Doctoral candidate Amy Farrah Fowler spends every Saturday evening in the rare books reading room at the library, needlessly requesting the same volumes over and over again. One night, the library experiences a power outage, and Amy is trapped inside with a handsome and mysterious librarian. Will the library allow her to fulfill all her bookish fantasies or will the darkness reveal more secrets than it conceals?

THE BIBLIOTHECA INTRIGUE

CHAPTER 1

"The nerves, although not concerned in originating the contractions of the heart muscle,
play an important role in regulating their force and frequency in order to subserve the physiological needs of the organism."
- Anatomy of the Human Body by Henry Gray

It was a dark and stormy night.

The edges of her lips turning up in amusement at her own thought, Amy shook out her umbrella in the vestibule of the library before placing in the rack. In this case, she reasoned, it was an appropriate description of the spring evening, with the heavy rain clouds darkening the skies. And the worst had yet to arrive based on the appearance of the radar before she left her apartment. She stomped her feet, too, her tall green rubber boots shedding water on the floor. She should have worn tights; her bare knees were cold and damp beneath the hem of her skirt. She pulled her cardigan tighter around her, grateful she'd thought to grab it on the way out the door.

The squish-squish of her steps and the murmured "Good Evening" of the clerk were all that met her in lobby. Even the building felt cold and dim and hushed this rainy night. Cutting through, Amy walked toward the glass paneled double doors to the stately reading room. As always, she took a deep breath when she crossed over the threshold.

Recently restored, the large room was a beautiful reminder of a time gone by, when books and the knowledge they imparted was sacrosanct. The reading room and the lobby were original to the building, although now the majority of the library's collection was housed in the modern addition. This room, with its long wooden tables, intricate marble tile floors, and painted ceiling, was mostly used for silent reading and studying. The bookshelves along the upper walkway were now off limits to patrons, housing instead the library's collection of rare texts. The only staircase leading to the walkway spiraled down behind the massive carved wooden counter in the corner, the domain of the librarians.

Amy took her preferred seat, closest to that counter, a brass sign hanging above labeling it the circulation desk, although that was misleading as the rare books requested there were not allowed to circulate beyond the double doors. Although, Amy reasoned as she unpacked her bag, why would one what to leave this beautiful room? She loved the sounds of it, the soft turning of pages, the scraping of wooden chairs on the floor, even the occasional dry cough sounded dignified. Then there was the lighting, the large and ornate Art Nouveau chandlers, now updated to house LED bulbs, casting a soft golden glow over the room from their purple tulip-shaped globes. She even loved the smell, the faint tang of limestone dust and the pleasant mustiness of old paper.

Spreading her supplies, she glanced at said circulation desk and frowned. Hoping it wasn't obvious, she looked around the room, unusually empty even for a Saturday evening. There was only one other person she saw, an older gentleman sitting close to the large - and forever empty - fireplace cordoned off along the opposite wall. But she kept her eyes moving until she spotted him, his lean frame walking along the upper walkway. She watched his long legs propel him noisily down the wrought iron stairs, the treads and railing covered in the same floral pattern as was found in the chandeliers, taking two steps at a time as he always did.

Just as Amy was about to lift herself from the chair to walk to the desk, the other man passed by her, walking so quickly that the pages in her notebook curled up for a second. She sat back down.

She was close enough she could hear him clearly as he returned a book. However, instead of turning away from the desk he asked, "Are you staying here?"

"Why wouldn't I? The library is open until nine on Saturday," the librarian answered. Amy had never been brave enough to ask his name.

"It's dead tonight. No one's here."

"Untrue. There is a patron right there." Blushing fiercely and hating herself for it, Amy threw her chin down, pretending to be absorbed in the blank page of her notebook. She'd been caught staring.

"Poor thing. What's a young girl like that doing here tonight?"

"I do not understand your question. She seems to be wearing sensible rain boots and a warm sweater." Torn between discomfort at being called a poor thing by the stranger and pleasure that the librarian had noticed her attire, Amy shifted her legs. And immediately regretted it, as it probably conveyed she knew they were talking about her boots.

"But it's a Saturday night! She should be out, enjoying herself on a date!"

Amy blushed deeper, bringing her hand up to try and cover her face. It was bad enough to know that one did not have a date, or even the prospect of a date, for a Saturday night without being reminded of it by a middle-aged stranger. Or having her desperately lonely state pointed out to the handsome librarian.

