8

The time had come for Emma to choose: either she believed Morty’s story about the library and its secrets or she didn’t. She had trusted Morty for as long as she could remember. Based on the way her heart was lodged in her throat and that she could feel her pounding pulse in her temples, she felt her best option would be to trust what her emotions were revealing to her. Morty wasn’t lying.

Just before Emma reached the steps, she was certain the man was Darcy—where had he come from?—and he had his groupies mesmerized with his dashing smile and British accent. She wheezed as she leaped onto the stairs and gripped his arm.

Darcy released an oomph as she nearly slammed into him, jerking his arm toward the library doors.

“I beg your pardon,” he said as he snatched his arm out of her grip. His tall shadow stretched across the library doors, casting an imposing silhouette. “That is no way for a lady to act.” He straightened his coat and nodded his head toward the women watching him from the lawn.

Emma glared at him as she struggled to catch her breath. “What do you think you’re doing outside of the library? Get back inside, Darcy.”

He tilted his head and studied her. “I don’t recall being asked to obey the whims of a young woman. And if you can’t see it for yourself, I have a group of guests assembled here. It would be rude to leave them when they have specifically asked for my attendance.”

Emma glanced at the women on the grass. More than half of them cradled books and notepads in their arms. The Jane Austen Readers. “Perfect timing,” she grumbled as she recognized the women who enjoyed meeting every other Friday to discuss their love and devotion to all things Jane Austen.

“Emma,” Carrie Ford said, stepping forward from the group. “I can’t believe you and Morty came up with this idea.”

Emma blinked at her a few times. “What idea?”

Carrie pointed at Darcy. Is she blushing? Carrie’s eyes had gone all dewy, and her dilated pupils pulled sunlight toward her face. Carrie sighed audibly as she twirled a lock of her long, blonde hair around her finger.

Darcy straightened his shoulders. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” he said.

Emma narrowed her eyes. “Turn it off for a second, will you, Darcy?” Emma looked at Carrie, creating a handful of possible and plausible explanations as quickly she could, and then settled on the most believable. “You mean the lookalike?”

Carrie and the rest of the group nodded like bobblehead dolls. “He’s superb. And it was such a fun surprise for us this morning, even though he didn’t show up until the end of our meeting—just as we decided to go to the coffee shop. Then poof he was there, saying he’d love to go with us.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Emma said, shaking her head and grabbing Darcy’s arm again. “That’s not going to happen, Carrie. I’m sorry for the disappointment, but Darcy has to stay here with me. He has other plans.”

Darcy turned to look at Emma, and she squeezed her fingers tighter on his arm. When she spoke, her voice was a whispered warning. “Darcy, get back inside the library or I am going to lose it.”

“Going to?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “I think you’ve already gone round that bend, my dear.”

Emma clenched her jaw, and Darcy relented. He removed his hat and bowed gracefully to the women.

“I do hope you’ll accept my sincerest apologies, but it appears I have a previous engagement that I cannot miss. Please come and see me again. I have enjoyed your company immensely.”

The women swooned like dandelions bending in the breeze, and Emma groaned. For a cynical moment she thought, Get a life. But then she remembered what it felt like to feel weak in the knees at seeing a man’s smile—a feeling she’d just fought off that morning. She exhaled.

“Thanks for understanding, Carrie. We really appreciate y’all coming in to see us. Next time we’ll make sure Darcy shows up on time for your meeting.”

The smiles on the women’s faces reminded Emma of a dental commercial. Words swirled around their feet, surfing over the blades of grass. Next time. Dreams do come true. Single.

As Emma dragged Darcy back into the library, Carrie called out, “Thanks, Emma! We’ll see you both next time. We can’t wait!” The door clicked closed and shut out the rest of Carrie’s excited, hopeful words.

Emma pulled Darcy down a deserted aisle before she released her grip on him. “What are you doing, Darcy? Are you trying to get us all thrown into the loony bin? You can’t just walk around Mystic Water. You don’t exactly blend in with the townsfolk.”

Darcy’s cheek dimpled. “The women are drawn to my accent. I could have read them the alphabet, and they would have listened. Did you see how taken they were with me? It was uplifting.” Darcy closed his eyes and inhaled. He gripped the breast of his coat.

“Darcy,” Emma said, snapping her fingers in his face, “are you hearing what I’m saying? You cannot leave the library. Those are Morty’s rules.”

“Morty isn’t here, Emma,” Darcy said.

“You will respect the rules of the library,” Emma demanded, sounding like an old schoolmarm who was on the verge of a soapbox lecture.

