GET OUT OF DANGER along with James (roll 2d6+BRAVERY)

⚁⚄ 2, 5+2=9 . Result chosen:

You get away, but someone's still in danger. ENCOUNTER someone who can help. If you fail, GET OUT OF TROUBLE.

"Come on we need to - hold on a tick," James hurriedly looks down, notices his discarded hankie laying out of reach under the desk, and then flicks his eyes back to you. "Sorry, can't afford to get caught 'sticky' in the library, turnabout is fair play dear," he says as he wipes his dribbling, still-hard cock on your skirt while you're pulling on your blouse, popping half the buttons off in the process. You start to protest but then see a flickering, indistinct image out of the corner of your eye. "My skirt...! My w-wand! Damn you James!" you shrilly cry as he pulls you around a corner... and as he does, an entire avalanche of books, as well as a ladder, crashes down where you were just standing a moment ago. Your eyes bug out and you give a muffled squeak of terror. This is no mere prank or game - that would've cracked your skull or worse if James hadn't pulled you out of the way.

James says nothing but presses your wand back into your shaking hand, pointing down the narrow walkway leading to the center of the library and the librarian's desk. "We're in the shite deep Fran, be ready to fight if you see him." he says in a quavering voice. "Fuck's sake I swear I thought the stories were just a rumor.." You have so many questions - your mind is buzzing about what spell you could possibly cast in this situation. You can think of a dozen in theory, and none that you actually feel ready to cast. You do note that you feel oddly energized, magically - you feel magic and desire pulsating in your wand and intuit that any spells you cast right now would be more forceful but also more difficult to control.

You hear a morose, disgusted grumbling in your ear. Looking over you give James a disgusted look. "What is with that sound you are making, Beavertail?" you huff - he's only walking fast but you have to jog to keep up. "I cannot help my short legs, you seemed to like them fine a minute ago!"

He looks over at you then thrusts his arm out in front of you, putting his palm on your chest and stopping you. You blush. "This is no time for mor-!" You see that he's gone even paler, and he jostles your shoulder and raises his other hand to point to the spot ahead of you. You dimly notice that the air temperature has suddenly dropped to near-freezing, and your breath is producing clouds around you.

As you turn your head to see what he's pointing at, your heart feels like it leaps into your throat. Streamers of mist are emerging from the gaps in the bookcases on both sides of you, combining in a tall, shrouded, looming figure. It is a hooded humanoid figure, translucent even in the dim light and composed of a pale, gossamer substance the rational part of your mind recognizes as ectoplasm. The only signifier of its identity is a long, wispy, silvery beard coming from the pool of shadow where its face would be. Silently, the figure raises an equally ghostly wand. "What - how is - he cannot - " you start to sputter. You barely hear what James says next - it seems to have been a spell, but spray of sparks implies he bungled the execution. "IMMOLISSIMO!" you cry desperately, thrusting your wand - a burst of flames blooms in the air where the spectral figure stands. The flames curl around it and wash over it as if there were something solid there, but it seems to have no effect. "You... stay away..." comes to your ears in a weary yet hate-filled voice.

Raising an arm, the horrid specter defies what you thought you knew about such beings and gives a twist of its hand, causing the floor beneath James to suddenly give way - a trapdoor that it had perfectly maneuvered him onto by advancing menacingly! He doesn't fall very far, as you can hear a painful thump and a vehement oath after only half a second. "AHHHHH!" you cry in terror and squeeze your eyes shut as you try to flee past the spirit in a blind panic. It feels as if something dreadfully cold brushes against your cheek but nothing stops you. Tears of fright running down your cheeks, you soon make it to the center. Four or five students who you don't recognize have jumped to their feet and are staring at you with alarm, having heard the commotion from your wing of the library. But none of them are exactly lining up to run in the direction you came.

Sitting at the desk is a hawk-nosed, bespectacled blonde woman in her 30s in a meticulously pristine and pressed set of jet black robes. You certainly didn't think you would be glad to see the stern librarian, but here you are. "All of you," she addresses the other students, "clear the library for the next hour and tell any students you meet along the way to do likewise. Not you though, girl - you've got some rather difficult explaining to do." They don't need to be told twice.

You blink at her accusatory tone. Doesn't she understand that you were just in mortal peril there and James perhaps still is? "There... There's... James is... You need to help him!" you say to her with pleading eyes. The older woman raises an eyebrow. "And leave my desk here unattended while your friends try to sneak back in overdue books from last term to try and dodge the fees? I think not."

Franziska's options:

• ENCOUNTER Miss Caldwell the librarian and simply tell the truth. (Roll 2d6+BRAVERY)
• ENCOUNTER Miss Caldwell the librarian and try to shift blame from James to Gilbert. (Roll 2d6+BRAVERY)
• ENCOUNTER Miss Caldwell the librarian and shift responsibility from yourself onto James. (Roll 2d6+BRAVERY)