of shit. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Neil snatched at Andrew’s wrist, trying to wrench free, but Andrew held fast, “go fuck yourself.”
“You tell me the truth, and I’ll let you go,” Andrew said. “Truth for a truth.”
“Well, you can’t keep me pinned all night,” Neil snarked. “Eventually you’ll have to let me go.”
Andrew glared at him, but Neil only snorted with derision.
“I’m not afraid of you,” he sneered. “Fine. Truth for a truth.”
Andrew released him and Neil straightened, smoothing his hands down his shirt where Andrew had ruffled it. “What do you want to know?” he asked.
“What, exactly, is Foxhole’s Traveling Library?”
Neil looked dumbfounded. “You don’t remember? Wymack said he already explained.”
“Humor me.”
“It’s exactly as it sounds,” Neil said, “a traveling library. Wymack founded it…I don’t know. It’s old. Older than any of us. We – me and the rest of the foxes – collect books and things for it. Anyone’s welcome, but usually only those who need it can find it.”
Andrew took a moment to process that. “It’s magic?”
“Obviously,” Neil said. “Do most libraries you know move every night?”
Andrew ignored him. “You said only people who need it can find it, yet I keep finding it. I don’t need anything.”
“For the record, I don’t believe you. But,” Neil said when Andrew clenched his fist. “you keep finding it because it’s here to collect those books you took.”
Andrew could feel his frustration rising again. He took a few breaths to calm himself down, forcing any traces of emotion off his face. “I didn’t take anything,” he said, once he’d gotten everything under control. Neil snorted again, but Andrew didn’t react.
“Okay, my turn,” he said. “How old were you when you first visited the library?”
Andrew frowned. He’d only found out about the place a couple weeks ago. “Nineteen.”
Neil shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t think that’s right. You showed up before Wymack took me in, but he told me about you. Andrew Minyard. You’re the kid who kept sneaking in. He offered you a place there, but you didn’t want to stay. You took a bunch of books and ran with them.”
Andrew stared hard at him, trying to detect the lie. It was impossible – hell, the whole fucking library was impossible – but Neil didn’t seem to be lying. But as Neil’s words began to sink it, Andrew realized that he did remember it. He’d thought it was a dream, but he remembered picking up a book from a shelf and thinking Aaron would like it. He remembered stuffing it in his shirt and running home. He could never forget the bruises Tilda left on him for sneaking out of the house.
It seemed odd that Andrew had almost forgotten, given his perfect memory. But now he couldn’t stop remembering. Rough hands and tears trailing down his face, running through the streets at night looking for the library - his library. With its strange books and gruff librarian who always gave him a book to hold even though he couldn’t read it yet. The librarian had offered to shelter him after he showed up with a bruised and tear-streaked face, but Andrew had refused.
He wouldn’t leave Aaron. That’s why he wouldn’t stay. He’d taken the books because he wanted to bring a piece of the library with him, so he’d never forget. But he’d forgotten anyway.
“It’s your turn,” Neil said.
Before Andrew could sort through his tumultuous thoughts, he heard a shout behind him.
“Neil!” Andrew turned to see a large man with spiky hair jogging toward them. He wore gym shorts and a sweaty black tank top with the logo of some metal band Andrew didn’t recognize. Behind him stood Renee and a woman with short, curly hair, her arms crossed over her chest. The man regarded Andrew with a mixture of confusion and suspicion, but he addressed Neil. “You okay, buddy?”
“I’m fine, Matt,” Neil replied. The man groaned but Neil waved him off. “Really. We were just talking.”
“Alright,” Matt said, not sounding entirely convinced. “Dan was saying it’s about time we head back, yeah?”
Neil nodded and met Andrew’s eyes for a moment. Andrew would have to wait to take his turn, which meant he had time to think of what he wanted to ask. There was so much he wanted to know; it was like a strange itch spreading under his skin. Andrew hadn’t felt so interested in anything in ages. It exhilarated him, and he kind of hated it.
“It was nice meeting you, Andrew,” Renee said sweetly, giving a little wave. “Wymack has said a lot about you.”