“Well, aren’t you turning out to be a real disciplinarian?” he said, smiling at her, nearly winning her over with his charm.

Emma clenched her fingers into fists and exhaled heavily through her nose.

“Have it your way,” he said, “even though my way is significantly more interesting.” He turned around and walked away from her, disappearing like a ghost before he reached the end of the aisle.

Emma gaped at the empty space, feeling her breath catch and then release. She turned away and walked to the circulation desk in a state of dreamlike disbelief until she noticed Vicki looked frantic. She shoved papers around and opened and closed drawers at random. She whirled around when she heard Emma’s footsteps.

“Oh, Emma, finally. I can’t do this without you,” Vicki said, running straight at her. Her dark eyes were wide and full of anxiety.

Emma stopped walking and held up her hands to slow Vicki’s pace before she took Emma down like a linebacker. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s a circus,” Vicki said, tugging her unruly curls back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. “I’ve been looking for a note, a memo, anything that would let me know what’s going on because this is definitely not on the calendar. There are no e-mails about this. No one called ahead to confirm the appearances. I wanted to call Morty, but I didn’t want to bother him. I knew you’d be back soon and could handle it, but then you took longer than I thought, and I’m freaking out. I have no idea what to do, but one of the guys is a real weirdo. Frankly, he scares the beejeezus outta me.”

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. “Pause. Go back, please. None of that makes any sense.”

“I know!” Vicki said in exasperation. “It’s a complete mess. I have no idea what to do.”

“Let’s start at the beginning. What appearances?” Emma asked.

“The impersonators,” Vicki said. “There is a man who looks like he washed ashore a hundred years ago, a charming Englishman, a really handsome man dressed like a World War II soldier, and a man I’m pretty sure is a pirate.”

Emma’s knees wobbled, and the blueberry muffin she’d eaten with Morty churned in her stomach. She placed a hand on her belly and tried to focus. James rushed down the main stairs accompanied by a man wearing ragged clothing who had a coiled rope looped over his neck and hooked under one arm.

“James,” Vicki said as she moved toward him. “Did you find him? He was really terrifying the children. And me.”

Emma passed a glance between James and Vicki. “You can see James?”

Vicki’s confused expression wrinkled her face. “Yeah, he’s the impersonator dressed like a soldier. He’s been helping me since you were taking so long.”

“What is going on?” Emma asked, looking at James.

“We didn’t find him,” James said to Vicki, “but Mr. Crusoe and I will be ready when he reappears.”

Emma’s eyebrows rose on her forehead, and her lips parted in question. “Mr. Crusoe?”

The man with James turned his tanned face to Emma and lifted his thick eyebrows in response. “Yes?” Words uncoiled from his rope and dropped vertically to the ground like sand falling through an hourglass. Orinoco. Wooden cross. Friday.

“What is going on here?” Emma asked again, looking at James.

James moved his hazel-eyed gaze in her direction. His jaw was set. “Time for you to eat crow.”

Emma’s thoughts felt as though they were pushing through pine tar. Words drifted by her line of vision like leaves caught in a swirling wind. Inkpad. Sparkling sand. Bring to life.

James strode toward her and stepped into her personal space. Rather than backing away from him, Emma didn’t move. She could smell the scent of the forest on him—Douglas fir and winter. His closeness didn’t bother her as much as it probably should have. In fact, she wanted to hook her fingers into the front pockets of his pants and lean forward to sniff his jacket. She blinked the haze from her eyes.

His voice sent goose bumps spreading down her arms. “Captain Hook, courtesy of your irresponsibility, is running amok in the library.”

Emma laughed because that’s the only response her brain could produce. She covered her mouth, but more hysterical laughter pushed through her fingers.

“It’s not funny,” Vicki said. “He’s really intimidating. I mean, he’s playing the part really well—a little too well. James was nice enough to try and help me find him and tell him that we won’t be needing his services today or any other day. I don’t think Morty would approve. You should have heard the children screaming.”

Emma’s laughter stopped abruptly. The realization of what she’d done bubbled the acid in her stomach. “I think I’m going to throw up,” Emma finally said.

Vicki dragged her to the circulation desk and pushed her into the desk chair. The metal trashcan scraped over the tiles as Vicki slid it toward her and told Emma to lean over it.

“I’ll get a cold towel from the bathroom. Stay here,” Vicki said as she hurried off.

A shadow fell over Emma’s body. She cut her eyes up to see James standing near her. “Do you think it’s possible that when I fell a few nights ago that I didn’t really wake up? That maybe I’m still in the hospital having some drug-induced dream?”