"Sir, I do not engage in speculation about the private lives of my patrons," the librarian said sharply. "Were you interested in another book?"

The stranger mumbled something that sounded vaguely like an apology and walked away from the desk. Amy turned her head to avoid making any sort of eye contact with him and also to hide her burning face. The librarian had just defended her!

The librarian was a mystery to her. The type of mystery that kept her up at night in a not entirely proper fashion. His arrival in the library could not be explained. The day the remodeled room reopened he appeared behind the circulation desk, as though he sprang complete into existence along with the newly cleaned and colorful ceiling. He was young - she guessed they were of similar ages - far younger than any librarian she'd ever known. He was strikingly handsome, not just for those legs but also for his neat dark hair and piercing blue eyes. His fashion choices were most unusual; Amy had learned the library had a business casual dress code but somehow he managed to get away with wearing graphic tee shirts. But most intriguing was his personality: while helpful and certainly knowledgeable, he was taciturn. Never once had he inquired into her research needs, and certainly there had never been any of the brief but pleasant personal exchanges Amy had enjoyed with Brenda, the former Saturday evening librarian. Amy could never decide if he was naturally laconic and vaguely haughty or if he was trying to do his best Mr. Darcy impression. Whatever it was, it had caused her to change her visits to this library from once a month to every week. As she didn't even know his name, in her most impure moments she had taken to thinking of him as Hottie Librarian.

Now alone in the reading room, the stranger having left abruptly, she knew she had no choice but to request a book or risk looking suspicious. Taking a deep breath, she approached the desk.

"Excuse me?" she ventured.

The blue eyes looked up and blinked. "Yes, Ms. Fowler?" Of course he knew her name, both from her library card and from her weekly visits. It put her at a disadvantage, but she liked the way he said it, the formality of it, the way the syllables rolled off his tongue. He made it sound round and full, like he was polishing her name in his throat before releasing it.

"I need a book."

"Then it is fortunate you are in a library."

Blushing afresh at her silly faux pas, Amy stammered. "Of - of course. I need, um, Grey's Anatomy, the first edition."

"Very well."

He got up off his stool without further comment and climbed back up to the walkway. Amy forced herself not to watch; instead, she toyed with the collection of small half-pencils in a cup resting on the desk.

"Anatomy of the Human Body, First Edition," his voice rang out and Amy jumped, spilling the pencils all over the wooden counter. She grasped and shoved them back into the cup as she heard the clang of his shoes on the stairs. "I did not intend to frighten you," he said in his normal speaking voice as he stepped up to the other side of the desk. "I thought it would be a more efficient use of my time, as there is no one else here that necessitates my usual silence on the catwalk."

"Oh - oh. Of course. You just startled me, that's all."

He pushed the large book across the counter. "My apologies."

Touching the fragile cover of the book gently, Amy found herself holding her breath. It was the most he'd ever spoken to her, and his eyes did not quiver from hers.

"Perhaps you'd like another volume," he said after the pause. "There are two other titles you check out on a rotating schedule. Or maybe you'd like to try something new?"

Amy squeaked at being found out, but, fortunately, at that exact moment, a crack of lightening both drowned out her voice and lit up the room via the narrow transom windows high above the bookcases. The librarian broke his gaze to look up. "The storm has begun," he said. "Do you know the electrical current generated by lightning lasts less than 200 microseconds? It is not the length of the strike but rather the number of rapid current changes that causes the ionic channel that leads to harm."

"'And what is that tapering of light you bear? see how it darts upwards,—and now it vanishes!'" Amy murmured, looking up at the ceiling and wondering if another strike would come soon.

"That was lovely."

"Ann Radcliffe's The Mysteries of Udolpho," Amy whispered before remembering where she was and who had just spoke to her. Lowering her head, she tried not to stare too deeply into Hottie Librarian's beautiful and - she thought - curious eyes. Somewhere between embarrassed and brave, she blurted out, "Thank you for what you said."

He raised a single eyebrow.

"Hoooo," she breathed out softly.

"What was it I said?"

"Oh! Um, well," Amy looked down at the counter, picking up a pencil she'd missed and tapping it against the desk, "when you said you didn't, um, speculate about my private life."

Now he shifted his eyes away and Amy was delighted to see a faint flush to his cheeks. "I did not realize I could be overheard. But I don't. Speculate."