Andrew didn’t know what to say to that, so he let them leave without a word. He dug in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and lit one. He felt oddly drained and he didn’t particularly want to stick around and watch the last few fights of the night. So, he leaned against the wall, one foot kicked up against the patchwork of brick and mortar, and smoked his cigarette to the filter while he did his best to sort out his thoughts and newfound memories into something more comprehensible.
After he finished his first cigarette, he lit another. He was still uncertain, but he thought, perhaps, that he would like to see the library again.
There was a smudge of ink on the inside-cover of The Giver. Andrew brushed his fingers over it, wondering why he had never put much thought to it before. It was black and nearly-illegible, but he could make out the words “Fox” and “Library” where the water damage wasn’t so bad. He flipped open his last book, a beaten-up copy of Charlotte’s Web to find a similar ink-stain inside. The words were almost completely obliterated, but he could still see the stamp of a tiny fox that Andrew had seen on the sign hanging in front of the library.
The books that Andrew had kept with him for almost fifteen years belonged to Foxhole’s Traveling Library.
When Andrew and Aaron were eight and Aaron first started getting sick, Andrew would read Charlotte’s Web to him until he fell asleep. He told him about The Giver and how he would have hated to have his emotions taken away from him like that. All this time, they were from the library that Andrew had loved and forgotten. And he didn’t even know.
Andrew slammed his books shut and shoved them under his bed. He watched his sleeping brother for a moment, listened to his steady breathing, and left.
He needed to find Neil.
The streets were empty, despite it not being that late out. Andrew didn’t really know where he was going, but he pointed his feet in a direction and walked. It seemed like ages before he found the library, sitting in the middle of an In-N-Out parking lot. But when Andrew tried the door, he found that it was locked.
He waited for someone to show for an hour before he left again. He wandered around until he heard shouting and what sounded like an animal crying out in pain. When Andrew went to investigate, he found two guys smelling of booze. They were shouting incoherently, and throwing bottles at a spitting-mad fox cornered against the wall.
The guy with a white hoodie moved to kick it, but Andrew ran forward and kicked him in the back of the knee before he could. There was a horrible pop and Hoodie fell to the ground in a heap of flailing limbs with an agonized scream. Andrew grabbed him by the front of his hoodie and slammed him to the ground but before he could do it again, Hoodie’s friend wrenched him away and pushed him back. Andrew withdrew his knife, but he was unbalanced and caught a nasty right-hook to the side of his face. His knife fell somewhere to the side, but Andrew didn’t have time to reach for it before the man smashed a bottle against the side of his head. Andrew’s vision went white and he crumbled to the ground.
“Asshole,” the man spat. Andrew flipped him off but he couldn’t see much through the blood streaming into his eyes. The man pulled his arm back for another swing, but movement by the wall caught both his and Andrew’s attention.
Neil staggered over to them, bruised and battered and looking absolutely worse for wear. “Leave him alone,” he snarled and launched himself at the man. Neil was smaller than him, but that didn’t stop him from getting a few good punches in and buying Andrew enough time to get off the ground. He was unsteady on his feet, but he got his balance and grabbed a hold on Neil’s shirt.
“Come on,” he said, yanking him away from getting punched into oblivion. His head was throbbing and he still had trouble seeing, but Neil gripped him under the arm and supported some of his weight while they ran.
“I thought you were supposed to be good at fighting,” Neil panted once they were far enough away. It only took Andrew a second to realize that Neil had led them back to the library.
“Shut up,” Andrew replied, breathing heavily. He used his sleeve to wipe some of the blood from his face. He didn’t think the cut was that bad, but he’d probably need stitches. “You’re the fox?”
Neil flexed his hand, wincing when his knuckles twinged. “I thought that was obvious.”
Andrew stared at him in disbelief. “Yes, because that makes total sense.”
“Magic library. Shape-shifting foxes.” Neil shrugged, and then wrapped his arm around his ribs with a pained groan. “Shit,” he said and slumped to the ground.
Andrew followed him down. He motioned for Neil to sit cross-legged and checked his knuckles. He swiped his finger over them, wiping away some of the blood, and Neil let out a pained hiss.
“Friends of yours?” Andrew asked.
