The Grimoire of the Blue Crystal

That morning, I didn't make it out in time to open the library. I was late, and the alarm clock didn't go off, or I didn't hear it. I jumped out of bed and put on the clothes hanging on the rack. I went down to the street and walked as fast as I could, trying not to trip-as fast as my old, bouncy leather sandals allowed me.

The cobblestones of Murra Kish were damp from the morning drizzle. The moss-green awnings were spread out, indicating that the merchants were about to open their businesses. Waving my hand to keep me from stopping, I greeted those who saw me pass by while enjoying the different aromas: Mrs. Amira's flowers, Mr. Mohamed's coffee, and Hassan's bread. I loved mornings, especially the damp and cold ones.

My mind returned to work, and I remembered that they must be waiting for me. I quickened my pace, and I could see the impatient students and the general public lining up. They looked from side to side, and when they saw my silhouette looming in the narrowness of the street, they gathered at the entrance. I felt a sense of relief: I ran across the square and lifted the lid of my bag to remove the heavy iron ring from which the three iron keys hung.

The collision of our bodies knocked the wind out of me. I was thrown backward, flying straight to the ground. As I tried to resist, I saw some people raise their hands to their heads and others cover their faces. Those images made me suffer before the inevitable: I received a sharp blow against the stone that left me motionless, stretched out on the ground, staring at the sky and trying to assimilate what had happened to me.

The initial impact was so unexpected that I didn't even see it coming. I assumed it was a man because of his height and weight, but I couldn't confirm it. A curious young man ran up to me, stood beside me, looked around for something, and then ran away from the scene. A girl offered me her hand to help me up, and I took a run. Standing up, I realized my bag wasn't beside me. Had I been robbed?

"My bag, have you seen it?" I asked the girl as I placed my hands on her shoulders.

"A man ran with your bag, and the boy followed."

"Which boy? I can't lose my bag; what I have in there is irreplaceable. Which way did they go?"

"They crossed that street," the young woman indicated anxiously.

I ran in that direction, and as I was about to turn the corner by the bakery, the boy was coming with my belongings.

We walked together, without speaking, catching our breath, to the large old door.

The boy stood behind me with the others, watching the maneuver I mechanically executed and noticed my small hands fitting the keys into the locks in a particular order. I felt the weight of his gaze and his breath against my back, but without hesitation I continued. Only after all three keys were in their corresponding holes did I begin to turn them one by one, from top to bottom.

"What happens if you start with the bottom one?" The question amused me, and, surprised by his powers of observation, I turned to see who it was.

"I've never been asked that question before. I suppose they don't open the locks; the truth is, I haven't tried. It's such an old door that I prefer not to take the risk and do just what I was taught."

Some people laughed; others considered it an abuse by the nosy boy.

When the door opened, I entered to turn on the lights and equipment, leaving the public waiting for a few minutes. When it was ready, I showed courtesy to everyone as we went through the security turnstile. The last one to enter was my savior.

"What's your name?" he asked. "I'm Alfonso."

"Hi, my name is Fátima. Are you new to the city? I hadn't seen you."

"It's a long story. I come from another country, called Blâwerenstein. I just graduated as a historian."

"So what do you do in the city?"

"I research books and rescue girls in distress."

We both smiled.

"You've come to the perfect place. This is the oldest library in the world. I bet you'll find more works than you can imagine." I opened my arms, gesturing to the grandeur of the place. "Changing the subject: I was going to thank you, but it all happened so fast," I whispered.

"Don't worry, the thief almost got away, but I ran fast." As for the book, I'm looking for one in particular, but I'll start by taking a quick look at what you have in front of you.

Alfonso zigzagged between the shelves, like someone unsure where to begin. Soon, he returned to the counter where he was hurriedly typing information into the computer.

"I don't want anything you have for the public; I'm behind a very old book. Where is that section?"

"I can't help you with that. There's a special area for those kinds of works, manuscripts, and other collections that, due to their historical value, are under lock and key. No one is allowed in there."

"I was wondering exactly that. Why do you open the door with three keys if we're in the Library of the Four Keys?" It seemed contradictory to me, but I didn't want to be annoying with another of my comments.

"You seem to be very skilled. Do you like wordplay? Or did you just come to question anything to start a conversation?"

"Both," he stated, smiling. "In six months, I have to travel to London to begin the Master's degree, and I can't do so unless I can verify whether that book exists and what its contents are."

"If you give me a clue, I might be able to direct you. What Master's degree do you want to pursue?"

"Master's degree in Magic and the Occult," he indicated proudly.

"Shut up, don't repeat that again. Those subjects are forbidden. What you're looking for is definitely not here; you're wasting your time."

"Don't be radical. According to the tracking I've been doing for years, a merchant brought it here in the 9th century."

"It's not possible. No one would bring a forbidden book to our land. It doesn't make sense."

"It does, precisely because it's forbidden. The merchant acquired it to remove it from circulation; he wanted to bury the knowledge it contained forever. It was the only way to ensure no one would read it. Keep it under guard."

"It would have been better to have destroyed it; it doesn't make sense."

"The book contains valuable secrets. He kept it because perhaps one day it might be useful to someone. Do you understand?"

"You're confusing me. Do you know that if someone hears you, I'll be in trouble?"

"I need to know if it exists; I want to have it in my hands."

