The Woman Who Died a Lot

“What’s going on?” said Friday, walking in from the stables.

“Not sure. Been out on your motorbike?”

“Why do you say that?”

“You smell of hot exhaust.”

“I do?” he said, sniffing at his clothes. “No, I’ve been in the garage.”

“Then why do you have grass stuck to your trousers?” asked Tuesday.

Friday looked at his knees—which did indeed have blades of grass and mud stuck to them.

We all stared at one another stupidly. A mild sense of occasional confusion was not unusual, especially recently. Every now and then, a small tremor of uncertainty spread around the household like a rash.

“I think we all need to take a breather,” announced Landen. “We can’t be jumping like idiots every time a mouse farts. We’re all safe and—”

He stopped in midspeech as a worried expression crossed his face. I sighed inwardly. He’d be mentioning Jenny next.

“I need to check that Jenny is okay.”

“I’ll go,” I told him, and took the stairs to the first floor. I didn’t go to the room that we pretended was Jenny’s in order to spare Landen the torment of Aornis’ mindworm, but instead to the Wingco’s.

I knocked quietly, as I could hear him talking, and when he bade me enter, I walked in.

There was no one in the room except the Wingco and two empty chairs facing him. I knew who would be in one but wasn’t sure of the other. I nodded in the direction of the second empty chair.

“It’s a blue monkey named Mr. Snuffles,” explained the Wingco, “an Imaginary Childhood Friend I’m interviewing. His owner has been given two weeks to live, and we’re trying to figure out a way to communicate once Mr. Snuffles moves into the Dark Reading Matter. Is there a problem?”

“Nothing. I said I’d peek in for Landen and see if Jenny was all right.”

The Wingco looked momentarily confused. “For Landen?”

“Yes.”

There was an odd pause, I felt a draft on the side of my face, and the clock, which had been striking when I walked in, now read five past the hour.

“Ah, yes,” said the Wingco, “tell Landen Jenny is fine.”

He nodded toward one of the empty chairs. Jenny, as a figment of Landen’s imagination, was technically the same as an Imaginary Childhood Friend. And that being so, the Wingco was able to see her. He described her as “amusing and charming, but with a streak of melancholy.” It made the whole “Jenny is not real” issue a mite confusing, but if you considered that the only person who could see her wasn’t real either, it helped.

I thanked the Wingco and left him to Mr. Snuffles.

Aornis’ ability to alter memories was tiresome, and the mindworm she had given Landen gave me especial reason to despise her. Still, at least after looking at the security images at TJ-Maxx, we had something to work on. We’d find Aornis, no matter where she was hiding. And, being a mnemonomorph, she could be hiding just about anywhere.

12. Tuesday: Library

The SLS was the Special Library Service’s, the elite forces charged to protect the nation’s literary heritage, either in libraries or in transit. It had taken over many of SO-27’s duties when the latter was disbanded, and its commitment was never in question. All members had sworn to “take a bullet” in order to protect their charges, and an average of three a year did. The SLS was the most respected law-enforcement group in the nation, often featured in movies and on its own TV series. Recruitment was never an issue.

Mobie Drake,

Librarians—Heroes of the New Generation

It was one of those crisp late-summer mornings, when a drop in the temperature gives the air a sharpness like frost on a beer glass, and the leaves, which had clung desperately to the trees throughout the summer, were now beginning to fall upon the ground. I’d missed all this in the BookWorld, for although we had mornings that matched the description, you didn’t really witness them—just the description. In fact, residents of the BookWorld would comment on a beautiful morning in that sort of odd metalanguage they often used: “What a beautifully described morning!”

Friday was working the early shift for the rest of the week and so was gone by the time we came down, and Tuesday was, as usual, not keen to go school.

“We’ve discussed this before,” I said in my mildly firm mum voice. “You’re going to have a normal childhood whether you like it or not.”

She pulled a face. “I have some work to do on the defense shield.”