We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from new young adult novel Where the Library Hides by Isabel Ibañez, the conclusion to the story that started in What the River Knows—out from Wednesday Books on November 5th.
Inez Olivera traveled across the world to Egypt, seeking answers into her parents’ recent and mysterious deaths. But all her searching led her down a perilous road, filled with heartache, betrayal, and a dangerous magic that pulled her deep into the past.
When Tío Ricardo issues an ultimatum about her inheritance, she’s left with only one option to consider.
Marriage to Whitford Hayes.Former British soldier, her uncle’s aide de camp, and one time nemesis, Whit has his own mysterious reasons for staying in Egypt. With her heart on the line, Inez might have to bind her fate to the one person whose secret plans could ruin her.
CAPÍTULO UNO
I kept Whitford Hayes waiting.
Twelve hours later, I still hadn’t made up my mind. It alarmed me how badly I wanted to say yes. If I’d learned anything from my time in Egypt, it was that I couldn’t trust my own judgment. A disappointing and terrifying realization. From now on, I’d have to be on my guard, no matter what my heart wanted. Besides, what would happen if I did marry him? Whit had made a promise to someone else, and while it hadn’t been his personal choice, he had given his word to another. He had insisted on keeping his distance, and we had agreed on a friendship, and nothing more. But then he’d kissed me when we thought we were dying, and so the scale tipped, and we lost our equilibrium.
Everything changed while we were locked up in a tomb.
Did his proposal mean he cared about me? Was he as deep in as I was?
I could have asked him, but then, wouldn’t he have made some kind of declaration when he proposed? A simple I adore you would have been much appreciated. Now that I thought of it, Whit hadn’t actually asked me the question. He’d said, Marry me instead, matter-of-factly. I’d been so rattled I hadn’t had the time to pick through my thoughts before he’d left the room. Instead, I teetered from terror and joy. All the good things I’d ever loved had been lost to me. The family I believed I had. Elvira. The discovering of Cleopatra’s tomb. All destroyed by one person.
What if Mamá somehow wrecked this, too?
I tugged on the scarf around my throat. My mother had given it to me to shrink dozens of artifacts from Cleopatra’s tomb, and for some reason, I had kept it when I probably ought to have burned it. This stretch of fabric was evidence of her betrayal. It felt like a chain, linking me to her. Maybe if I pulled on it hard enough, it’d somehow lead me to where she was hiding.
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“Stop fidgeting with that scarf. Why are you dragging your feet?” Tío Ricardo asked, voice laced with impatience. “Whit will be waiting.”
I winced. Ah, yes, Whit’s perpetual state at the moment. “Él es paciente, Tío.”
“Ha! Whit? Patient? You don’t know him like I do,” my uncle scoffed. “All I’ve eaten is broth for the last few days, y me muero de hambre. I need a hearty meal, Inez, and if you say one word in disagreement, I will start yelling.”
I threw him a disgruntled look, even though he didn’t see it. He was categorically not dying of hunger—I personally made sure of it. I was not a violent person, but I silently contemplated throwing something at his head. Tío Ricardo, once again, refused to stay in bed. One would think I were suggesting he bite into a raw onion like an apple. Instead, he tugged me along as we made our way to Shepheard’s lavish dining room, one hand holding tight to my wrist. His other arm was bound up in a sling, which he periodically glared down at, resenting anything that might keep him from Philae. He also kept eyeing every person who passed us in the corridor with deep suspicion. When two gentlemen entered the hallway leading to the main stairs, my uncle forcibly moved me down another turn and waited for them to pass.
This time I didn’t try to hide my exasperation. “Just what do you think will happen to me on the third floor of the hotel?”
Tío Ricardo wasn’t looking at me but was focused on the retreating backs of the pair of gentlemen walking, presumably, to their room. “Have you seen them before?”
I yanked my arm free. “You ought to be resting and not casting judgment on unsuspecting tourists.”
My uncle finally angled his bearded face toward mine. He towered over me, smelling of citrus soap, and his clothes, for once, were pressed, his shoes wiped clean. Direct results of staying in the hotel for the past few days. “Have you learned nothing? Lourdes’s contacts could be anyone.”
“If she wanted to kill me, she had plenty of opportunity. But she didn’t,” I whispered. “I’m still her daughter. Her only child.”
“You have proof of how far she will go to protect her interests. Don’t depend on any maternal affection she might have for you.” The deep lines gathered at the corners of my uncle’s mouth smoothed away. He regarded me with soft eyes the exact same color as my own—hazel, which changed hue, depending on our mood. Pity lurked deep within them, and I couldn’t stand it. “Trouble follows wherever she goes. You of all people should know that.”
My lips parted as a memory raced into my mind. A quick flash, like the swipe of a knife against my skin.
Elvira screaming my name—calling for me as the trigger was pulled, the bullet streaking toward her. And a moment later, her blown-up face. Unrecognizable. Blood pooling under her head, staining the golden sand.
If I could, I would give up years of my life for that memory to be struck from my mind.