"It's only because I sit so close to the desk," Amy said quickly. "I'm sorry I was eavesdropping."

He looked back. "Perhaps I just need to lower the decibels of my library voice."

"But I love your library voice!"

The eyebrow went up again, even before Amy had fully completed the path to regret for saying that. "I mean, what little I've heard of it. Not that I've been listening." She shoved the pencil back into the cup, determined to walk away as quickly as possible. And maybe never return.

Then something amazing happened.

Just as the room lit with the bright light of another crack of lightening, his hand covered hers over the pencil cup. Amy looked down at his hand - his hands were exquisite, she'd always thought so, from the very time she saw him typing to look up the first book she ever requested from him - and gasped. Her heart almost raced out of her chest.

Hottie Librarian was touching her! In the library!

He coughed and pulled his hand away. "You're putting them in upside down. It's more orderly if they all face the same direction."

"Oh," Amy said, disappointed. Here she was doing what her mother always warned her about, letting her imagination run away with her. Amy picked up the forgotten book on the counter and started to turn. But she stopped at the last moment. "I don't think I know your name."

"I would expect that someone as intelligent as you would know if you knew it or not." Again, the Darcyesque mix of hauteur and cognizance. He hadn't even looked up from re-arranging the pencils. But then he did and he added, softly, "Sheldon. Dr. Sheldon Cooper."

"You have your doctorate in library science?" Amy turned back, intrigued. "I'm finishing my dissertation in neuroscience; I hope to defend sometime this summer."

He nodded. "It's always been my goal to get a job at the Smithsonian Dibner Library someday. They're extremely difficult positions to obtain; a doctorate in library science is essential."

There was a rumble of thunder, close enough it seemed to shake the the room, and both Amy and Sheldon looked up toward the ceiling.

"I'm Amy Farrah Fowler," Amy said quickly, over the sound of wind gusting against the windows.

"I know. It's on your record."

"Oh. Yes."

Another moment seemed to pass and Amy wondered if the conversation had reached its natural conclusion. There was another crack of lightening, the roll of trembling thunder only a second later this time, and she asked, "Would you close early? Because of the weather?"

Sheldon - or should it be Dr. Cooper? - shook his head. "No, not unless there is some sort of state of emergency declared."

"It's so quiet."

"Well, it is a library." He raised his index finger to his lips and made a shushing noise.

Amy gulped. Hottie Librarian just shushed at her! His finger, so upright and proud, such a contrast to the rounded fingers beneath it . . . Even his nails were lovely, clean and even, the same pale color as his skin, their lunulae a stark white contrast. Her thoughts were going to be very improper later, she knew. She blushed and managed to choke out, "Oh course. It should be quiet."

"Exactly!" He said with more enthusiasm than she would have expected. "The quiet is one of the reasons I became a librarian. Noisy patrons are the bane of my existence, the way they buzz and buzz, like giant bees whose stingers are as large as horns."

Tilting her head, Amy replied, "Horny bees?"

"Precisely. They penetrate the delicate flowers that are my ear drums."

He seemed oblivious even as he said it.

First Amy nodded, then she pivoted sharply on her heels and rushed back to her seat, too confused and embarrassed to continue the conversation. Amy felt his eyes boring into her the whole way, but she refused to raise her own to meet them once she was seated. Unsure of how to react to the thrill of pleasure at the very idea he might have meant the pun, that he might have been flirting with her in a scholarly way, the embarrassment of her blush, for no one had ever flirted with her in any way, scholarly or otherwise, and the disappointment in herself that she couldn't think of a flirtatious come-back, she opened the book and let it fall to the page it choose. It was the illustration of the human heart. She stared at the diagrams of its chambers, the same page she'd been studying every third Saturday for the past six months.

She didn't know how long she had been staring at the page, not reading, just avoiding Hott - Sheldon when she jumped from another crack of lightening and roll of thunder combination, this time right on top of each other. The lights noticeably flickered and dimmed. She looked up, just as they returned to their normal glow.

Frowning, she looked down at the book again, turning the page and picking up her pencil to appear studious and occupied in case Sheldon was still watching her. Was he? She was desperate to know but too frightened to find out.

Is he still watching me?

Realizing she'd just written that, she turned her pencil over to erase it. What if he walked by and read it?

Another crack and boom, another blinding flash of light, a strange popping sound, and Amy dropped her pencil with a small scream as the lights went completely out, plunging her into darkness. Her breath coming heavy, she rested her palm against her chest, waiting for them to turn back on. But they didn't.