Neil shook his head with barely-suppressed anger. “Just a couple assholes who like to hurt animals.”
“Well,” Andrew said. “I hope I broke that guy’s knee, then.”
“Thanks,” Neil said. He met Andrew eyes. His lips pursed when he saw the mess the asshole made of Andrew’s face, but he held his gaze. “You saved me.”
Andrew shrugged it off. He didn’t know why Neil was looking at him like that, or why it terrified him and made something jolt in his chest at the same time. He looked away, smoothing over his expression into something that resembled boredom. “You look like a punching bag,” he said. “There’s a first-aid kit at the house.”
“No need.” Neil pushed to his feet with a grunt. “The library will do just fine. Coming in?”
Andrew didn’t know what he meant by that, but he followed Neil through the doors all the same. They weren’t unlocked anymore – or at least they weren’t locked for Neil.
The cuts on Neil’s face and hands began to heal as soon he stepped over the threshold. Andrew really shouldn’t have been surprised, but he couldn’t look away as the bruises faded as if they were never there.
“Nothing can hurt us here,” Neil said as Andrew felt his own wounds begin to heal.
They walked through the library, neither wanting to leave their quiet sanctuary. Andrew was sure the other foxes were hanging around somewhere, but the place was huge enough to get lost in and Andrew knew that they would not be bothered. He didn’t really know why he was still here, just a couple weeks ago he had been furious at Neil for stealing his book. But now a small part of him kind of wanted to hold his hand. Andrew shoved that very small part to the back of his mind before he could do something stupid like actually reach out for Neil.
They were on the third floor of the library, in a section labeled Unwritten Books, when Neil rocked to a halt beside Andrew. He turned to him and reach out, stopping his hand just short of Andrew’s face.
Andrew swallowed. He didn’t know what Neil planned to do, but he met Neil’s eyes and nodded once in permission. Neil brushed his fingers over Andrew’s temple, where the bottle had hit him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his fingers pressed to the spot where the gash would have been. “Sometimes it doesn’t heal all of it.”
Andrew touched his temple and felt a bump from a scar. It hadn’t been there before. Andrew grabbed Neil’s hand and moved it away from his face. He squeezed once and Neil tucked his hands in his pockets.
“Do not apologize,” Andrew ordered. It wasn’t Neil’s fault, and Andrew didn’t like the sad expression in Neil’s eyes. “And don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Neil asked.
Andrew ignored the question. It was his turn, and he told Neil so. He’d been thinking of what he wanted to ask, and now he thought he was ready.
“Why are you here?”
Neil looked surprised at the question, but then he motioned for Andrew to sit. Andrew sat with his back to the bookshelf and his arms draped over his knees. Neil mirrored him. He was quiet for a long time before he spoke.
“I was running from my father.” He motioned to his face. “He’s the one that did this. To say that he was a shitty father would be an understatement. He was a monster.”
Andrew knew plenty about monsters that pretended to be human. He’s had monsters of his own. Some being Tilda and her string of boyfriends that varied from strung-out drug addicts to heavy-handed abusers. Sometimes they were worse, but Andrew tried not to think about them. He wasn’t familiar with Neil’s sort of monster, but he stayed quiet and gave Neil his full attention.
Neil rubbed at the circular burn scars on his cheek. “A couple years back, he killed my mother. Beat her to death with a metal pipe. He would have killed me, but I ran. I just kept running, and somehow I ended up here. If Wymack hadn’t taken me in, I would have died.”
Andrew thought of offering Andrew a place to stay, so many years ago. “He takes in a lot of strays,” he noted.
“The old man is soft,” Neil said, fondly. Then he frowned. “Why didn’t you stay?”
Andrew exhaled heavily. “My brother,” he said. “I wouldn’t leave him. This was before he got sick, but he was always mine to protect. If I left him, I am not sure he would have survived.”
“He’s sick?”
Andrew grit his teeth until his jaw ached and gave a jerky nod. “It’s worse these days,” is all he said. He really didn’t want to talk about it.
“Andrew,” Neil whispered. “The library probably won’t come back once you return the rest of your books.”
“I know.”
