Author’s Note

It was raining on my favorite day in Ireland.

This should surprise no one. It didn’t surprise me.

I was bundled up in a purple raincoat beside my mom, walking down gray cobblestones from the bell tower of a church to a gilded castle to the ancient library of a school. We’d traveled to Dublin to retrace our Irish roots and as a first stop to a book signing in Paris. But it quickly dissolved into me taking furious notes in my phone at every new location.

Notes that would become the beginning of this book.

About the heart of Laurence O’Toole, which was kept in a locked metal cage and stolen from Christ Church Cathedral. About the soaring library at Trinity College that housed a book so old it belonged behind glass. About Irish fairy trees that were so sacred the roads had to be built around them.

It began with a thief, a library, and a monster seeking ancient treasures.

But it didn’t end there.

When I came home, myths, legends, and fairy tales were absorbed at rapid pace. I delved into a realm of magic, where Druids walked among us, the turning of the seasons was controlled by primordial beings, and mythical weapons were used in battle.

As I wandered the streets of New York City, I knew that I wanted to take this magic and mold, layer, and infuse it into a new kind of story.

Where the library is always open.

And darkness lurks behind every corner.

So, pull up a chair. Sink into the cozy softness. Let the black cat next to you hiss gently. There are hundreds of books, thousands of books, more books than you could ever read. Green ivy growing in the dim light.

Now let me spin a tale for you—of monsters and magic and little thieves.