The Currency of Knowledge

I was vibrating with the conflicting urge to hurry and the need to not draw attention to myself. Turning sharply down an aisle, I forced a smile and nod at the other student who looked up as he was flipping through a text before putting the book back. 

I breathed a little more easily once I reached the end of the aisle. This section of the library had less of a footpath lately due to them updating the electrical system in the study rooms. But things evidently have been slow going, making it much darker along this stretch. 

I glanced over my shoulder, my heart practically throwing itself against the walls of my chest like a freshly caught bug in a jar. 

“Oh, sorry,” I muttered after turning around and nearly running into a couple making out. 

Without stopping, they angrily waved me away. 

Hey!” The shout gusted towards me, hitting me like the time I had stayed outside too long despite the tornado warnings.  

Staggering, I jerked my head back and forth, desperate for a new route. I contemplated hiding amongst the next alley of shelves, pretending like I hadn’t heard the shouting. But then, I noticed a narrow, darkened hallway. 

Pressed up against its wall, I waited, pressing my lips together in hopes it would help to steady my breathing. I kept waiting. When I didn’t hear him again, I let out a heavy sigh of relief. 

Pushing off, I wiped my hand down the front of my skirt, preparing to exit the hall when heavy footsteps pounded. I flung myself back against the wall. 

I held my breath when he came into view. Stuttering to a stop, he took a step back and turned to look down the hall. My heart no longer was pounding wildly in my chest, rather it was crawling its way up into my throat, as though it planned to make its escape that way. 

Someone called his name and he finally looked away. But he still didn’t move, blocking my only exit. At least I assumed it was my only exit. 

As quietly as possible, I shuffled deeper into the hallway, praying it would intersect with maybe another hallway or even a study room.

I nearly cried with relief when my back ran into a doorknob, not caring about the ache from jabbing into it. 

A part of me thought that it was strange that this doorknob was round while all the others in the library seemed to be the typical rectangular kind. My need to escape shoved that thought aside, especially when the door opened easily. 

I did my best to crack it open, to avoid flooding the hallway with light and drawing his attention. I squeezed through before quickly clicking the door shut. Resting my forehead against its cool wood, my heart calmly made its way down to its proper place. 

Loosening my grip, the paper in my hand crinkled like a sigh of relief. I tried to smooth it a little as I twisted around, ready to settle in the study room and wait him out. I staggered back. 

This was definitely not a study room. Study rooms were bare except for a wide table and chairs and maybe a whiteboard. I tilted my head back to follow the trajectory of the towering shelves that filled the high-ceiling room. 

There’s the main room on the first floor, the one people mostly used if they wanted to be seen. The one every prospective student is brought to on their tours. It is cathedral like, with white marble climbing above the shelves until they create a sort of dome. And large windows that look as though they would be considered normal sized to a god. But still, the shelves didn’t tower like the ones in this room. If the main room was vast and cathedralesque, this was like finding a narrow tower in a castle.

Lured forward by the enticing smell of well loved leather and wood, I trailed my fingers along the edge of the shelves. Tilting my head, I read the numerous titles. 

My gasp echoed softly in the empty room. “I can’t believe it,” I muttered, pushing the rolling ladder out of the way so I could pull out the book. 

It was beautiful. The thin leather cover creaked open as I gingerly flipped the pages, scanning the text. I halted. “You are perfect,” I quietly exclaimed with a smile. This was exactly the detail I was missing for my thesis.

“That does not belong to you.” 

Spinning around, I stumbled, just barely catching the old book that slipped out of my hand and crumpling the papers in my other. 

“Are you always this heedless with other people’s property?” came the low voice that purred in a way that made my brain instantly conjure an image of a prowling panther, even though physically he looked nothing like one. 

His aquiline nose was the first thing I noticed, being so pronounced. Yet strangely, it was fitting for his long, lean face. He ran a hand through his loose honey curls, brushing them off his forehead as he prowled closer. And once again, he reminded me of a feline. He circled, but not in a way that was assessing me because he was afraid or nervous, but rather in that predatory way to let me know I was the mouse caught within his net. 

As though reading my thoughts, he asked, “Cat caught your tongue?” 

Adjusting the book to my other hand, I stepped forward, extending my free one toward him, ignoring the squirming in the pit of my stomach. 

I flinched when he snatched my hand. His action was too fast and too aggressive, reminding me of when my cat had enough of my petting, and instead of getting up, he suddenly twists and tries to bite my hand. 

