When cases kept us late at the Library, the Library provided rooms for us. Mine was usually on the second floor of the Annex, unless I was injured, in which case the Library would move my room to the first floor next to Ezekiel's.
My room was as comfortable as I could possibly imagine. It had a queen-sized bed, complete with a down comforter in the winter and a light coverlet in the summer. My bedside table always had a copy of an interesting book. (Who better to pick out a book than a Library?) The closet even had a variety of clothes in my size, from pajamas to pantsuits and everything in between.
When I was home, or out on a mission, I slept badly. I was always on alert; the slightest noise could jar me into immediate wakefulness. But in my room at the Library, I felt safe. I slept well.
Not so, however, for Cassandra.
In the Library's defense, it couldn't fix her tumor. Nothing other than the magic of Excalibur could take the cancer away. The Library did its best to be comforting. It made Cassandra's room as light and airy as it could. The walls were decorated with Cassandra's favorite things: ponies, planets, and math. When you laid on the bed, it was like lying on a cloud. There was no overhead light; instead, lamps with softly lit bulbs were scattered around the room. Quiet, calming music was always playing.
The tumor didn't cause Cassandra constant pain. Most of the time, when Cassandra spent the night at the Library, she got a full eight hours or more of rest. But when she was having what Ezekiel termed a "brain grape night," not even the sudden appearance of a real pony in her room could take her mind away from the agony.
I had to believe that the Library purposely woke me up this particular brain grape night, because if it didn't, I never would have heard the soft pitter-patter of feet one story down. Rubbing my eyes, I emerged from my room to look over the railing.
Sure enough, there was Cassandra, heading towards the kitchen. I grabbed an extra blanket from my bed and followed.
She was curled up on the floor. The freezer was open above her; ice cubes were scattered around her still form. She must have been trying to get some ice for her head when the brain grape – the tumor, I corrected myself irritably – became too much.
Gently, I picked her up, set her on a cot, and covered her with the blanket I'd brought down. Putting some ice into a plastic bag, I wrapped it in a towel and placed it on her head.
"Eve?" she croaked, eyes still closed.
"It's me, Red," I told her quietly. "Hold this to your head." She obeyed as I went to find her extra-strength pain relievers. When I returned to her side, I said, "I'm going to help you sit up so you can take your meds, okay?" She nodded. I supported her back with my hand while she meekly swallowed the tablets, washing them down with a few gulps of water from the glass I held to her lips. When she was done, I laid her down again.
"Thanks," she whispered.
"You're welcome," I whispered back, stroking her hair. "Want me to stay with you?"
She didn't reply. Upon further observation, she had either fallen asleep or passed out from the pain. Either one was better than the alternative, so I made room for myself on her cot and leaned against the wall, closing my eyes. The Library would keep us safe here until the morning.