The Librarian (Book Two: Unhappily Ever After) (3 page)

"This is really important," he began. "I think I figured something out. I need you to think."

"Okay?"

"Did you actually
see
him throw the papers away?"

"No, but—"

"Did you see them in the trash?"

"Where else would they be? They were hanging on the fridge yesterday. Where would he—"

He cut her off. "What if they
weren't
?"

Taylor stared at him blankly.

"Did you bring your copy of
Oz
?" Taylor had a stack of folders and books held against her chest. She adjusted the stack and pulled her mother's book from a purple folder and handed it to Wesley. He quickly began to flip through its pages. "At first, I thought it was no big deal. I was gonna treat the librarian's big book like a souvenir from our trip. It was a little strange seeing our picture in a book printed a hundred years before we were born, but it's not exactly the weirdest thing we've seen." Wesley saw the story in her paperback had changed just as it had in the leather-bound tome that was weighing down his backpack. He offered it as his first piece of evidence. "But when you told me about
this
–
this
changed everything." She was hesitant to take it back, but did. "I woke up early this morning to see if my
Wizard of Oz
movie was different, too."

"Was it?"

"I couldn't find it."

Taylor smirked. "Movies get lost all the time, Wes."

"See? I knew you'd say that. So I asked my mom. Guess what? She hasn't even
heard
of
The Wizard of Oz
." Wes dug a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over. "I did an internet search after she left. There isn't a
Wizard of Oz
movie. It was never made."

He paused to let the gravity of his statement sink in, watching as she scanned the printout of his search.

"I don't care, Wes."

"What?"

Taylor used the paper to gesture toward her house. "Right now I need to fix my
life
. This stuff is sad, but—"

"What if it's all connected?"

"It's not," she said sternly.

Wes worked to collect his thoughts. Convincing her wasn't going to be easy.

"
The Wizard of Oz
was your mom's favorite book, right?"

She nodded a quick confirmation as Wesley hurried on.

"So do you think it would still be her favorite?" He pointed to the paperback cradled with the schoolbooks in her arm. "Is that the kind of story she would read to her four-year-old daughter before bed?"

"So what?" Taylor shrugged.

"For most people it's just one less movie in the closet. Most people don't even know there
is
an
Oz
book. But
Oz
changed your mom's life. What kind of person would she have been if you took that away? What kind of person would
you
be? Would she have become an English teacher without that book? If she wasn't a teacher, would you have become the same student?" The image of the bare refrigerator flashed behind her eyes. "Maybe we did more than change the story." He motioned to their surroundings with outstretched arms. "Maybe this is what the real world looks like without it."

Taylor looked away in frustration. It was only now that she noticed her neatly manicured lawn was growing wild. Even that was different. She felt lost. The world was changing all around her, but she felt like she needed a compass to navigate her emotions as well. Was she angry? Sad? Was it guilt she was feeling? She couldn't tell, but it all seemed like more than she could take.

It felt like the wolves were descending on her again.

Part of her wished they were.

"What the heck is this?" a cocky voice called.

Both kids looked up to find Caleb Rodriguez leading a trio of young boys toward them. Their shirts were baggy, their pants low. If Wesley's mom had been there to see she would have cringed at their sloppy appearance.

"You slummin it, Tay?"

Taylor eyeballed Caleb with disgust. "Not today, Rodriguez. I'm not in the mood."

"Wow!" Caleb raised his hands into the air. "Take a pill, man. It's just... since when do we hang out with Wes Weakly?"

 
Wesley recoiled. And it wasn't the way Caleb had called him Wes Weakly that put him on his heels. He was used to that. Wes Weakly was one of the many uninspired nicknames Randy had doled out to kids he deemed beneath him, like Double-Wide Wendy or Ally Asthma. Instead, it was the way Caleb said "we" that had him worried.

Since when do we hang out with Wes Weakly?
Or,
You're one of us, Tay. What're you doing with this geek?

