Wednesday was Marjorie's last day at work, and she seemed as nervous as I was. Since Conny had the morning off, this left me to deal with her alone, unable to judge if she was more afraid of the surgery or of leaving the library in our hands. Whatever I tried, she was in full mother-hen mode, trying to give me instructions for everything.

I was aware I still had a lot to learn and my time was running short. But when she briefed me on the upcoming events and my role in them, my panic level rose. Would I remember all the details? I took notes and hoped Conny would help me if I mixed things up. Besides, I still hadn't asked Marjorie about the cat, the butterfly, and the blue-eyed ghost called Luca. Not to mention my coworker's obvious trouble with her daughter, but on a second thought, this was a private topic I should avoid.

Aware the library was bound to get busy before noon, I steeled myself and interrupted my boss's endless explanations. "I'd like to ask you something, Marjorie."

She looked up from the planner, an old-fashioned diary with spiral binding. "Is something bothering you?"

"Yes, I'd like to know—well." Now I had her undivided attention, but fumbled for the right words. But the librarian gave me time and an empathic smile. I took a deep breath. "I wanted to ask you about the cat, and the ghost called Luca."

Her smile widened. "I knew from the start that you are the right person to help Conny run this place while I'm gone. She is wonderful, but she has lost her touch with magic, and I'm convinced she can't see our little visitors."

I couldn't suppress a sigh. "If this is the case, I must admit, I envy her."

Marjorie shook her head. "You shouldn't, Lynn. It takes an open mind and a receptive spirit to see what others can't. They don't understand, so they call it imagination or hallucinations or worse."

"I wondered if I'm nuts when the blue cat addressed me. And Luca..." I trailed off, the vibrations of my initial shock at his appearance still resonating through my mind.

Marjorie chuckled and fetched more tea. When we both held a steaming cup, the rich fragrance tickling my nose, she leaned back in her office chair, stirring her drink. "Where shall I start?"

It was a rhetorical question, so I just shrugged.

She let her gaze wander to the ceiling. "Well, you are a reader, right? And I'm sure you know the saying that magic can be found between the pages of a book. Have you ever dreamed yourself into the setting of a fascinating story?"

I nodded, not sure where she was heading. When I was younger, I had spent a lot of time in the worlds of my favourite stories.

"See? That's the secret. You are sensitive to the magic of stories, just like me. To others, a story is just rows of black letters on white paper. But to young children and a few select older people, it can be so much more."

"And that's why I could see the butterfly lift from the pages of that children's book? And encountered the Cheshire Cat?"

She took a sip with sparkling eyes. "Yes. And I'm sure you'll encounter many more protagonists walking the library once you get used to it."

I tried to stomach that, thinking at first it might not be too bad until a dark picture sprang to my mind. What if I ran into Mary Shelley's monster or Bram Stoker's Count Dracula? In my teens, I'd been an avid reader of horror stories, until I couldn't sleep anymore and, out of necessity, changed my reading preferences. To think certain things could jump at me from behind a bookshelf made me shiver. "I think I saw Dobby the other day, when you were reading Harry Potter to the knitters. But I'm not eager to meet the Jabberwock or some far scarier folks from books I've read. What about mass murderers, like Hannibal Lecter and his ilk?"

"Well, that's an interesting question. If you think hard about someone like him, he might show up. But in my experience, it's our wishful thoughts that call out to the characters, while our fears might drive them away. Unless you're in a really dark spot, you should be safe. Most people with this tendency would probably steer away from the library after a first glimpse."

These were good news, but still. "You're sure no one has been hurt so far?"

She nodded and swirled her cup. "Also, when many people at the same time visualise a character, the chances are greater the magic works. Like with the butterfly, or with Dobby. An entire group of people thought about them at once, and these were all positive thoughts, I believe."

If she was right, my fears might be unfounded. "This lowers the probability of something dark slipping in, I guess."

"I'm tempted to say yes, as I have never witnessed the manifestation of anything menacing. Except for Luca, perhaps. The young man seems to be quiet and pleasant enough, but I don't know where he came from or what story he belongs to, and that bothers me. I searched for his origin in vain. If you find out more about him, please let me know." She downed her tea. "But we should get back to work."

With another sigh, I arched my brows to give her my best puppy eyes. "One last question, please?"

She laughed. "Go ahead."

"Why here? In the library, I mean. I've been reading all my life, and I have been accused of an exaggerated imagination, but I have never seen a butterfly manifest before."

She scratched her neck. "That's a good question, and I don't know the answer. Something in this place seems to be conducive to the phenomenon. Perhaps it's the collection of all these stories in such a small space, or something in the building. Who knows?"