Neil’s voice had an edge to it but Andrew couldn’t tell if it was from anger or from something else. Something closer to desperation. “You can’t keep them forever.”
“I know.” Ever since Andrew rediscovered the library, he knew he would not be allowed to keep it. The library, Wymack, even the beginnings of this something between him and Neil. Soon enough, Andrew was going to have to say goodbye.
Aaron’s condition worsened few weeks into December. San Jose was not a city that froze over during its winters, but the cold months always made him struggle more and the sudden temperature drop this year had been merciless. Andrew checked on him regularly, but Aaron would always make him leave the room. Andrew had a sneaking suspicion it was because Aaron didn’t want to get him sick, too.
When Tilda got home a little after two in the morning, Andrew was fuming. He confronted her in the kitchen while she tottered around looking for food. Her eyes were red and unfocused and Andrew wasn’t entirely sure if she was aware that he was there at all.
Andrew hated her.
“Aaron’s sick,” he said, forcing his voice to be even. Despite his best efforts, his words trembled with rage.
Tilda turned to him, leaning against the counter so she wouldn’t topple over, and regarded him with bleary eyes. “Make him better, then,” she slurred.
Andrew had spent the last decade of his life trying to make him better, with no help from Tilda. Andrew worked two jobs and got into illegal street-fighting to pay the bills while Tilda got drunk and high for days at a time. Her son was dying and she did not care.
Andrew clenched his hands into fists to stop the shaking, but Tilda didn’t notice. She dug around in her purse and withdrew a prescription bottle full of various pills. She shook some out onto her palm and studied them.
Andrew crossed the kitchen and knocked them out of her hand. The candy-colored pills clattered to the ground, scattering across the dirty floorboards. “He’s sick!” he snarled. “He needs medicine.”
Tilda went very still, and for a moment the world stopped spinning. Andrew didn’t register the slap at first, just that his face stung and there was a sharp, metallic taste in his mouth. Everything jolted back into motion with that slap.
“You ungrateful shit,” Tilda hissed. She was shaking a finger in Andrew’s face, but Andrew hardly noticed. He had his hand pressed to his cheek, where Tilda had hit him. “You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me. Don’t go telling me what to do, I don’t owe you anything!”
Andrew said nothing while she stalked away. He could feel his lip starting to swell under his hand. He pressed his finger to the cut and it came away red. Andrew was moving before he really thought about it. One minute he was standing in the kitchen with a stinging face, and the next he was digging for a book from under his bed. Charlotte’s Web. That’ll do.
It was only a couple of hours until sunrise, but Andrew didn’t have trouble finding the library. All the other times he tried to enter without a book, the doors would not open and Neil would have to come out onto the front stoop with him. But this time the doors parted easily, and Andrew was greeted with a blast of warm air and the tingling sensation of his bloodied lip beginning to heal.
Neil saw it anyway and was across the room in an instant.
“Who did that to you?” he demanded.
“My mother.” Andrew spat the word. “I asked her to parent for once.”
Neil looked ready to fight, but Andrew shoved the book at him before he could say anything. He took it, confused, before glancing at the cover. “Oh,” he said. “Are you sure?”
“Shut up,” Andrew said and Neil nodded. He motioned for Andrew to follow him and brought him to a section of the library on the sixth floor.
The shelves up here were filled with more books, but Andrew spied a few strange objects that seemed to defy the laws of physics. Andrew picked one up. It was about the size of his palm, with nine interlocking gold rings that spun around each other. It reminded Andrew of rings circling a planet, or maybe a strange, metal flower.
“That’s Matt’s work,” Neil said once he caught Andrew looking. “He’s more of a creator than a collector. Most of these are his.”
“Most?” Andrew asked. He nudged one ring and it spun backwards. The rest of the rings followed suit.
“Some of them are Allison’s. One or two might be Nicky’s, but he never really got a hang of it.”
Andrew replaced the object back on the shelf, careful not to crush the delicate metalwork, and he and Neil continued through the maze of bookshelves. Eventually, they came upon a shelf labeled Lost Books. The shelf was empty except for a single book: Andrew’s old copy of Watership Down.
