Mathew Doller was about to be grounded for life. Maybe spend some time in jail even. Hell, the whole nation would remember him as the boy who destroyed countless books of unimaginable historical value.

All this because he had—had!—to stay at the Boston Public Library every day after school. No arguing! He was to report there to Aunt Kelly from now on until the end of time.

What a load of crap.

Not the library part—that place was dope. His reservations were more toward the had bit. Why wouldn’t his parents trust him? He was only best in his class, always respectful of his folks’ wishes, and as far as he remembered, he had been an outstanding son. Right? Sure, he had broken an arm or two skateboarding with his friends, but who hadn’t broken a few limbs in their childhood? No. All this overreacting simply because he stole Justin’s precious bike and dumped it in the river, but, goddammit, he deserved it.

Mathew huffed and pushed his thoughts away as he reached the door. He took one last look over his shoulder. The corridor seemed empty. He slid Aunt Kelly’s key into the lock and turned it gently until he heard the satisfying click of an unlocking door. On the other side lay a room yet to be explored. What would he find? Books? Yeah, of course. But of what kind? Suppressing his anxiety, he turned the knob.

A thick hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Aunt Kelly’s eyes bulged with anger. Where had she come from? “We’ve discussed this, Mat. You can’t go wherever you want. Some of the stuff here is of extreme historical relevance and away from the public eye for good reason.”

Damn, that sounded interesting.

“I don’t want you touching anything,” Aunt Kelly continued, “especially if it looks old. If you start creating trouble for me, I won’t let you stay with me anymore.”

“And that would be a shame.”

Aunt Kelly slapped the back of Mathew’s head.

“Ouch!” he said, rubbing the spot where his aunt struck him. “That hurt.”

“Maybe that’ll remind you not to be a smart ass with your aunty next time. Don’t you have some homework to finish instead of stealing keys from me?”

Mathew shrugged. “Not really.”

Aunt Kelly sighed. “Just promise me you won’t go around touching books you shouldn’t be touching. You know the ones. The older they are, the farther you keep your hands away, you hear me?”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Older equals farther. Got it.”

“Promise me.”

“Sure,” he said rather petulantly.

Aunt Kelly’s stare intensified.

“I promise,” he added a little more assertively.

Satisfied, Aunt Kelly relaxed. “Alright, off with ya.” She snatched her keys from his hand and walked briskly away.

Mathew shuffled the other way, back toward the stairs and the lion statues, seeking a new set of fossils imbued in the walls. There must be a book somewhere in there to keep him entertained. After all, there were something like twenty-four million books there—what a ridiculous number. Maybe this was better than skateboarding. Fewer broken bones, at least. He could still feel where his arm had snapped like it had happened yesterday. The memory gave him the shivers, and to be honest—he stopped walking. Aunt Kelly forgot to lock the door.

He bee-lined back to the door. Surely Aunt Kelly hadn’t stuck around. Still, he tried to be as inconspicuous as possible but couldn’t help humming the Indiana Jones theme song as he reached the knob and turned it all the way. The door cracked open. Yes! He slipped inside and closed the door behind him. He sat there in the dark, half expecting another heavy hand to land on his shoulder, while his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the emergency exit signs.

He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight app revealing a wooden bookshelf with glass doors that stretched across the room. The books looked like ancient relics, so old the paper threatened to flake away if he blew on them. Mathew examined the covers closely when he caught a tiny flash from the corner of his eye. What was that?

He peered into the dark aisle. Was someone else in there with him? Why hadn’t they turned on the lights? Could it be another lone kid trying to get a kick out of sneaking around?

A small burst of fire erupted from an open bookshelf at the end of the aisle.

His heart skipped a beat. That was not good.

Mathew dashed toward it, pointing his tiny light everywhere frantically. There had to be fire extinguishers everywhere, so why couldn’t he spot any? If a fire broke out, no one would ever believe it wasn’t his fault, no matter how much he protested or squirmed. His life would be over. But when he got to the source of the fire, nothing stood out. He let out a long sigh of relief. Had he been holding his breath the whole time? He was sure he saw fire. Wasn’t he? Could he have imagined it? The dark can do that sometimes.

A tiny flame, like a lighter’s, lit up in front of him. Mathew stood still as it danced and flickered, suspended before a book’s spine—New and Old Worlds and How to Get There. He could put it out by pinching it with his fingers, but before he reached it, the flame fluttered toward the book and seeped into it.

“Holy crap on a cracker,” he muttered.

With a trembling hand, he pulled the book out and turned the cover. Nothing seemed out of place. No burn marks or singes. Flipping back and forth a couple of times he found only blank pages. What kind of book has nothing written on it? Oh! Could it be one of those books written with invisible ink? Like lemon juice? What an odd thing to—

Mathew flinched as fire licked his face, tossed the book aside, and stumbled backward. The flames retreated inside the pages—that was not a trick of his mind. “What the…” Mathew mumbled as he rubbed his eyes trying to wipe the orange smudges from his vision. He approached the book cautiously, light fixed on its open pages. That’s when letters began to form right before his eyes.

What is your name, child?

Was it talking to him? Holy Cow. “Uh…Ma–Mathew?”

Hello, Mathew. I have a proposition for you.