While she explained my future duties at length, my mind drifted, and I couldn't help wondering about what I had learned.

I found it hard to concentrate on her instructions and was glad when noon allowed me to catch some fresh air. Becca, who worked on her post doc in the institute not too far away, had texted me and suggested joining me for lunch in the coffee shop. I suspected she wanted to make sure I was fine after our last meeting, but I didn't complain about the company. Despite the place being busy, I found an empty table for two in a corner and waved her over when she arrived, her colourful presence brightening the room.

"Hey, you were right, the place is amazing." She studied the menu. "What do you suggest?"

"I haven't been here often, but the salads are nice."

She rechecked and frowned at me. "They only have salads."

"Right, I should have mentioned that, of course." I winked, and she called over a server so we could place our orders. "How are you, girl?"

"Fine, don't worry. How's Sim?"

She scrutinised me over the rim of her glasses. "She's busy with the coaching, enjoys it very much. But don't try to change the topic. Of course, we are worried about you, and you should appreciate it. What about your ghost encounters, any follow-ups?"

I squirmed. "Yes, one yesterday. But according to Marjorie, there is an explanation."

"Who's Marjorie?"

"The librarian I'm going to replace. She sees them too, the ghosts, and says the library has been always like this—but not everyone has the gift to see them."

My friend's face was unreadable, and her eyes seemed to stare through me.

"Earth to Becca, what's wrong?"

She shivered, like shaking a bad dream. "I just thought about my late grandma. Are you familiar with the concept of wise women?"

"In the sense of a midwife or in the sense of a natural healer or a witch?"

"All three of them." She ran a hand over her eyes as if brushing away cumbersome memories. "I believe they are aspects that go hand in hand. Not every midwife is a wise woman, of course, but I digress. Well, grandma isn't the topic here, but while I never understood what her gifts encompassed, I know for a fact that she could see and do things science can't explain."

As a scientist at heart and by passion, I could only guess how much accepting this must have troubled her. I waited until our lunch was served before I picked up the conversation. "So you don't believe I'm nuts?"

She pointed at me with a fork loaded with cucumber slices. "You? Lynn, I'll never get why you fell for that cheating lump of testosterone, but aside from that, I think you're one of the sanest persons I know." The cucumbers disappeared between a row of white teeth, marking the finality of her statement.

"Thanks. This makes me feel better." It did. "I wish I could ask your grandma about Luca."

Another frown appeared on Becca's forehead. "Not possible, unless you know how to work with an ouija board. Your ghost has a name?"

"Not mine. But Marjorie called him Luca, so yes. She also insists he is not like those other appearances, like the butterfly and the cat that are protagonists of well-known stories called to life by the thoughts of the audience."

"Hm, that's an interesting theory and could be interpreted as mass hallucinations. So, why is your Luca different?"

It was my time to frown. "I already told you he's not my Luca. Marjorie sees him too, but doesn't know the story he has sprung from. All the other paranormal visitors seem to be famous characters, or perhaps tropes. I don't think mass hallucination can explain the phenomenon, either. Why would it happen only in the library, for once?"

Becca chewed on a mouthful of lettuce. "Good point. Perhaps it's the building channeling the magic?"

I shrugged. "Marjorie suggested something similar. It might be the explanation, but why this building? It was a warehouse before, and it isn't super old compared to most of the old town. Eighteenth century, perhaps even later."

"What was there before? It might have been a holy grove in ancient times. Your Luca could be a genius loci or something."

"An ancient guardian spirit?" I wasn't convinced. "Hm, he made more of an impression of a lost soul to me. And as far as I know the town history, this area has been an artisans district and before, just meadows, nothing special."

My friend studied her fingertips. "You're right, and it wouldn't explain why there and not in many more places you have visited in the past years. But have you thought about another possibility?" She looked up and straight into my eyes. "As well as the building, it might be a person channeling the magic."

"Ha, are you accusing me of being a witch?"

"No, silly. You are perhaps over-imaginative and too susceptible to the charm of brooding, dark-haired men with a three-day stubble and a pregnant wife hidden at home. But a witch? You'd know that at your age. Besides, I take it the ghosts didn't start appearing in the library only once you got a job there. No, I was thinking perhaps someone else in the place works as a catalyst."

I almost choked on a piece of carrot. This must be the solution, and I could only think of one person—a woman with an unlimited compassion for the library and a personality full of love and positive vibes.

"Marjorie." A relieved smile spread across my face. "So, if she is the one with the witchy powers, the appearances should stop once she is in hospital?"

Becca winked. "Instead of you, the nurses might be in for a few surprise visits during the next weeks. Do we have time for a coffee?" She glanced at the board above the bar. "I want to try the latte macchiato with cinnamon."