Amber, trying to contain herself. “Did you learn anything?”
“No,” said Glen. “Turns out that old guy is German and doesn’t speak a word of English.”
“Then what were you arguing about?”
Glen looked puzzled. “How should I know?”
This set Amber and Milo off again. Glen tried to laugh along with them, then gave up and went for a walk.
A full third of the library was given over to computers, the bookcases crammed together in the space left. Amber walked the labyrinth until she found a section marked Local History. It was a single shelf with five books on it – four of them the same book. She flicked through the fifth – Springton: A Legacy, by a local author with a bad photo. She learned that Springton was established in 1829, and got its name from its wondrous spring-water reserve. She learned that the industry that built up around it polluted that reserve so much that the water became virtually undrinkable. The author called that ‘ironic’.
Amber flicked through the rest of it, then checked the index. No mention of Dacre Shanks.
She replaced the book and wandered out of the stacks. Glen found her.
“They have a Springton Gazette,” he said. “I asked the librarian if I could see the old editions, y’know, to read the articles on Shanks as they were printed? She said they’re only available on microfiche.”
“What’s microfiche?”
“I don’t know. Some kind of small fish, presumably.”
Amber frowned. “Where’s Milo?”
“Chatting up the other librarian. The cute one.”
Amber looked around. Milo stood in that slouchy way of his, giving a smile she hadn’t imagined he possessed to an attractive woman in her forties. She had brown hair with a streak of silver running through it. The librarian laughed and Milo’s smile widened.
“I could do that,” said Glen. “I just picked the wrong librarian to charm, that’s all. I picked the old one. I thought she’d be the one to ask. If I’d known there was a younger one, I’d have called dibs.”
“She’s twice your age.”
“Older women find me intensely attractive.”
“Well, that’s good, because younger women certainly don’t.”
Glen stopped glaring across at Milo, and switched his attention to Amber. “Oh, is that so? So you’re telling me that you feel no attraction to me whatsoever?”
She blinked at him. “What? Where has this come from? No. None. None at all.”
“Yeah,” he said, laughing. “Right.”
“Seriously.”
“There have been studies carried out that say the Irish accent is the sexiest in the world.”
“Who carried it out? Irish people?”
His smile faltered for a moment. “Maybe,” he said, and then it was back. “I could charm you. You know I could charm you. The only thing stopping me is your age. You’re too young for me. I prefer girls in their twenties.”
“I will have to live with that crushing disappointment.”
“Of course,” he said, moving closer, “I could make an exception.”
“Please don’t.”
“I could overlook the age thing if … you know.”
Amber frowned. “What?”
“If you transformed,” he whispered.
She lost all good humour. “Drop dead, Glen.”
She made for the exit. He followed.
“Oh, go on! Just transform once for me. You’re amazing when you transform. You’re astonishing. Those horns are just the most beautiful—”
She spun round to face him. “Stop calling it that. Stop calling it transforming. You make me sound like an Autobot.”
“Well, what’s it called?”
“I don’t know. Shifting. There isn’t really an official term for it.”
A slow grin spread across his face. “I’ve got one. Do you want to hear it?”
She walked away. “No.”
“It’s a good one,” he said from right behind her.
“I don’t care.”
“You’ll love it,” he said. “I promise you, you’ll love it.”
They reached the exit. Milo was walking towards them. Amber couldn’t help herself.
“Fine,” she said. “What? What would you call it when I change?”
Glen’s grin was immense. “Getting horny.”
“Oh, I hate you so much.”
Milo joined them. “She’s hiding something,” he said. “The moment she guessed where I was steering the conversation she closed down. You find anything?”
“Just a new level of annoyance,” said Amber.
“She wants to join me in my utter hilarity,” said Glen. “You can see it in her face, can’t you? She wants to joke around. Give in to it, Amber. Give in.”
She sighed. “Are you finished yet?”
Glen grinned, and turned to Milo. “What’s microfiche?”
“Microfilm.”
“Ohhh. So it’s not a small fish.”
“Come on,” said Amber, “let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”
They had lunch sitting in the window of one of the cafes on the square. They watched the high-school kids pass on their way home. A bunch of younger kids came into the cafe, and Amber looked at Milo with her eyebrows raised. He shrugged, and nodded, and she turned on her stool.
“Hi,” she said, keeping her voice down. “I was wondering if you could help me? Have any of you heard of a man called Dacre Shanks?”
The name made the kids draw back in suspicion.
“Ask someone else,” one of them said.
“So you’ve heard of him?”
“We’re not talking about that.”
“Why not?”
“Cos they’re
