“I am sorry for your reception. That is Ingolstadt. Not known for its warm welcomes during this season. In fact, it is preparing to again demonstrate how much it wishes we were not here.” She pointed at the window, where the first warning drops of rain traced dirty lines down the glass. “We have to go outside and around the corner. Hurry!”

She pushed out the door and we followed her, huddling beneath our single umbrella. She walked ahead of us, unconcerned about the rain. I envied her dark skirts. Mine would show every trace of mud and filth the city had to offer. But I had to wear white, knowing I would see Victor. Hoping I would see Victor.

“Here we are!” She stopped in front of a plain door around the corner. Pulling out a key, she unlocked it.

“I thought we were going to a café?” I asked.

“They are all wretched and overpriced. I can feed you better.” She turned and grinned at us, her teeth crooked like the shelves in her bookstore, crowding together in a pleasant sort of way. “I am Mary Delgado.” She looked at Justine first.

“Justine Moritz. And this is Elizabeth Lavenza.”

“Pleased to meet you both. Now, come out of the rain.” We followed her into a cramped landing area, cluttered with so many books it might as well have been a shop, too. Books were piled on a table, pushed in stacks against the walls, and taking up nearly every step on the stairs ascending to the second story. A narrow path led straight up between the looming tomes.

“Mind the books,” she said, climbing the stairs with practiced ease.

I leaned down to see some of the spines. There was no organization I could see. Poems beneath political tomes beneath religious texts beneath mathematical theory. I let my fingers linger on a book of philosophy, then drew them away. My white lace fingertips were still perfectly clean. These books were all regularly used, with no collected dust.

I did mind the books. I minded them very much, and I wanted to know more about all of them. Instead, we followed Mary up the stairs and into a cozy sitting room. This one, surprisingly, contained not a single book. A worn but clean sofa was paired with an overstuffed leather chair, both kept company by a cheerful fire.

“Sit,” Mary called from another room, into which she had already disappeared. “Please, sit.”

We did as instructed. Justine sighed happily, pulling off her gloves and unpinning her hat. I perched on the edge of the couch.

“You look like you are ready to flee,” Justine observed.

I removed my gloves, too, but left my hat in place. I wanted to pace the room like a caged animal. Instead, I stared into the fire, willing the hypnotic flicker of flame to calm my mind.