Taylor missed it. Caleb's words were jumbled, and his accent was thick. But Wesley was already on the lookout for changes in their world. This one stuck out like a pair of buckteeth. Caleb Rodriguez – a wanna-be thug Taylor despised – actually thought he and Taylor were friends.

Wesley didn't have long to contemplate the revelation. As soon as the word "weakly" was out of Caleb's mouth he had his hand cocked, ready to slap Wesley across the back of his head. Instinctively, Wes spun just enough to evade the attack then pinned Caleb's hand behind his back and shoved him away.

Taylor laughed when she saw all three boys take a step back. "You might want to check with Randy before you try putting your hands on my boy," she explained. "Things have changed around here." Her smile melted when she heard the words come out of her mouth.

"Your boy?" Caleb muttered. "Whatever." He and his friends took a spot near the curb just a few feet away. "Where is Randy, anyway?"

Taylor and Wes exchanged a knowing look. Neither knew where Randy was, but both knew exactly where they'd left him: with his dad and the Headless Horseman in the storybook Land of Oz.

A yellow school bus rounded the corner, brakes squealing as it stopped for the kids to climb aboard. Wesley motioned for Caleb and his friends to go first, flashing a sarcastic grin for Caleb as they went. When the others were gone, he turned to face Tay.

"We're going to fix this. Okay? Whatever it is, even if I'm wrong. We'll go back and tell the librarian everything. He'll know what to do." She nodded, forcing a grin for Wes. He smiled and turned to get on the bus.

Taylor was lost, but she'd found her compass.

Wesley Bates was the only thing in the world that still felt like home.

THE LIBRARIAN STEPPED from the cave he'd been using as shelter through most of the night. The sun was finally up, though it couldn't be seen through low cloud cover that stretched across the sky like a child's dingy blanket.

The old man secured the potions and powders in his satchel before tossing the bag across his shoulder and taking up his staff, ready to begin his long journey once more. His bones ached, but the librarian quickly found a trek through Oz to be far more agreeable during the day. Not only was it incredibly difficult to find a trail beneath the night's moonless sky, but much of his night had been spent hiding from prowlers that seemed to own the Oz night since the story had shifted.

And then, of course, there'd been the screams.

Following his arrival, the darkness had come alive with occasional shrieks from frightened or pained people nearby. Some in Oz were suffering more than the librarian could possibly imagine. Their cries were a constant companion as he tracked the Stanfords, and even when he finally yielded to exhaustion and found refuge in a dark cave, the screams never left him alone, instead following him inside and echoing through his dreams.

Uncertain how much safety the morning light would bring, the librarian fought hunger and walked for hours without a break, only stopping occasionally to study the dried vegetation at his feet for any signs of a trail left by Douglas, Randy or their dark friend. At times, he worried he had lost the trail entirely only to later stumble across a sneaker print in the dirt or a broken tree branch. He was relentless in his search, scouring every inch of earth until the forest gave way and he had an opportunity to see what had become of the iconic yellow brick road.

Sadness washed over him as he moved into the barren meadow. The road had been damaged outside the Tinman's cabin, but not like this. Here, there was nothing left but a black trench twisting through the meadow where the road had been. The librarian slowed his approach as he grew closer. There were several areas near the trench where the ground was covered in a thin layer of golden powder. They stood out as the only splash of color for miles, and yet, he couldn't take his eyes from the muddy trench. It was like a black snake lying in wait, resting, as if it had spent the night consuming half of Oz and only needed a short break before it could finish the job.

TAYLOR WAS LOOKING toward Randy's empty desk when the late bell rang and Mr. Clark marched into the room.

"Good morning!"

His students greeted him with a chorus of groans, only a few offering a half-hearted greeting of their own. The young teacher was just a little too cheery for their liking this early in the morning.

"I know, I know. You missed me more than you can express. You just can't find the words." He winked at Wesley in the front row then took a black marker from his desk and turned toward the white board on the wall behind him. "Unfortunately, yesterday was only a one-day reprieve. That's all you get. It's back to the salt mines today." He went to work, reading the words aloud as he wrote them. "The pen... is mightier... than the sword." He turned to face the class. "Who can tell me what this means?"

