Cyrus moved aside and gestured for us to enter. “Good luck, gentlemen.”

“Don’t wait around on our account, Cy,” Connor said and elbowed his way past him. “We’ll call if we need anything.”

Cyrus chuckled at that. “I’ve got a first aid kit up front should anything…unfortunate happen,” he said as he wandered back to the front of the shop. “It’s at your disposal. For a nominal fee, of course.”

“Of course,” I said and pushed my way past him also, but with less force than Connor.

As I passed the threshold, the familiar smell of brimstone hit my nostrils. It was a tried-and-true stereotype, like cops in a donut shop, but brimstone always seemed to permeate the air anywhere the dark arts hung around in any great concentration. And let’s face it-the dark arts didn’t get more concentrated than here. The smell was still hard on the nose, though. “Well, that was unpleasant,” I muttered as I turned to Connor, who was already nose deep in a book. It didn’t surprise me one bit that he wasn’t wasting any time. We were on the clock back here in the Stacks, and ever since the Mayor’s Office had further cut funding to our already suffering Other Division, Connor had been paying strict attention to all our expenses. I, however, was wasting the departmental budget just standing there.

“Is there anyplace specific I should be looking?” I asked, feeling guilty.

Connor pulled down a sizable leather-bound book. I was surprised to realize it was one of the few Ihad heard of, theDread Tome (also known among the arcane literati asLiteraris Deus ex Negres) and he began flipping through it. “Just checking something here, kid. Go get me theDirectory of the Dearly Departed. That’s the book we want. It’s about six rows back, four shelves in. Hopefully your little crush from back at the Lovecraft will be listed there.”

“Don’t call her that,” I snipped back, surprised at my own reaction. “She’s…”

Connor took his attention away from the book for a second to give me a look of amusement. “Well, that was a little defensive,” he said. “Got a little thing for Irene, kid?”

I didn’t know what I felt for our newest case, but I wasn’t about to let Connor put me on the spot for it. “No…it’s just…”

Connor slapped the tome shut. “It’s just what?” Connor demanded sternly, keeping his voice low enough so as not to attract Cyrus. “She’sdead, kid. She’s not like us anymore. Twenty-four hours ago, yes, she was just fine. Doing whatever a woman like her did. Having tea, perhaps hostilely taking over another company, doing the last few entries in a crossword puzzle…whatever her life entailed. But all that changed when she died, Simon. She’s gone now. If you have feelings for her, I’m sorry but you’re being naпve. You should have paid more attention during theDesensitizing Difficult Deaths seminar.”

“They don’t teach that anymore,” I said peevishly. “All you get now is a pamphlet on it in your welcome kit.” I felt like some sort of necrophiliac pervert just thinking about Irene, ashamed that Connor had struck so close to a nerve I didn’t even realize I had.

“Oh,” said Connor. “Look, let’s just focus on solving our first problem then: Who is she? You want to help her, you figure that out first, okay?”

I nodded. I started walking farther back into the Stacks.

“But I meant what I said, kid. Forget any foolish notions you’re entertaining. You’ll only hurt yourself.”

Connor could save his warnings. My love life sucked enough as it stood. I had enough to contend with just deleting Tamara’s calls of rage off my answering machine. I still had no idea what I was going to do about her.

When I found theDirectory of the Dearly Departed, I pulled it from the shelf. It weighed a ton.

“You’d better watch out down there,” Connor started. “Don’t forget to…”

His words were drowned out by a sudden resounding roar that sprang up all around me. One second I was looking at what I thought was an ordinary bookcase-tall, ornate, carved from a thick, dark, polished wood. The next I was running from what was actually one pissed-off, bounding-with-great-agile-strides-toward-me kind of bookcase. I backed frantically down the row toward the junction and caught a glimpse of Connor running toward me, his face filled with panic and-I could have sworn-amusement.

“Wrong way, kid!” he shouted. “Don’t stop, though!”

The bookcase tore after me down the cramped aisles, spilling books to the floor as it went. Occasionally, I caught a glimpse of Connor chasing it as it chased me. He struggled with the bag over his shoulder as he followed the renegade bookcase.

The aisle before me came to an abrupt end so I juked left down another. The stomping bookcase followed suit, but now I had lost sight of Connor. I hoped he had a plan, because running didn’t seem to be doing much except tiring me out. I doubted, however, that the bookcase would get tired.

“What thehell is that thing?” I shouted, nearly breathless. I hoped hearing my voice would help Connor get an idea where I was. I was lost in row after row of books.

“Just keep moving!” Connor shouted back. I dashed by shelf after shelf. When I rounded the next corner, the tail end of my jacket snagged and I risked a glance back while I paused to tear myself free. The vicious-looking bookcase was hot in pursuit, its sides expanding and contracting as if panting while it closed the distance. My coat came free with a panicked tug, and I returned to fleeing.

“Whatis that thing?” I demanded again. My legs ached and I feared they would cramp up.

“Explain…later,” Connor huffed, sounding closer. “Keep…running…”

At the next intersection, I threw myself down an aisle on my right, but with horror, I realized that it continued on only a little farther before coming to a dead end. No side aisles, no turnoffs. Just ceiling-high shelves on all sides, not to mention the living, breathing one closing in fast behind me. Giving in to total panic, I found a burst of speed that only marathon runners and career criminals could dig deep for and sprinted forward until there was nowhere left to run. Winded, I staggered around in a circle to fully take in the oncoming bookcase. The books that miraculously remained on its shelves formed a menacing gap-toothed smile.

This is not going to be pretty,I thought. In a last-ditch effort to save myself, I threw open my coat and pulled the retractable bat from its loop on my belt. It extended with a satisfyingshhhhkkt, and I raised it into classic batter’s stance, prepared to swing. I might die a stupid death-death by library-but I was determined to go down swinging.

As the bookcase thundered toward me, I spied a single arm popping over the top of it and then Connor’s head came into view. His face was contorted with the struggle of clambering up the backside of the unit. From atop the bookcase, he caught sight of me poised with my bat and smiled.

Bless us,I thought,we’re going to Butch and Sundance this one. We’re both going to be terribly crushed by this bookcase, but we’re going out in a blaze of ridiculous glory.

Connor reached into his bag, producing book after book as he slammed them onto the shelves from atop the charging bookcase. As each book hit the shelves, the case stumbled a little more unsteadily. With a great lurch to the left, the bookcase bounced off one side of the aisle like a pinball off a bumper and gave one final smash into the opposite side. It spun on one corner from sheer momentum and flipped over, pinning Connor underneath it as it crashed to the floor.

I rushed forward to Connor’s aide. He was completely buried under the still squirming piece of furniture.

“Are you all right?” I shouted into the mass of books and limbs.

“Of course I’m not all right,” Connor wheezed out testily from somewhere underneath the bookcase. “I’m stuck under an enchantedly pissed-off bookcase! Does that sound all right to you?”