“Uh,” I croaked, then cleared my throat. “I’m sorry. I’m Livie. I’m a grad student here. Are you a new librarian?” 

His lips pulled into an enigmatic smile. “I have been here far longer than anyone else. And that,” he swiped the book from my hands, “does not belong to you.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” I snapped. “It's a library.” 

He leaned away from my reaching hand. Only then did I notice he took more than the book. 

“Hey! Give those papers back. Those are mine.”

Prowling away from me, he looked at the crumpled papers stuck to the back of the book. “Are they now?” 

“What do you mean, ‘are they?’ They sure as hell weren’t stuck to the book.” I hurried after him, reaching to grab them back. “Ow,” I exclaimed, shaking my hand after he slapped it away. 

“They may not have come from in here,” he continued with a grating coolness. “But they equally are not your notes.” 

I stopped chasing him, settling to glare at this obnoxious man with crossed arms. “That’s a grand accusation.”

“Is it though?” 

My throat constricted. His dark brown eyes flicked up from studying the papers with a certain condescending look I’ve experienced from those professors who think they are the lawmakers of whatever we are learning, and there is no other wavering stance. 

“What did you want with this?” He held up the book.

“To read it.”

This strange man rolled his eyes, sinking into a high back, leather armchair near a roaring fire. “You need it for something,” he mused, running a finger along its spine, still holding onto my papers. “Your reaction speaks of someone who just found a new little tidbit that aids them in some way. A thesis perhaps?” One dark brow rose, partially hiding behind the honey curls that had once again fallen across his forehead. 

“Yes?” I gasped, frowning. “That memoir, it has a formula in it that would help my thesis.” 

He stared at me with a feline-like smile. “And these?” He tapped the crumpled papers. “While yes they are from the same field, they seem to be having a completely different conversation.”

“May I have them back,” I insisted through clenched teeth. 

“It's not fun, is it?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, dangling the book and my papers between his splayed legs. “To have someone riffle through your things? Your knowledge?” 

I scoffed. “Whatever dude. I get it, I’m not supposed to be here. This room is private or whatever. You could have just said that.” Stepping forward with my hand extended, I added, “I’ll happily leave. Just give me back my papers.”

Without breaking eye contact with me, he crumpled the papers into a ball and flicked them into the fire. 

I lunged forward, but halted. “Whatever,” I grumbled and turned away. That was probably for the best. I could at least leave now without worrying about being caught with them on me.

Despite the warmth filling the room, the doorknob was icy, sending a shiver through me as I twisted it. 

“What the hell?” I snapped back at the strange man when the doorknob twisted but refused to open. 

“Stay,” he purred, looking way too pleased with himself as he lounged lazily in his chair. “It has been a long time since I have had someone to play with.”

I crossed my arms. “I thought you didn’t want me here.” 

“I changed my mind.” His brown eyes darkened as they took my measure. “Sit.”

“No,” I growled, to which he simply shrugged.

“Do you know how dull it can be, to have all this knowledge and no one to impose it on?” He smirked. “Of course you do. You possess that same look I have. You know the one.” Gracefully, he rose and began his prowling again. “Our eyes darkened, pupils blowing out like a predator who just spotted their prey and need their eyes to capture every little detail. But we don’t immediately pounce. It's more fun cajoling our prey, making their net of safety smaller and smaller.” His voice lowered, drawing the words out, making them slink like how he was. “When we do, we don’t use teeth or claws. No, our weapon of choice is our knowledge.” 

“You might be like that, but I’m not.”

A violent shiver raked through me when his smile grew, showing teeth. “Denying it does not make it not so. Nor does it make you a better person. Pretending like you are a domesticated little beast when you really are as wild as me.”

I squared my shoulders, ignoring his circling. “You’ve had your fun. Now let me leave. I have work to do.”

“That’s better,” he purred. “Whose papers were those?”

Something in his dark eyes flickered. Either from catching the glint of the fire, or possibly amusement. 

I licked my lips. “You destroyed them. Does it matter?”

“I’m curious now. Why have someone else’s papers? Why be so secretive about them?”

“What about you,” I demanded. “Who are you?”

He stopped his circling. “I was Nicolo Ariti. But now?” He flung his arms out wide. “Now, I am this.”

I turned away to perch on one of the ladder’s steps with a snort, surprised his ego was capable of fitting within the narrow room. 

“I have answered your question.” He mirrored me by perching on the arm of his leather chair. “Now answer mine.” 

