The Grimoire of the Blue Crystal

The truth is, I was excited to meet that foreigner with curly hair and a particular curiosity. He seemed very intelligent; however, I didn't understand why he was so eager to search for a book that didn't exist.

What if that merchant's story was true? If he had really bought it, he must have destroyed it with his own hands. Any child of this land knew that magic was forbidden; for us, it's a scam, a lie.

Taking advantage of the fact that no one was in the library so we could close before lunchtime, I went down to the basement and stopped in front of the painting of the founder, Fatima. She ordered this library to be built so that knowledge would reach all the inhabitants of our country free of charge. From then on, she left clear instructions so that the books wouldn't fall into the wrong hands. What if Alfonso had come with bad intentions?

My grandfather told me that access to the "Four Keys" library was guarded by four different people, each one guarding a key. After peace came, there was no more looting, and it was no longer necessary to continue such a measure. From then on, security was passed on to us, the direct descendants of Fátima.

I remembered the day I was awarded the title of Librarian; it was the highest honor for our family. That day, I received the four keys and swore to protect them until the day I died.

I memorized the numbers with effort and entered the combination that only remained in my mind: the safe opened, and the key rested on a red velvet cushion. I had never held it in my hands again.

I walked to the door that housed the family's most valuable and ancient treasures: those not available to the public and to which I had never had access.

When it opened, the wood creaked; in front of me lay the family's vast collection. I opened the index book resting on a wooden pedestal in the middle of the room overflowing with books of every size and color, and read the lists.

"So many wonders are at my fingertips!" I whispered.

I hurried to examine them more closely; their appearance was very different from the books on the upper floor. Some were even enclosed in glass cases, secured with padlocks.

"Why so many security measures? What information do their pages contain?" Questions I'd never asked myself before arose one after another, and curiosity took hold of me.

The diversity of languages ​​in which the writings were presented made my task difficult: Semitic, liturgical, Akkadian, cuneiform: it would take me a long time to translate at least a few prayers. In another section, tablets, leather scrolls, papyrus scrolls, and grimoires.

The cathedral bells brought me out of my cultural ecstasy, and I locked the area, leaving everything as it was. I placed the key in the safe, locked it tightly, and went upstairs as if nothing had happened.

I became obsessed with the idea of ​​finding some secret in those underground treasures: I checked the inventory in the system, and no related information was stored in any file.

Using filters, I searched for words like magic, healing, spells, but the result was always the same: zero results related to the term.

If this guy was a historian and had come here following a lead, he must have been right. At that moment, I remembered the incident from that morning: a thief, what could he take from me? I had nothing of value, unless... Could it be that someone else was interested in the information stored in the safe?

I looked at my watch, and it was almost five in the afternoon. I started organizing the closing. I displayed the closure notice on the screens, and users began to file out silently.

I caught myself fixing my hair in front of the mirror. I wanted to look more put-together, so I applied some lip gloss. I looked at myself from several angles; I didn't have time to change, so I put on a vest that I left hanging on the back of the door, improving my overall appearance. It wasn't a date, but I wanted to please her.

I walked slowly so I wouldn't sweat, and along the way, I noticed certain details about my appearance: I looked at my feet, then at my hands. I touched my earlobes, and I didn't have any earrings. Let's just say I didn't look good, so as not to go into embarrassing details. The only thing going for me was that it was getting dark, and the orange lights from the lanterns would camouflage my carelessness.

As I approached the meeting point, I felt like straying. I'd suddenly lost that desire. I didn't know what came over me; I felt insecure, or perhaps compromised. A bad taste in my mouth followed a thought: he wants to use me, that's all. He'd invited me only to convince me to help him find what he's looking for. So, let him wait because I'm not an object. I'm not going to let him come and "woo" the librarian to get the book; it was too obvious and I was too stupid.

My anger didn't let me think of anything else. I arrived home hating him, threw everything away, and got into the tub. I scrubbed my body and washed my hair vigorously, but Alfonso was still in my head.

Where was he staying? I wondered. Suddenly, I was in a room; a hotel was much more expensive for a six-month stay.

The minutes passed, and as I looked out the window, I saw the sunset, while I scolded myself for being so childish. He should have been alone there, after being so kind to me when I was in trouble, all because of that mind that kept imagining things. Maybe he didn't mean any harm. I ran downstairs, hoping to get there before sunset. My damp hair whipped around in the air, and I arrived at the obelisk, tired, sweaty, and disheveled. But I was smiling because his long, slanting shadow was reflected in the street and welcomed me.