Neil placed Charlotte’s Web next to it and turned to Andrew without meeting his eyes, his hand lingering on the shelf. He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke. “This could be yours,” he said and finally looked up.
There was an empty space on the plaque, right under the label. It had enough room for a name, like all the other shelves in the library. Neil brushed his hand over it, finger unconsciously looping around to form a word.
Andrew.
“You could stay here,” continued Neil. “You could be a fox and collect books or make things. Anything. You could get away from your mom.”
“I won’t leave Aaron,” Andrew reminded him.
Andrew could see the disappointment on Neil’s face, but he nodded. “Okay,” he said. He stooped to sit with his back against the shelf, reminiscent of the time they sheltered between the shelves and started their question game. Andrew sat next to him. He left an inch of space between them, but Andrew’s knee nudged Neil’s and they were close enough that he could feel Neil’s warmth.
“You should see this place during the day,” Neil said, as if Andrew would ever be allowed to. “There’s so many windows, the sunlight catches Matt’s creations and everything turns gold.”
Neil wasn’t looking at him, which gave Andrew every opportunity to watch without being seen in return. Freckles dashed across the bridge of his nose, like tiny constellations of stars that Andrew wished to name. His eyes were an even deeper blue in the dimness of the library, and light danced in them as he gazed at the bookshelves full of books and gadgets. A small smile ghosted across Neil’s face. “It’s really beautiful.”
Looking at Neil, Andrew agreed.
“Oh,” Neil said with a small laugh when he noticed Andrew’s attention, “you can stare, but when I do it – ”
Andrew kissed him. He felt Neil’s breath hitch against his lips and Andrew pulled back with a surge of panic.
“Shit,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He started to get up, but Neil stopped him with a hand hovering over his arm. Andrew looked in the general direction of the exit, wondering if he could still make a break for it.
“Wait,” Neil said. “Do we have to stop?”
Andrew pressed his thumb to his bottom lip. He couldn’t stop thinking about the weight of Neil’s mouth against his.
“Andrew,” Neil urged. Andrew gazed at him for a long moment before sitting down again.
“Yes or no?” Andrew asked. If they were going to do this, they were going to do it right.
“Yes,” Neil breathed, and leaned in.
Andrew hooked his fingers in the color of Neil’s sweatshirt as they kissed. He used it as an anchor, soft fabric brushing against his hand while he got lost in the waves washing over him. Time stood still and Andrew’s mind wiped clean. It was just him and Neil, no impending deadline looming over them for when Andrew returned his last book. For a moment, they were infinite.
When they separated, Andrew had to take a few seconds to relearn how to breathe before he opened his eyes. He wondered why they had stopped kissing until he saw the soft light reaching out for them.
“It’s morning,” Neil said. He swallowed roughly. Andrew’s eyes followed the movement of his throat and then skipped back to Neil’s face. His lips were red from kissing, his eyes blown. Andrew watched him form the words as he said, “Library’s closing.”
Andrew extracted himself from Neil, taking a few deep breaths to get himself together. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, fingers wrapping around his lighter and cigarettes. He itched to light one, but he didn’t.
“Hey,” Neil said. Andrew glanced at him. “I’ll see you tonight?”
Andrew didn’t respond, but he pulled Neil in for another quick kiss. He and Neil both knew that he would show up on the steps of the library as soon as night fell and Aaron was asleep. However much time he and Neil had, Andrew would not waste it.
Tilda was missing, of course. She had never been there for her sons; not when Aaron lost his first tooth, or when Andrew broke his arm climbing a tree, or when they both miraculously graduated high school. It made sense that she was missing now, when Aaron’s temperature was rising and there was no money left to buy more ibuprofen. He’d given Aaron the last of it an hour ago but he wasn’t getting better.
No money, no medicine, and no mother.
“Mom?” Aaron croaked. It was the first thing he’d said in a while, and it almost made Andrew jump. They both knew that Tilda would not show up, but Aaron seemed too out of it to really understand.
“She ran to the store to get more milk,” Andrew said. It was an old lie he used to tell Aaron when Tilda had gone off on another bender. He’d stopped making excuses for her when they were twelve and Aaron had to go to the hospital when he stopped breathing. Andrew didn’t know why he said it now. Maybe because he wanted to offer this last scrap hope to his brother and he knew that he wouldn’t last long enough to be disappointed.