As if taunting me, he carelessly dangled the book I still kind of wanted. I stood a better chance than I had before I had entered this room. But if I had that book, I was a shoe in. When I met his gaze again, it shone with a knowing glee. 

“I’ll let you leave with this book,” he held it up. “If you answer my questions.”

I studied him from across the room, trying and failing to read his annoyingly handsome, smug face. “Why?” 

He shrugged, sliding carelessly off the arm and into the chair. “I told you, I’m bored and haven’t had something to play with in a while.”

“Someone,” I corrected before continuing, “What? A university full of students and professors and other librarians too boring for you?” 

“They’re not like us.”

I scowled, but then he waved the book again, pretending like he was mindlessly switching hands. “Ask your damn questions,” I said through gritted teeth. 

That smile returned. The predatory, big cat one. “Whose work did you let me burn?”

“I didn’t let…” I cut off when his smile widened. Exhaling, I started again. “A classmate’s.”

“So I was right, you are careless with other people’s property.” We held eye contact, a silent battle before he made his next move. “As I surmised before, there is a reason you were acting so erratically. Like a child caught doing something naughty.”

“Is there a question to this?” 

“Why?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” I said.

His face hardened, growing annoyed, which only pleased me. “Why did you steal Jack Keller’s work?”

My mouth fell open. Suddenly my heart decided it wanted another chance at escaping my body. “How?” I croaked

“You’ll have to be more specific,” he parrotted. 

“How do you know that I…” I licked my lips. “How do you know that I stole Jack’s work?”

“Because I see all that goes on here. I just do not know why?” 

“What do you mean you see all?”

Once again he smiled, but this time it was different from any of the other ones, it was strained. “I see all, because this,” he waved a lazy hand around, “all this is me. The library is me. I am the library.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” I shook my head. 

“It is my punishment,” he grumbled, staring into the flames. “The Gods did not like what I did with my knowledge. How I used it. How I used it against them.” I jumped when the brunt of his gaze flicked back to me. “I am the soul of this library. All those books that all of you scavenge through feels like someone had cracked open up my skull and is now rummaging through my head, prodding at the information I had so painstakingly accumulated.

“But no,” he growled. “No, the Gods claimed I hoarded my knowledge, used it cruelly, and thus must now endure this.”

“I don’t understand,” I said quietly, unable to wrap my mind around this. Uncertain what to say. “How can one be punished for being knowledgeable? It is knowledge.”

“Knowledge is a currency in itself. You can flaunt it. You can use it to taunt others. It can buy one a better life. It can corrupt another.” He leaned forward. “So why did you steal Mr. Keller’s work?”

My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. But somehow I muttered, “To win the grant. I need to win. It is my best chance. My best chance at being someone. At doing something other than some forgettable, meaningless job in my backwater hometown, struggling to pay off my student debt.” I finally met his eyes. “Because I would not mind the debt if it was worth something. If I beat Jack, I will get that grant and have the best chance at getting job offers from all the top companies.”

Nicolo, or the library, or whatever he was, slouched back into his chair, dangling the book between two fingers over the lip of the arm. “Knowledge is currency,” he repeated. 

“Yes.” I deflated. 

“Well, Miss Livie Elsher, I look forward to seeing what you do.”

The door beside me swung open. By then I was too tired to be surprised or scared by this. I simply got up, ready to leave. 

“Don’t forget this.”

He was now standing in the middle of the room, holding the book aloft like a prize. 

As I wrapped my fingers around its smooth leather cover, he tugged me closer. “Best of luck.” He let go, sending me stumbling back.

Nauseous, I turned and hurried away. 

But then I reached the actual library, letting the sounds of muted chatter and the crisp flipping of pages or soft scraping of books being pulled off shelves wash over me, and my unease relaxed. That is until I remembered the old book in my hand. 

I started at it before finally deciding I would rather leave this strange occurrence all behind. 

Someone would eventually come across the book as I tried inconspicuously to place it on a random shelf down an empty aisle. But it would no longer be my problem. I had enough anyway to still beat Jack. Especially since he was an idiot for always keeping only one copy of his notes. At our level, the formulas are so complicated that one variation made a world of difference, and it is equally impossible to recall the exact alteration. 

Wiping my hands down my skirt, I thought about what I had to still do to finish my thesis before submitting it to the committee. I pushed on the door to the back stairwell. But then, what if it wasn’t enough?

My stomach stopped plummeting the moment I swiped the book, its smooth leather comforting. Tucked under my arm, I went back to thinking about winning.