Cain shifted uneasily, the red leather grimoire resting on his lap. His fingers drummed lightly against its cover as he tried to locate the source of the voice. Nothing moved in the aisles. The golden afternoon light, soft and warm, continued to stream through the arched windows, catching the dust motes and making them glow like tiny stars suspended in air.
"So," Cain said carefully, "you are a telepath. Are you going to tell me your name, or do I have to keep guessing like some magical game of charades?"
The voice laughed softly, the sound like wind through old trees. "Names are important, but here, titles are more so. You may call me the Librarian. That is sufficient for your purposes. You may also call me Guardian, Keeper, or Watcher if that pleases your imagination."
Cain raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly does the Librarian do? Walk around scolding people? Stop students from trying to summon fire in a paper maze?"