"Are you alright?" Sheldon's voice called.

Amy squinted into the sudden beam of light; she realized it must be a flashlight kept at the circulation desk.

"Yes, thank you. It just sounded like it was going hit us. Are the lights . . .?"

There was the click-whack of the small door in the desk opening and the light got closer. "The power went out. My computer died. I'm sure it will be back on soon."

Suddenly, there was a loud klaxon from the front of the room and some sort of metallic clinking sound. "What -"

"Oh, no!" Sheldon yelled, and the light ran away from her quickly, toward the entrance to the room. The beam of light in front of him illuminated a large black grate descending in front of the doors. Amy watched, her mouth open, not believing what she was seeing. Once the gate reached the floor, all the noises stopped, not just the metallic sound of it moving but also the loud alarm. But her ears still hummed.

"Oh, no," she heard Sheldon moan as he swung his flashlight back and forth across the black metal bars.

Quickly, Amy dug in her bag and pulled out her cell phone, grateful she always kept it in the same easily accessible spot. She pressed on the phone's flashlight and got up to walk toward the gate. Sheldon stood staring at it, the hand not holding the flashlight on his hip.

"Can you raise it?" she asked when she came up next to him.

"Hmm? Oh." He seemed to have forgotten she was there. "No. I don't have the code, only managers do. I remember reading about this in my employee manual. In the event of a power outage, the gate will lower to prevent looting."

"Looting?"

"We have a lot of valuable books and manuscripts. Some thieves may try to cut power to gain access."

"What about the woman at the lobby desk?" Amy asked, looking toward the glass doors but the lobby was only blackness beyond.

"Susan would have left at nine, when the library closes."

"What? But surely -" Amy looked at the screen of her phone. 9:07 PM.

"Why didn't you tell me it was closing time?" she said, her voice sharp with accusation.

Sheldon finally moved at that, swinging his flashlight at her and then lowering it quickly away from her face when she put her hand up to shield her eyes. "I'm sorry. You seemed so engrossed in your studies and the weather is so terrible outside I thought perhaps you might prefer to wait inside until it passed."

As though to prove his point, there was another lightning and thunder combination.

"How dare you be all - all chivalrous and upstanding without my permission!"

She couldn't see him well at all because their two lights were now aimed elsewhere, but she could have swore his eyebrow went up again. "Very well. I shall endeavor to be abrasive and unkind for the remainder of our acquaintanceship."

Amy frowned and then squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. "I apologize. I think I'm nervous about being locked in here. Is there someone you can call?"

"Of course. Come," he commanded and snapped his fingers, and Amy couldn't help but follow him back to the desk. She waited on the patron side as he swung the half-door open again and stepped behind it. Aiming his flashlight, he reached for a black corded telephone on the desk, one of those models seen in every business with multiple buttons. He picked up the receiver and listened before putting his finger on the switch hook, pressing it and releasing it several quick times in a row before putting the receiver back down with a loud sigh. "It's dead. Even the phones are electronic, I believe, with this many lines."

"Do you know the number? You can use my cell phone," Amy offered, stretching out her arm with the phone, the light briefly lighting up his face. Something about the angle made his eyes appear to glow, the sharpness of their blue cutting through the dark.

Then he glanced down at the screen that had come on when she put her thumb on the home button. "You don't have any service."

"What?" Amy snatched the device back, frowning at the innocent looking white words in the upper left corner: No Service.

"Let me get my phone," he offered, and his flashlight swung away as he walked toward a door behind the desk. Once he opened it and walked inside, Amy watched, curious, as a few desks rapidly filled the light and then swept away. She heard a rustling noise before he walked back, holding his phone out in front of him. "Me, neither." He held the screen up for her to see, not that she doubted him.

"What do we do? What if no one knows we're in here?" she asked, trying to keep the panic from rising in her voice.

"Well, Ms. Fowler, it seems we just may have to spend the night in the library."

You would not be reading this story right now if emmy4mayim (follow her on Instagram!) had not suggested the plot seed to me one day. As an ardent supporter of my local public library system and someone who makes it a point to visit public libraries when she travels, I couldn't resist giving our dear Shamy a very bookish fantasy . . . or will it be? Stay tuned to find out.

And, as always, my dear readers, thank you in advance for your reviews!