Beyond was, of course, more bookstore.  Just not the bookstore as he was used to seeing it.  The stacks seemed to teeter a little, stretching high overhead until the gloom out of the reach of the candles here and there in antique sconces swallowed the highest tomes.  The air smelled of dust and age.  The floor was bare wood, creaky and rough-hewn underfoot, as though the lumberyard that produced the planks had been blissfully unconcerned with quality control that day.<br/><br/>Somewhere ahead, he heard a soft giggle, a girl's laugh, and the tinkling of a bell as if from a cat's collar.<br/><br/>A glance at the books showed that most of them were old, older than old, and had titles that seemed to make little sense.  Those that had titles, that was.  Many were just worn and cracked, leather bindings with no notation.<br/><br/>Again that bright little jingling, as if something was hoping to draw him deeper into the store.