“I think it’s safe to go on down,” he said, and resumed holding on to me, half pulling me down the hall with his uninjured arm. “We have much to discuss.”
Ordinarily I would have made some retort, but his words had chilled me through. I could never forget who my mother was. Master manipulator and a shrewd strategist. A liar and a thief. A woman who could and did betray her daughter, who was hungry for power and would do anything to acquire wealth. Coldly ruthless as she sacrificed Elvira without remorse.
A woman lost in the wind.
Be on your guard, I told myself. We continued our trek to the dining room, but this time, I joined my uncle in his careful observation of our surroundings.
* * *
Hotel guests filled the dining room, sitting at round tables covered in snow-white tablecloths, while servers nimbly carried trays laden with silver teapots and porcelain cups. Whit sat across from me, dressed in a blue button-down tucked into his standard khaki trousers. His brawny frame filled up the dainty seat, broad shoulders overtaking the back of the chair’s width. I didn’t need to look under the table to know that he wore his favorite leather boots, laced up to midcalf. He poured his second cup of coffee, and I knew he’d forgo sugar or cream, preferring to drink it black.
I tore my gaze away, conscious of my uncle sitting not two feet from me, and lifted my teacup to hide my burning cheeks. The liquid was hot on my tongue, but I swallowed it down to buy myself time. I felt the weight of my uncle’s gaze, silently assessing and watchful. The absolute last thing I wanted was to give myself away.
My uncle would not appreciate the depth of my feelings for Whit.
“We’ll depart in a few days,” Tío Ricardo said to him.
“Not what the doctor ordered, I’m afraid,” Whit said calmly. “He instructed you to keep off your feet for another day or two and warned of too much activity at once. Certainly no traveling long distances. Too much jostling and the like.”
My uncle let out a muted snarl. “Philae is hardly a long distance.”
“Only several hundred miles,” Whit said, still unperturbed by Tío Ricardo’s foul temper.
“You could pull the stitches, risk infection—”
“Whitford.”
Almost against my will, my eyes flew in his direction. I couldn’t help it, much like I couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped from my mouth. My uncle wasn’t only irascible with me, he dumped his acerbic manner onto Whit, too.
He just handled it better than I did.
“You’ll do what you want, but I did promise the doctor I’d issue his warning,” Whit said, smiling faintly. “And now, at least in this instance, my conscience is clear.”
You’d never know that hours earlier, he had spoken of marriage. His manner was the same as it always was, an amused air that hid a deep current of cynicism. He met my uncle’s eyes confidently; his words came out with nary a wobble. His hands were steady around the handle of the coffee cup.
Only one thing gave him away.
Since I sat down, he hadn’t looked in my direction.
Not once.
Tío Ricardo narrowed his eyes. “What else have you gotten yourself involved with? Or do I not want to know of the other instances?”
“I’d stay clear,” Whit said before taking a long sip. He still wouldn’t look at me. As if he worried that meeting my gaze might reveal all of his secrets.
My uncle pushed away his plate—he’d eaten pita bread, dipping it in hummus and tahina, and four fried eggs. Despite my frustration with him, I was pleased to see his appetite had returned. “Humph,” Tío Ricardo said, but he let the matter drop. “Now, Inez,” my uncle began, rummaging through his jacket pockets. “I have your train ticket to Alexandria. You’ll be leaving within the week, and hopefully by then I’ll have found you a chaperone for the journey. It’s a shame Mrs. Acton already sailed.” He threw me a vexed look. “By the way, I had a hell of a time calming her down when you walked out on her. She was deeply offended.”
I’d nearly forgotten about dear Mrs. Acton, a woman my uncle had hired to escort me back to Argentina upon my arrival in Egypt. I had tricked her and escaped from the hotel where my uncle had wanted to keep me under lock and key until he could pack me off. But I couldn’t scrounge up any feeling of remorse. I couldn’t even form a reply.
My mind stuck on my forthcoming departure date.
Within the week.
My uncle let out an exclamation of triumph as he pulled something out of his pocket. He held up two slips of paper and then slid them to me. I glanced down, refusing to touch the sheets: a one-way train ticket to Alexandria, and one passage booked for the port of Buenos Aires.
The noise level in the room died down, the constant chattering falling to a hush. I contemplated drowning the tickets in my water glass. I thought about ripping them intro shreds and flinging them at my uncle’s face. Whit’s marriage proposal loomed large, a way out of my exile. He offered a lifeline, a chance to make things right. Access to independence, a way to stop my mother and her heinous behavior. My answer to Whit’s question crystalized in my mind. Slowly, I lifted my face and looked in his direction.
And for the first time since I sat down, he met my gaze.
His blue eyes seared.
Whit arched his brow, a silent question that only I knew the answer to. He must have read something in my face because he lowered his coffee, pushed his chair back from the table. “I’ll be out on the terrace while you work out the details.”
From Where the Library Hides by Isabel Ibañez. Copyright © 2024 by the author, and reprinted with permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