Andrew pressed his hand against Aaron’s forehead, pushing his hair off his sweat-slicked skin to gauge his temperature. He didn’t have a thermometer, but he didn’t need one to know that Aaron was very, very sick. He was barely conscious, puffy eyes cracked open as he struggled to breathe. The pneumonia had settled in his lungs shortly after Andrew delivered the book, and now he was left to watch his brother deteriorate and wonder if he could have done something more.
Andrew had promised to meet Neil, but he’s barely been able to leave Aaron’s bedside for days. He leaned his head against the bedframe of Aaron’s bed and wondered if he’d ever see Neil again. Andrew supposed that he could leave the last book on the porch for Neil to pick up and take to the library. Their stolen moments together would have to be enough.
It was well into the night and Andrew was still sitting sentinel on the floor beside Aaron’s bed.
“Do you remember,” he whispered, “when I used to read to you?”
Aaron didn’t respond, his breathing too labored, but Andrew continued to talk. “I found a library. You would like it. It’s huge and filled with thousands of books and I’ve almost gotten lost in it a couple times. I’ll take you to it, when you get better.”
Andrew wasn’t sure if Aaron would make the trip. He clenched his jaw for several seconds, not wanting to think of his brother not making it.
“You have to get better, Aaron,” Andrew said and Aaron replied with a weak cough.
A loud thump on the window nearly made Andrew jump out of his skin. He glanced at Aaron before seeing what had made the noise. When he saw who was standing below, he shoved the window open.
“Hey,” Neil shouted up to him. “Grab your book.”
Neil came upstairs a couple minutes later with Matt and Dan in tow. Andrew stared at them, dumbfounded. “I already said that I’m not leaving Aaron.”
“Which is why,” Matt said as he eased Aaron up into a sitting position, “we’re bringing him with us.”
He lifted Aaron out of the bed like he weighed nothing to him. He probably didn’t, Aaron had hardly been able to eat anything these past few days.
Andrew gripped his arm to stop him taking his brother anywhere. “What the fuck will that do except make him worse?” he demanded.
“We reckon the library will heal him,” Dan responded. She raised her eyebrows at Andrew, giving him a stern look until he let go of Matt’s arm. “Now where’s that book?”
Neil darted to the window. “Quickly,” he said. “Before the sun rises.”
Three shapeshifting foxes, one book thief, and a dying nineteen-year-old made it to the library just as the first vestiges of night faded from the sky. It was in the lot Andrew had stumbled across so long ago, it felt like a dream.
Neil was right, the library was beautiful during the day. At night, the interior of the library was dark except for the old-fashioned lamps that hung between the bookshelves. But now light streamed in through the giant windows, catching all the golden details and making it shimmer. The light caught a stream of dust motes that twinkled like tiny golden stars, and dapples of light danced across the white marble.
The strange posse brought him to the self-help desk where Wymack sat. His eyebrows rose when he saw them, but he sat up when he saw Aaron’s limp form in Matt’s arms. Andrew placed the book on the desk between them.
“One book for two places in the library,” he said.
Wymack regarded them for a long moment. “That one still alive?” he grunted, nodding towards Aaron.
Dan pulled over a chair so Matt could set Aaron down. He was so still, and when Matt stepped back Aaron’s head lolled limply to the side. For one heart-stopping second, Andrew thought that they’d failed and his brother was gone. But then Aaron’s eyes blinked open as he let out a small groan.
He squinted in the light, eyes slowly moving around the library before focusing on Andrew’s face. “This your library?” he rasped. It was the most coherent he sounded in days. “Thought it’d bigger.”
Andrew let out a disbelieving huff. He could have been sick with relief. “It is big, asshole.”
Aaron laughed weakly. His face was regaining color by the minute and he didn’t look so gaunt. Andrew knew he was going to be okay. He exchanged a look at Neil, who gave him a small smile. Andrew almost smiled back.
“Welcome to Foxhole’s Traveling Library,” Wymack said. “It’s about god damn time.”