Excerpt from The Library at Mount Char by Scott Hawkins, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Still, though," Jennifer said. "Doesn't it ever get to you? Serious question."

"What?"

Jennifer waved her arm, a gesture that took in the grave, Garrison Oaks, the bull. "All of it."

Carolyn thought about it for a minute. "No. Not really. Not anymore." She looked at Jennifer's hair and picked a maggot out. It squirmed on the end of her finger. "It used to, but I adjusted." She crushed the maggot. "You can adjust to almost anything."

"You can, maybe." She took the pipe back. "I sometimes think the two of us are the only ones who are still sane."

It crossed Carolyn's mind to pat Jennifer's shoulder or hug her or something, but she decided against it. The conversation was already more touchy-feely than she was really comfortable with. Instead, by way of changing the subject, she nodded in the direction of the grave. "How long will it be before . . . ?"

"I'm not sure," Jennifer said. "Probably a while. She's never been down this long before." She grimaced and spat again. "Blech."

"Here," Carolyn said. "I brought you something." She rummaged in her plastic shopping bag and pulled out a half-empty bottle of Listerine.

Jennifer took the bottle. "What is it?"

"Put some in your mouth and swish it around. Don't swallow it. After a few seconds spit it out."

Jennifer looked at it, dubious, trying to decide if she were being made fun of.

"Trust me," Carolyn said.

Jennifer hesitated for a moment, then took a sip. Her eyes went wide.

"Swish it around," Carolyn said and demonstrated by puffing out first her left cheek, then her right. Jennifer mimicked her. "Now, spit it out." Jennifer did. "Better?"

"Wow!" Jennifer said. "That's—" She looked over her shoulder at David. He wasn't looking, but she lowered her voice anyway. "That's amazing. It usually takes me hours to get the taste out of my mouth!"

"I know," Carolyn said. "It's an American thing. It's called mouthwash."

Jennifer ran her fingers over the label for a moment, an expression of childlike wonder on her face. Then, with obvious reluctance, she held the bottle out to Carolyn.

"No," Carolyn said. "Keep it. I got it for you."

Jennifer didn't say anything, but she smiled.

"Are you done?"

Jennifer nodded. "I think so. Margaret is set, at any rate. She's heard the call." She raised her voice. "David? Will there be anything else?"

David's back was to them. He was standing at the edge of the bluff, looking across Highway 78 to the entrance to Garrison Oaks. He waved his hand distractedly.

Jennifer shrugged. "I guess that means I'm done." She turned to Carolyn. "So, what do you think?"

"I'm not sure," Carolyn said. "If Father is out among the Americans, I can't find him. Have you learned anything?"

"Michael says he's not among the beasts, living or dead."

"And the others?"

Jennifer shrugged. "So far it's just us three. They'll be along presently." She stretched out on the grass and rested her head on Carolyn's lap. "Thank you for the—what did you call it?"

"Listerine."

"Lis-ter-ine," Jennifer said. "Thank you." She closed her eyes.

All that afternoon the other librarians filtered in, singly and in pairs. Some carried burdens. Alicia held the black candle, still burning as it had in the golden ruin at the end of time. Rachel and her phantom children whispered among themselves of the futures that would never be. The twins, Peter and Richard, watched intently as the librarians filled out the twelve points of the abbreviated circle, studying some deep order that everyone else was blind to. The sweat on their ebony skin glistened in the firelight. Finally, just before sunset, Margaret stretched a pale, trembling hand up into the light. "She's back," Jennifer said to no one in particular. David walked over to the grave, smiling. He reached down and took Margaret's hand. With his help she rose on shaky legs, dirt raining down around her. David lifted her out of the grave. "Hello, my love!" She stood before him, no taller than his chest, and tilted her head back, smiling. David dusted off the worst of the dirt, then lifted her by the hips and kissed her, long and deep. Her small feet dangled limp six inches over the black earth. It occurred to Carolyn that she could not think what color garment Margaret had been buried in. It might have been ash- gray, or the bleached- out- flesh tones of a child's doll left too long in the sun. Whatever color it actually was, it had blended well against Margaret her-self. She is barely here anymore. All that's really left of her is the smell. Margaret wobbled for a moment, then sat down in the pile of soft earth next to the grave. David tipped her a wink and ran his tongue along his teeth. Margaret giggled. Jennifer gagged again. David squatted down next to Margaret and ruffled her dusty black hair. "Well?" he called out to Richard and Peter and the rest, "What are you waiting for? Everyone's here now. Take your places." They were gathered into a rough circle. Carolyn watched David. He eyed the bull, uneasy, and in the end stood so that his back was to it. Even now, he doesn't like looking at it. Not that she blamed him. "Very well," he said. "You have all had your month. Who has an-swers for me?" No one spoke. "Margaret? Where is Father?" "I do not know," she said. "He is not in the forgotten lands. He does not wander the outer darkness." "So, he's not dead, then." "Perhaps not." "Perhaps? What does that mean?" Margaret was silent for a long moment. "If he died in the Library, it would be different." "Different how? He wouldn't go to the forgotten lands

Excerpted from The Library at Mount Char by Scott Hawkins. Copyright © 2015 by Scott Hawkins. Excerpted by permission of Crown. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.