Magic breathes life into the world. It can animate lifeless objects, bring light to the dark and extinguish hope in the universe depending on who drives the power.

But all the magic in the universe can't change a fact. So I'll say this unequivocally for the generations to come: tomatoes are fruits, not vegetables. Heathens.

- S P E L L Book, 1st Edition

Magic was a misnomer at the Leatherbound and, I suspected, everywhere else. I was about a week into my time at the Leatherbound when I came to the end of the S P E L L book my uncle had first tasked me with returning.

The book, I realized, was somewhere between a diary and a travel guide. An eclectic record of musings and anecdotes of the world's most famous wizard. Thirty pages would be dedicated to a rock he'd found in a nearby stream, but only a footnote here and there regarding Arthur or the legendary sword Excalibur.

The sword has a name grandiose and long which is surprising considering how ugly the damned thing is. Filigreed gold and jewels embedded in the hilt make it look like a fancy hairpin rather than a warrior's weapon. Still, at least I'm not the fool who has to carry the damned thing. Did I mention how heavy it was? It's worth its weight in self-importance.

It was embarrassingly late that I realized that the book wouldn't teach me how to levitate objects or cast fireballs. Rather, the thing was casting a spell ON me. It was at some point during the 30 pages on the previously mentioned rock (spoiler, he names it "Brock"), that I understood what the author had intended. Long story short, the rock wasn't a rock at all. It was actually a piece of a castle that had once stood next to a rushing river. Invaders destroyed the castle, beavers dammed the river and nature smoothed the rock. But it still felt like a castle. The rock was out of sorts with the current world, like a crooked picture frame hanging in an unnoteworthy house. Merlyn described it as a "tilt" to the world.

Normally, my commutes were boring affairs. But as my understanding of the S P E L L book grew, so too did my view of the world. The first thing I noticed were people. Rather, they weren't people at all but something else. Their skin would be blue or their clothes wouldn't match their surroundings (who wears a top hat on the metro?). Then it was objects, places. Cracks in the sidewalk started to have handles or bricks on a building that look suspiciously like painted street crossings. I swear, I walked past a lamppost with a post box.

"Think of it as a vision test," explained Hanna on one of our coffee breaks. "Forcing you to read the stories one letter at a time trains your eyes. And reading the dense volume of Merlyn's inner thoughts trains your mind."

"He saw the world one letter at a time?" I asked. Genuinely curious.

"No, not exactly. But he could see the forest and the trees," she responded. Eventually, I realized Hanna was right. I could see the world as it was (as it had always been), but I could also see the pieces that didn't fit. The bits that were at a tilt.

Maria, on the other hand, had a different reaction when I told her I'd finished the book. It was a mixture of relief that I'd finished the book with annoyance at how long it had taken me.

"I wondered how long you'd be at it," she said with not a hint of a smile. "Now we can finally put you to real work. Come with me."

Real work? I thought to myself. The past week had felt like real work. I'd hauled carts of books all over the library, losing and gaining time throughout. The botanical garden Hanna had taken me to was the least of it, the library was full of beauty and wondrous horrors. I'd run into the results of bookworm larva on four separate occasions. There were beetles of varying sizes (the largest was about the size of a labrador) and the fourth was a beautiful giant moth that was soft like a poodle (hell yes, I pet it).

Maria led me to the hearthome and pointed at the fireplace, "Look there. What do you see?"

My eyes stared at the brick and stonework on the hearth (it stared back). It was the same fireplace I'd seen for the past week. The books were piled up high today and I could see that I had my work cut out for me. But the longer I looked, the more I could see that the fire was less of a thing and more of a...

"Is that... a tunnel?" I whispered. More to myself than anyone else.

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Maria smiled. "Close. It's the library's return box."

While there are magical libraries around the world, returning books has always been a hassle. Maria explained that sometime in the nineteen-thirties, the novel idea of returning books via hearth was proposed. It took a few years, but some genius had found a way to link books to their respective libraries via hearth brick.

All a patron had to do was drop their book into a fireplace (or burning trash can if you were in more urban settings) and it would make its way back to a library. It was an easy way for patrons to return finished books, but also proved useful in the case of actual fires; accidental or otherwise.

"That explains why all the books are so precariously close to the hearth when I get here in the mornings," I muttered.

