Baskadia

Every book in the Echoes Library was alive, and today, they were screaming.

Lysander Cole pressed his palms against the carved oak doors, feeling the vibrations of the chaos inside—pages fluttering like trapped birds, spines rattling against shelves. The rules were simple: Never enter after sundown. Never touch a book that calls your name.

But the book shrieking tonight was the one he’d burned ten years ago.

And it was using his dead sister’s voice.