The Library of Shadows - By Mikkel Birkegaard Page 0,1

the particular scent of the pages, as if from a vintage wine. After studying the title page and binding one more time he would gently put the book back in place, giving it either a shrug of his shoulders or a smile of acknowledgement. There were more nods than shrugs as he made his way through the shop, so the assistant's transactions, undertaken while the owner was away, seemed to be acceptable.

The assistant's name was Iversen, and he had worked in the shop for so long that it was more a question of a partnership than an employer/employee relationship. Yet even though Iversen loved the shop as much as Luca did, there had never been any overtures to form a real partnership. The antiquarian bookshop had been passed down to Luca from his father Arman, and the intention had always been for it to remain in the hands of the Campelli family.

Very little had changed since Arman left the shop to Luca, but the balcony at the height of a mezzanine was the most noticeable. The balcony was a good metre and a half wide, and it ran along all four walls. It was an addition that the regular customers had quickly dubbed 'the Heavens' since it was there that the rarest and most valuable works were kept, protected and displayed in glass cases.

Before Luca headed up to the balcony, he went back to the counter to pour himself another cognac. After that he walked to the very back of the shop where a winding staircase rose up to the projecting balcony above. The worn steps creaked ominously as he made his way upwards; undaunted he continued his ascent and soon reached the top. There he turned to survey the shop. With a little imagination the bookshelves below him might seem like a labyrinth of well-trimmed shrubs, but he was too much at home there to get lost, and his gaze fell on the two suitcases standing just inside the door.

A frown and a concerned expression suddenly darkened his furrowed face, and his brown eyes seemed to be looking at more distant realms than the floor below. Pensively Luca lifted his glass and sniffed at the cognac before he took a sip and moved his gaze from his suitcases, focusing instead on the shelves on the balcony.

The lights emitted a soft glow inside the glass cases, giving the volumes they protected a romantic, golden sheen. Behind the glass the books were displayed like small objets d'art. Some were open to colourful illustrations and fantastical depictions of the stories contained inside; others were closed to showcase the artistry that had been devoted to the binding or the tanned leather.

Luca walked slowly along the balcony with one hand on the railing and the other wrapped round his cognac glass, which he cautiously twirled in little circles as he let his glance slide over the contents of the display cases. Normally there was little change among the works on the second floor since few people could afford to buy them; those who could usually bought very few volumes, carefully selected for their existing collections.

New books were added almost exclusively through purchases from estates or, less often, from book auctions.

That was why Luca froze when his eyes fell on a particular volume. He frowned and set his glass on the railing before he leaned towards the glass pane to study the book more closely. It was bound in black leather with gold type, and the edges of the pages were also gilded. Luca opened his eyes wide when he got close enough to read the title and the name of the author. The book turned out to be a custom-bound edition of Giacomo Leopardi's Operette morali, in superb condition and presumably in Italian, the original language – Luca's native tongue.

Clearly moved, Luca knelt down and opened the glass case. With shaking hands he reached for his shirt pocket and fished out his reading glasses, which he set on his nose. Carefully, as if not wanting to frighten the prize away, he leaned forward and grabbed the book in both hands. Having secured the trophy, he lifted it out of the case and with astonishment turned it this way and that. Deep furrows appeared on his brow, and with a sudden lurch he got to his feet and cast a wary glance all around, as if he sensed that someone was watching him – a hidden observer to this extraordinary find. Finding no one, he