Bara picked a random row. Her hand grazed firm backs and metallic embossing. She didn’t have a book in mind. The right one would call out. A tingle, maybe a shock of static, bit at her fingertips. She stopped to see which book her hand had settled upon. Taunting her from the shelf was a worn and frayed edition of the Magician’s Nephew ...

An invisible curtain hung, isolating the diners from one another. They ate in an oak-paneled dining room, at a long oak table—a very long, oak table. Three of the four middle leaves were missing. It was still too big for the three of them.

Templeton Cavanagh sat at one end with his new wife to his right, his daughter to his left. To Bara, her father felt miles away, her stepmother far too close. There was only one saving grace, a large fall-themed center-piece. Bara slouched to hide her face behind the orange tiger lilies and bright red mums ...

Bara settled into a termite-eaten study carrel and turned on its green reading lamp. A mouthful of coffee and the Hideous Strength was opened to a random page. She landed smack in pursuit of an immortal Merlin.

The coffee wouldn’t be enough. Dreamy blue eyes battled with the written page of C.S. Lewis. A heavy head took on a will of its own and drifted down into the crook of her arm. It felt good there. She gave in and surrendered to dreams ...

A mist rolled in. Bara might have fallen into a deeper, dreamless rest, but the soft whistle of rustling paper filled the air. Books, rusty-brown and red, flew from the shelves and performed a strange aerial ballet. They circled around her. She came to her feet and reached out her dream hand. Her fingers grazed a hard cover and soft pages. The book fluttered to the ground and settled on the stone floor soundlessly. A small breeze flipped pages and lifted locks of her hair.

The dark-haired boy had joined her. They sat on a low stone wall, under the shade of blossoming cherry tree. Pink petals drifted down. A bloom landed in her hair. He plucked the pink from her red-gold locks and held it to the blue sky. The single petal multiplied and darkened. The one cherry blossom became a full red rose. She smiled and took the flower. The dark-haired boy opened his mouth to speak but instead dissolved to mist. The rose petals dropped from the flower head and ignited before disintegrating to ash. Bara sat alone, clutching the dead and empty bloom.

Someone had come down into the stacks and moved it … and that someone now stood behind her, breathing thick floral-scented breath upon her neck. Bara spun around. Strawberry-blond hair streamed over a large black mouth, a mouth that had consumed its own face.

The doppelgänger had returned. There was the thump of a book landing on the floor.

The Wisp and its sequel, the Tall Man, are available in digital and paperback here