Library of Souls by Ransom Riggs Page B

Acre.
Louche Lane
, it read in fancy handwritten script.
Piracy discouraged
.
    â€œDiscouraged?” I said. “Then what’s murder? Frowned upon?”
    â€œI believe murder is ‘tolerated with reservations.’ ”
    â€œIs
anything
illegal here?” Addison asked.
    â€œLibrary late fines are stiff. Ten lashes a day, and that’s just for paperbacks.”
    â€œThere’s a library?”
    â€œTwo. Though one won’t lend because all the books are bound in human skin and quite valuable.”
    We shuffled out from behind the wall and cast a somewhat baffled look around. In no man’s land I’d anticipated death at every turn, but Louche Lane, from all appearances, was a haven of civic order. The street was lined with neat little shops, and the shops had signs and display windows and apartments on the upper floors. There was not a caved roof or a broken pane of glass in sight. There were people on the street, too, and they lingered, ambling along in singles and pairs, pausing now and then to duck into a shop or look in a window. Their clothes weren’t rags. Their faces were clean. Maybe everything here wasn’t new and sparkling, but the weathered surfaces and patched paint gave it all a handmade, worn-around-the-edges look that was quaint, even charming. My mother, if she’d seen Louche Lane in one of those thumbed-through-but-never-read travel magazines that papered our coffee table at home, would’vecrooned about its cuteness and complained that she and my dad had never taken a real European vacation—
Oh, Frank, let’s go
.
    Emma seemed palpably disappointed. “I was expecting something more sinister.”
    â€œMe too,” I said. “Where are all the murder dens and blood-sport arenas?”
    â€œI don’t know what sort of business you think people get up to around here,” Sharon said, “but I’ve never heard of a murder den. As for bloodsport arenas, there’s only the one—Derek’s, down Oozing Street. Good chap, Derek. Owes me a fiver …”
    â€œAnd the wights?” said Emma. “What about our kidnapped friends?”
    â€œKeep your voice down,” Sharon hissed. “As soon as I take care of my own business, we’ll find someone who can help you. Until then, don’t repeat that to anyone.”
    Emma got in Sharon’s face. “Then don’t make me repeat
this
. While we appreciate your help and expertise, our friends’ lives have been given an expiration date. I won’t stall and dawdle about simply to avoid ruffling some feathers.”
    Sharon looked down at her, quiet for a moment. Then he said, “We all have an expiration date. If I were you, I wouldn’t be in such a hurry to find out what it is.”

    * * *
    We set off to find Sharon’s lawyer. He quickly became frustrated. “I could’ve sworn his office was along this street,” he said, turning on his heel. “Though it’s been years since I’ve been to see him. Perhaps he’s moved.”
    Sharon decided to go looking on his own and told us to stay put. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t speak to anyone.”
    He strode away, leaving us alone. We clustered awkwardly on the sidewalk, unsure what to do with ourselves. People stared as they passed by.
    â€œHe really had us going, didn’t he?” said Emma. “He made this place sound like a hotbed of criminality, but it looks like any other loop to me. In fact, the people here look more normal than any peculiars I’ve ever seen. It’s as if they’ve had every distinguishing characteristic vacuumed out of them. It’s downright boring.”
    â€œYou must be joking,” said Addison. “I’ve never seen anyplace so vile or disgusting.”
    We both looked at him in surprise.
    â€œHow’s that?” said Emma. “All that’s here are little