A boy in a striped soccer jersey answered without raising his hand. "Yeah," he began. "Isn't that what the Joker said right before stabbing that guy in the neck with one of those big feather pens?"

The room erupted with laughter. Mr. Clark smiled. The classroom was decorated with comic book memorabilia: bobble heads, posters, framed art and books. The boy was pointing at a poster of The Clown Prince of Crime near the door.

"Not exactly what I was looking for, Shawn. But I'll give you points for trying."

"Extra credit points?"

"
Cool points.
You need as many of those as you can get."

"Whatever," Shawn muttered, waving him off.

"Anyone else?"

Taylor was paying little attention until she saw Wesley's hand go up in the air.

"Yeah? Wes."

"It means one guy with a sword can only do so much – he can only fight one guy at a time – but if a writer's good enough, maybe he can inspire a thousand guys to pick up a sword and fight for him."

"Okay?" Mr. Clark said. "I
think
I'm with you. Can you take that a bit further?"

Wesley pursed his lips, thinking. "The written word can change the world?"

A few students snickered. Mr. Clark kept his eyes fixed on Wesley. "Kinda corny, don't you think?"

"Well," Wesley said. "Not really, no."

A sly grin split the teacher's face. "Me either." He uncapped his marker and turned his attention back to the board. "And for those who think it is, you might want to consider this example." The kids watched as he wrote two words on the board:
Common Sense
. "Now, let's find out who did the reading." He pointed at Shawn "Who's Thomas Paine?"

The boy let out an exasperated groan. "Umm... well... wasn't he that guy... that guy who did that thing."

"I take it back. Maybe you
do
need the extra credit." There were giggles again, but the teacher was quick to cut them short. "Anyone else?"

Taylor did a double-take. Wesley's hand was up again.

"Nice! Wesley, go."

"Thomas Paine wrote
Common Sense
."

"Dang!" Shawn said loudly. "I was gonna say that!"

"Sure you were," Mr. Clark said.

"It was on the tip of my tongue." Shawn smiled when his quick response earned scattered laughter from the girls in class. It was clear he was more interested in getting the last word than the right one.

"Wes, take a minute to educate your friend."

Wesley turned in his desk to face Shawn. Taylor couldn't believe how ready he was to embrace the moment. It wasn't like him to participate in class like this. Everyone knew he was a great student, but answering questions in class only drew attention to the fact, something Wesley was normally loath to do.

"Before the American Revolution, this guy, Thomas Paine, he wrote a book called
Common Sense
." He paused, thinking. "See, some people were already beginning to think about independence. George Washington, Thomas Jefferson. Guys like that. Founding Fathers. But most weren't. Ordinary people in the colonies were upset with their King, sure, but they didn't know how bad things really were. Even worse, they didn't think they could do anything about it." He pointed to Mr. Clark's writing on the board. "
Common Sense
changed all that."

Mr. Clark took the baton from there. "
Common Sense
sold more than half a million copies. It spread like wildfire. Everyone was reading it. Within a year, Americans were ready to give their lives to be free of England's rule." He softened his voice. "Can you imagine what your life would be like without
Common Sense
? Would America even be here today?"

"That's bull!" Shawn interrupted. "We woulda fought back eventually."

"You're probably right," Mr. Clark explained. "Like Wesley said, the Founding Fathers were already putting the wheels in motion. But if Paine doesn't write
Common Sense
, then we don't have as many able-bodied men signing up to fight. I'm sure we still would have
fought
the American Revolution, I'm just not sure we would have
won
."

Mr. Clark scanned the room. Many of his students were wearing blank expressions, indifferent to the discussion. A few near the back were whispering amongst themselves. "Maybe you guys need something a little more personal," he continued. "What about Batman, Shawn? Can I convince you
he
changed the world?"