Shadows by Jen Black Page B

below reassured her.
    “Oui, Madame.  ’ow may I ’elp you?”  He stood behind the old-fashioned oak desk of the village library and smiled without looking at her.  His attention was on the computer screen in front of him.  His pencil ticked off an item on the list beside him.
    How did he know she was English?  He'd barely looked at her.  But the French, by some extra sense, always seemed to spot the English.  “Monsieur Barrault, je cherche les information.”  Melissa spoke slowly and clearly, her eyes fixed hopefully on his thin dark face.  One corner of his mouth twitched.  Amused by her poor French, no doubt.  He looked up.  Within the sunburned skin, shielded by heavy glasses, his eyes were blue and full of laughter.
    A frisson of nervousness made her hesitate.  Had she been wise to come here?  Rory had chosen to wait in the car, and she regretted not having his comforting bulk at her side.  Melissa squared her shoulders.  She’d managed in life so far without Rory Hepburn standing guard at her back.  Why should this be any different?
    Melissa smiled briefly, and rushed into her next question.  “Moulin Franchard.  I need to understand l’histoire de les fantômes.”
    The librarian’s heavy brows shot up above the dark frame of his glasses.  “Le Fantôme?  Vraiment?  Madame has seen it?”  He removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes.
    Without those heavy horn rims his eyes were a startlingly blue.  A small shock of surprise jolted her.  “Oh yes, several times.”  Well, caught a glimpse, perhaps, would be more like the truth.  The monk didn’t stick around, that was certain.  In total, she’d seen him for perhaps twenty seconds.
    “Describe it for me, s’il vous plait.”
    The librarian’s manner verged on autocratic, but Melissa took a deep breath and marshaled her best schoolgirl French into short phrases.  “Un homme jeune, avec les cheveux noir, les yeux noir aussi.  Il porte un robe de marron, avec un…”  She mimed a girdle knotted about the waist.  “La dame—”
    “Une dame aussi?”
    Melissa nodded.  Was he mocking her?  As she stared at him, his eyes changed color.  They had been a deeper blue than Rory’s, but now…forgetting to breathe, she stared.  Now they were brown.  Either that, or she was hallucinating.  She blinked rapidly, looked away and glanced back.
    His eyes were blue.  Must have been some odd trick of the light.
    Melissa filled her lungs and shifted nervously against the old wooden counter.  This was a library, after all.  A library ought to be as familiar to her as home.  So why did her senses prickle with unease?
    “Madam?”
    “Oui.”  Melissa persevered grimly with her schoolgirl French.  “Une dame aussi, très jeune et très jolie.  Les cheveux de marron, et…”  She indicated hair that hung to her waist, and forgot what she had been about to say.
    The librarian’s eyes were brown again.  She wasn’t mistaken.  He looked directly at her, and his eyes were most definitely brown.  She gripped the rim of the desk, real and solid under her fingers and stared at him while her skin prickled and shivered.
    He regarded her, tilted his head and then put both hands on his desk and leaned forward.  “Les fantômes.  Madame, they are long dead.”
    The overhead light flashed on the vivid blue of his eyes.  Oh, God, was she going mad?  She inhaled, held the breath and tensed her muscles, ready to bolt should he metamorphose into something nasty.
    “Je voudrais very much to visit with you and peut-être see these fantômes.”
    “Oh.”  Melissa gaped at him.  She had not expected quite this much interest, and didn’t know what to say.  How would Rory take to having the librarian visit, especially if she told him the man’s eyes changed color?  No doubt he would claim it was her fevered imagination.  He was far too sensible sometimes.  On the other hand, sensible could be good and every now and then he