"Here." Maria had a wonderful skill for ignoring whatever I said. "Hanna needs this book for ILL. Your assignment is to look for it as best you can. If you can't, you can use the bracelet to make your way back here."

Maria handed me a plain looking card, from the library's card catalog no doubt. A Musing on Mazes and Fetch Quests. Irony abounds.

"What is I-L-L?" I asked. I waited for Maria to ignore me before I finished my thought. "And please a simple and clear explanation would be appreciated."

Maria looked through me. I grinned. I was beginning to get a handle on working here.

Maria opened her mouth, thought better of what she was going to say, then said, "Just look at the stacks. Please."

I followed her directions and looked at the stacks. Whereas before I had always looked at the library, this time I saw the library.

And it was beautiful. Whereas before I could only see the mess of books and paper strewn about, now I could see the "forest". The shelves practically glowed with a light of their own. Each book's title was clearly visible and the spines were color-coded by section. I could even see that the shelves held more books than I "saw" previously. Inside the cracks and gaps between books, there were more rows of books to be found.

"Yes, but look at the cart," Maria coached. "Don't be afraid."

I nodded and peered at the library cart until I saw it. A handle. A door handle. At Maria's insistence, I took hold of the handle and "pushed" the cart open. The sudden gust of wind drew a shocked, Whaa!! out of me as I tumbled through the entryway and landed unexpectedly on a soft down of grass.

"What was that about being afr-" I stopped. I was in the Garden, a full hour's walk from the hearthome. As near as I could tell, I'd fallen out of the expansive willow tree that sat at the center of the garden. I looked around and noticed a few patrons, snickering at my current state. An older gentleman sitting on a bench in the glade hushed them and we all fell embarrassingly silent.

Slowly (and quietly) I brushed myself off and found a quiet place to sit so I could read the guidebook. Sure enough, a section on tunneling gates.

Tunneling gates can be found in the library and may be used by any patrons or staff who are able to make use of them. Gates are linked to specific locations in the library allowing for quick and seamless travel into and out of the library's abyss. While gates are not labeled, any leading to restricted sections have been marked. And a reminder, please shut each gate behind you after passing through.

Simple enough. All I had to do was walk back to the hearthome or find a gate that would take me closer. I dusted myself off, chose an aisle and left the garden behind as I made my way through the stacks. There was something comforting about walking through this library. The sound of my steps muffled on the red carpet was soothing. And while the idea of being drowned in a sea of books containing eldritch magic was concerning, they sure looked pretty.

"Excuse me?"

I turned to see a well-dressed man standing behind me. I froze. During my days at the Leatherbound, none of the patrons had spoken to me. In fact, the hush earlier in the glade was the most interaction I'd ever had with a patron.

"Yes, can I help you?" I asked. Unsure.

"Actually," he countered, "I wondered if you might need my help."

His voice was deep. And his dark gray suit was neat, pressed. He stood out from the other patrons and would-be magicians I'd seen around. Most wore hats, coats and scarves, and walked quickly when I came upon them. At first I thought they were sensitive to the cold, but then I just realized the hats were hiding unkempt and unbrushed hair. The coats hid clothes that looked like they hadn't ever seen an iron and were permanently wrinkled.

"Ha!" I laughed. It came out more like a croak. "W-what makes you think that?" The shelves chuckled in creaks and I hushed them.

The gentleman took a breath. "You're new, aren't you? I'd heard Maria had found herself a new page."

I shook his hand. "Oh, do you work here?" I'd only met Hanna and Joseph, but I'd gleaned that there were others who worked at the library.

"Oh, no. But I may as well, I spend enough time here." He smiled. A grin, more like. A patron then.

"Well, it's nice to meet you all the same," I said. And it was.

"If you don't mind me asking," he said, "what is that in your pocket?"

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a card. The book card that Maria had handed me before my unexpected face-to-face with a grassy lawn. I'd forgotten the assignment.

"Oh, right," I said. "Maria assigned it to me. I'm supposed to be looking for this book." I held the card in my hands and saw the tilt. But there wasn't a handle or anything that I could "use".

"Try turning it over in your hands," the stranger suggested. "Twice."

I obeyed, dutifully turning the card over in my hands. On the second turn, the letters on the card let out a small sigh and slowly (painfully) lifted themselves off the paper. I watched as they carefully arranged themselves into a makeshift arrow. A compass.

"Cool. Thank you for-" I didn't bother finishing the thought. When I looked up, the stranger was gone.