Afton’s purse, and our umbrellas off at the coat check.
Pliable brown linoleum floors muffled our footsteps into the exhibit room. A tiny elevator from another era carried us to an upper level of the library, where bookcases brimming with leather-bound books stood against every wall.
Overhead, more bookcases nested in balconies behind lattice railings. The place dripped with cornices and embellishments. Sweeping ceilings and large windows gave the library an open feel. Every wall held artwork, and antique treasures rested in each corner. It was a library lover’s dream, rich with history. My dream.
A memory grabbed my heart. I was about eight and missing my mother, and Nana Kearns took me to a library. She’d said, “Gia, you can never be lonely in the company of books.” I wished Nana were here to experience this with me.
“Did you know they have George Washington’s personal library here?” Afton’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
“No. I wonder where they keep it,” I said.
Nick gaped at a naked sculpture of Venus. “Locked up somewhere, I guess.”
The clapping of my sandals against my heels echoed in the quiet, and I winced at each smack. Nick snorted while trying to stifle a laugh. I glared at him. “Quit it.”
“Shhh,” Afton hissed.
We shuffled into a reading room with forest green walls. Several busts of famous men balancing on white pedestals surrounded the area. A snobby-looking girl with straight blond hair sat at one of the large walnut tables in the middle of the room, tapping a pencil against the surface as she read a book.
“Prada,” Afton said.
I gave her a puzzled look. “What?”
“Her sandals. And the watch on her wrist… Coach.”
I took her word on that because I wouldn’t know designer stuff if it hit me on the head.
Nick’s gaze flicked over the girl. “This is cool. I think I’ll stay here.”
“Whatever.” Afton glared at Nick’s back. “We’re going exploring. When you’re finished gawking, come find us.”
“Okay,” Nick said, clearly distracted, sneaking looks at the girl.
I slid my feet across the floor to the elevators, trying to avoid the dreaded clap of rubber. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” By the tone in Afton’s voice, I suspected she didn’t like Nick ditching us.
“At least we get some girl time,” I said.
I must have sounded a little too peppy, because she rolled her eyes at me. She pushed the down button on the elevator. “Yeah, I can give you the tour before we get to work. The Children’s Library has some cool stuff in it.”
I didn’t see the point of riding an elevator when you could get some exercise in. “We could take the stairs. You know, cardio?”
“How about no. My feet are killing me in these heels.” The doors slid open, and we stepped inside. “Did you know there’s a book here bound in human skin?”
“No. Really?” The elevator dropped and my stomach slumped.
Afton removed her sweater and then draped it over her arm. “Really. I saw it.”
“No thanks.”
“You can’t tell it’s actual skin,” she said. “They treat it or dye it or something, silly.”
“I bet they die it.” The doors rattled apart. There was a slight bounce as we exited the elevator, and I clutched the doorframe. The corner of Afton’s lip rose slightly, and I knew her mood was improving. I released my death grip on the frame then followed her into the hallway. “Besides, isn’t it illegal or something?”
“Well, the book is from the nineteenth century.” Afton shrugged a shoulder. “Who knows what was legal back then?”
“Why would they even do that?” This entire conversation was making my skin crawl.
“It’s a confession from a thief. Before he died, he requested his own skin be used for the book’s cover.” The spaghetti strap on Afton’s sundress fell down her arm, exposing part of her lacey bra, and she slipped it back in place.
A thirty-something guy passing us gaped, then averted his eyes and hurried his steps, probably realizing Afton’s underage status. I rolled my eyes at him. Jeesh. Every single move Afton made was sexy. Nick was right. I walked like a guy. I leaned into her side. “Did you just see that perv check you out?”
“Oh, really?” She looked over her shoulder. “He’s not all that bad for an older man.”
Ugh. “You seriously need a therapist. He’s almost Pop’s age.”
She laughed, grabbed my arm, and turned on her scary narrator voice. “They say this library is haunted.”