"Don't count on me for that. I'm the custodian of the knowledge that rests here. I follow instructions from those who held this position before me, and I don't intend to step out of line."

"I'm not going to compromise you on anything; I'm just being honest."

"Then go check out what's available and let me work, okay?"

"Okay, I'll leave you alone if you agree to eat something in the afternoon and have tea. I'll give you more details later, outside your workplace."

"Okay, I'll catch up with you after the library closes."

"I'll wait for you where the sun rises above the obelisk, just before sunset."

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.

The central plaza was crowded, people enjoying the sunset, listening to traditional music and drinking mint tea that perfumed the surrounding terraces. As the sky turned warm, I found myself observing his clothing: beige Bermuda shorts and a long-sleeved shirt, brown leather shoes, and a square jaw that made him look very manly. He hadn't noticed my arrival, and that gave me the time I needed to calm my heartbeat.

He turned as if he'd sensed my presence, and several inches below, he saw me. His eyes glazed over, and a big smile lit up his face.

"Fatima! I was getting sad. I thought you weren't coming," he explained, ecstatic. "Look at this wonder," he said, pointing to the sky.

"I was about to not come, but then something moved me, and I wanted to give myself the opportunity to meet you."

"Thank you so much. I don't have any friends in the city, and I'm really looking forward to talking to you."

He seemed so honest that I felt guilty for all the garbage I'd stuffed into my head.

"I don't have any friends either. My life revolves around the house and the library. Now that you mention it, I need to talk too. I hadn't realized that most of my conversations are in my head and the conflicts I'd create in my head," I added. "I almost missed out on all of this by listening to my fears."

"I appreciate you being honest with me. I promise to open my heart to you. You can ask whatever you want from now on." He extended his hand, shaking mine to seal the deal. "Let's go for a walk and eat something delicious. I want you to choose the place, okay?"

"Okay, how many days have you been here?"

"Today is the second day, what does that have to do with it?"

"Because I was wondering where you're staying. If you're going to be going to the library often, you should stay close."

"My father booked me a hotel, I'm not complaining, it's a beautiful place. It's called the Royal, it's so big I get lost, and as soon as they see me arrive, they escort me to my riad."

"Your father must have a lot of money because it's the best hotel in the country: pure luxury."

"My family's motto is discretion and simplicity, but since this is my first solo trip, safety was key when choosing."

"Even though you're a foreigner, your physique is similar to the locals. I don't think you'll have any trouble blending in with us."

"My skin color and this unruly hair are inherited from my mother; she's African, and my father is European."

I stared at him while he spoke to me and smiled as I compared the color of his eyes to that of the ripe dates I loved so much.

"Dual race, that's special. I, on the other hand, am an Arab, a believer. My family doesn't accept foreigners for marriage."

"Are you engaged?" "I don't want any trouble." A smile crowned his comment, which seemed more like an attempt at a man-woman rapprochement.

"Times have changed. Now we can choose. Arranged marriages aren't common anymore, at least not among the common people. That's for the millionaires."

Alfonso went ahead of me and crossed onto a street marked with a hexagon. I didn't say anything and kept up with him.

The fluid conversation led us to approach each other, to listen better and because it was a sign of comfort.

"Why are you laughing? I can tell you're naughty. Is something wrong?"

"I think you're lost."

Alfonso looked around the alley and wasn't convinced.

"I thought there was a terrace where we could have tea on this street. Maybe I'm confused."

"The street has no exit; it's a dead end."

"Did you know that from the start?" His eyes looked at me until I felt uncomfortable.

"I want you to learn for yourself. The city streets are labyrinths for tourists. That's why it's best if I get you a place to stay with the locals. You'll learn to navigate more easily and integrate more easily."

We sat down to drink tea on the terrace, which witnessed some confessions.

"I'll be blunt: how can someone as educated as you believe in magic?"

I took a sip of mint tea to take the pressure off my face.

"I'll answer you with another question: How will I handle students' questions if I don't know the subject?"

"Are you a professor?"

"I graduated with a degree in history with the idea of ​​teaching at a university in my country. My father suggested I prepare myself well first and get a Master's degree in London. The options didn't appeal to me until this one appeared: a Master's in Magic and the Occult. That day I found my passion. I research the subject day and night. That's the real reason for coming here."

"Magic doesn't exist."

"I think the same, but as a historian, I have to know everything about it. How do you explain that magic has always been part of human stories? Our encounter was magical."

I blushed at the way he concluded his comment.

"The experience was magical, but it wasn't the result of a ritual or spell; it was merely fate."

"We're understanding each other, Fatima, that's what I mean."

"So, what good will it do you to find a book that talks about magic if you see it every day, at every sunrise, in the birds' song? That magic we're talking about is part of everyday life."

"Because that book exists, and the magic it contains is what they've tried to imitate without success. It doesn't tell you how to do magic; the book itself is magical."

"I'm sure it doesn't exist. I think it's best if you stop wasting your time and go home."

"Please don't be mad at me."

"It's just that I've wasted hours looking in the library, and it's not here. I swear. I don't want you to get your hopes up and waste your time. Follow a new lead."

"Let's drop the subject because I think it creates a conflict between your beliefs and mine."

I was getting discouraged, that was the truth, and rather than get my hopes up with a foreigner, I preferred to cut off communication. He'd probably leave at any moment anyway.