James placed his hand on her back and rubbed small circles between her shoulder blades. His touch comforted her for a couple of seconds, and then it sent warmth traveling from her spine and radiating through her body. Her head throbbed.

James shook his head. “If only. This isn’t the worst situation I’ve seen, but Captain Hook? Really, Emma? Of all the jerks you could have brought here, why him?”

She hung her head. “I thought you were lying about all of it.”

“I wasn’t.”

Emma gazed past James to the shipwrecked man, who stood looking around the foyer, apparently on high alert for a rogue pirate.

“Is that Robinson Crusoe?” Emma asked.

“At least he’s helpful,” James said. “He seems to like a good adventure.” He smiled down at Emma. “It’s a good thing you didn’t invite any other troublemakers.”

“Don’t forget Darcy’s here too. Did you know he was about to go into town and have coffee with his biggest fans?”

James shook his head. “I’ve been too busy trying to find Hook. Did you bring Darcy back in?”

Emma nodded, and then she pressed her hands against her face and groaned. “I was really nasty to Morty when I left him at the hospital today,” she mumbled. Then she dropped her hands and looked up at James. “I felt so angry with him for keeping this from me, and at the same time I thought he was lying to me.”

James touched her shoulder for a moment and watched Vicki walk toward them. “He’ll forgive you.”

Vicki returned with a wad of wet paper towels. She pressed them against Emma’s neck, and Emma thanked her.

“Should we tell Morty?” Vicki asked.

“No!” James and Emma said at the same time, surprising Vicki.

“We’ve got this under control,” James said.

“We do?” Vicki asked. “You don’t even know where the crazy pirate is.”

“We’ll find him,” James said.

Emma stood and exhaled. She wiped the cold, wet paper towels all over her face before tossing them into the trashcan. “I’ll help. Vicki, you stay here at the desk in case anyone needs you. James, Mr. Crusoe, and I will split up and search the library. He has to be here somewhere, right?” Emma didn’t quite believe her own words. What if Hook stayed invisible for hours or days? What if he slipped out of the library when they weren’t looking? What if he already had? Morty would feel validation in not having told her about the library’s magic. She was too irresponsible to handle it. Look what havoc she had already caused.

Vicki nodded, looking relieved that she would be staying in relative safety behind the desk. Emma walked into the foyer with James and Mr. Crusoe.

“How does this work?” Emma asked. “Should we make a plan?”

A line creased between James’s dark brows. “I don’t think we should split up. Hook isn’t the most reputable character. He’s not the cartoon version you’re imagining.”

Emma huffed. “How do you know what I’m imagining?”

“Because I know you, and right now you’re thinking about Disney’s Captain Hook. This is not that older, wig-wearing guy looking for a crocodile.”

Emma clenched her teeth. Why did everyone always baby her? “I’ll be fine. I’ll shout if I see him, and then you two can come and help if needed.”

James’ voice was flat when he echoed, “If needed.” He slipped a knife out of a narrow holster on his belt that she had not noticed. “Take this.”

Emma handled the knife as though it were a snake. “Eh, unless this is an extreme way for me to open the mail, I’d rather not.”

James closed Emma’s fingers over the hilt and held his hand over hers. “It will at least surprise him long enough for you to scream for help.”

Emma’s eyes widened, and she felt her pulse quicken. “How scary is this guy?”

“He’s a low-life pirate willing to do whatever necessary to get what he wants,” Mr. Crusoe said. “And he’ll likely try and take you captive, looking the way you do. But we’ll keep you and the children safe from the devil’s army.”

Emma glanced at James, who was struggling not to grin as he dropped Emma’s hand.

“Wow. Looking the way I do, should I even ask? And the devil’s army,” Emma repeated. “I’ll take the second floor historical section. I’ll holler if I need you.” She eyed the knife in her hand and held it awkwardly by her right thigh.

Emma walked up the main staircase, holding the knife away from her body and praying that she did not fall and impale herself. She headed toward the historical section, peering around bookshelves and glancing under tables. It’s not like he would hide under there, she thought after she’d leaned over and looked beneath a third study table.

She stepped around the final shelf in the historical section, at the far corner of the library, and gasped. A lean, well-built man stood with his back to her. He wore a long, black leather coat over fitted black pants and black boots that came up to his knees. His close-cropped hair matched the color of his clothing. He stood with one hand pressed against the long, glass window that showed a view of the grassy lawn in the back of the library. His other arm hung at his side, ending with a sharpened, gleaming silver hook. He turned at the sound of her inhale. This Captain Hook was definitely not Disney’s version.