Above the Vaulted Sky - Page 27

                The smell that reaches me as I pass through the door is unmistakable. How many of mine and Penny’s dates been surrounded by that smell? Countless wonderful days in secret shops down secret streets, and between high walnut shelves of secret words.

                Bookshops and libraries and cafes, places where you could sit and read forever. I started reading so much more when I met Penny. Science was my passion, reading became my pleasure.

                This house smells like every one of those days rolled into one. It’s like the aroma of the best baking, leaking from the kitchen to the taste buds and watering mouths.

                The sight that greets my eyes is an old friend. A warm and beloved acquaintance despite my never seeing them before. Books line every surface, every wall on shelves and stacked up in tall, tottering piles that look like they’re held up by some powerful force. My scientific mind refuses to think the word ‘magic’.

                The lights are yellow and slightly dim, and the warmth that encompasses me emanates from the roaring fire in the grate in the hallway. As I look down it, I see that it is slightly crooked, though that might be on account of the towers of books, great and small.

                I can’t help but run my hand along the spines of some fantastically ancient tomes that look like they’d be too heavy for me to lift. I’m mesmerised by the beauty of the place and can only wish that Penny were here to see it with me. I know this is what our house would have looked like.

                The rug that runs down the centre of the hall is old and threadbare, covered in a fading, intricately beautiful design. I vaguely make out a dragon, chasing a spurt of flame, and some fairies dancing around a fountain.

                This is truly a strange and wonderful place.

                I venture into the house a little deeper, wondering what else may lie within. Absent-mindedly, my shoulder scrapes along a pile of books. I experience the moment of slowed down panic I always felt whenever I knocked over a glass. I see the books start to fall, but I’m powerless to stop them. I cry out a little and can only watch as they fall onto me, knocking me backwards and crash onto the floor, toppling me, then another, shorter pile and coming to rest.

                ‘Who goes there!’ comes a voice from the next room.

                I sit, frozen to the floor with books between my legs, a familiar red clothbound cover catches my eye. The Alchemist by Robin Thacker.