The Dark Secret of Weatherend by John Bellairs

she glanced up at him quickly, and then she shook her head. She had been uncertain about him before, but now her mind was made up. Test one's mettle, your grandmother! she muttered under her breath. She hated phony, pretentious people.
    Miss Eells pulled the black book toward her and opened the front cover. And then she did a double take; she had never seen this book before. The frontispiece was a dark old woodcut that showed bearded men seated around a large table. The title page was done in Old English type and said
    THE BOOK OF THE DEAD
    by Simon of Salisbury
    Quidquid latet, apparebit Nil inultum remanebit
    —Venantius Fortunatus
    London, 1873
    Well! said Miss Eells to herself. This is one on me! I thought I knew most of the old books in this library. She flipped through it quickly, and to her surprise she found that it was all printed in Old English letters and appeared to be written entirely in Latin.
    Miss Eells closed the book and frowned. What on earth was this book doing in the library, anyway? Several years ago she had gone through the place thoroughly trying to weed out all the old unreadable books that had just been gathering dust for years. How had this one gotten past her? Miss Eells turned it over in her hands. She wanted to pitch it into the nearest wastebasket, but since it appeared to be a real library book, with a card in the catalogue, she figured she'd better put it back where it belonged. Later she could figure out how to get rid of it officially. With the book in her hand Miss Eells headed back into the stacks. As she went she sidled past a teenager who was standing on a stool, straining to reach a volume on the top rack. She glanced quickly at the long row of green Loeb Classical Library volumes. Again she checked the book's decimal number... Aha! This was the right section. Miss Eells stopped. She saw a gap on one shelf and was about to stuff the black volume into it when something happened.
    There was a slight hissing sound, and a puff of bluish dust rose from the top of the book. Like pipe smoke the little dust cloud came twisting and drifting through the air. A sweetish, perfumy smell tickled Miss Eells's nostrils. She felt dazed and a little faint, and suddenly in her mind's eye she saw that ring of standing stones again. Four leaning weathered boulders on a grassy hill and in the background a dark, humpbacked mountain and a stormy sky. Then the vision vanished, and the cloud of sweet-smelling dust was gone. Miss Eells stood there, stunned, with the black book in her hand.
    She felt very confused and a bit frightened. Had she been working too hard lately? Overworked and worn- out people sometimes had hallucinations. Maybe she ought to take a couple of aspirin and go lie down for a bit. She stuck the book into the gap on the shelf and hurried away.
    Miss Eells stayed in her office for the rest of the morning, and then went out to lunch. When she got back, she felt light-headed and feverish. Maybe she was coming down with a cold. Oh, well, if she was, there wasn't much that could be done about it.
    The early afternoon passed in its usual way, and then at a quarter to four Anthony showed up for work. That was late for him, but he had had to stay after school for a play rehearsal. He found Miss Eells standing in front of the fireplace in the East Reading Room. She was staring at herself in the mirror that hung over the mantel, and she was fiddling with loose strands of gray hair that stuck out from her bun-shaped hairdo.
    "Oh, hi, Anthony," she said, turning. "I'm getting all gussied up for the shindig that's going on upstairs at four. Don't I look devastating?"
    Anthony giggled. "Yeah, you look okay, I guess."
    Miss Eells made a face. "I honestly don't know." She sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if I was cut out to be a little old lady. I'm supposed to like tea parties, but personally I'd rather be on a slow boat to China. Also I feel kind of out of sorts today. Oh, well. I don't suppose I have to stay