A Hackwith - The Library of the Unwritten

The hero yanked back his wrist and rubbed at it tenderly. He raised his chin, regaining some of his initial arrogance. “We have an accord?”

The librarian scowled, but with less force than she’d had before. She was pale, as if she’d lost energy as well as blood. “Welcome to Special Collections.”

She stowed the stamp away in her bag without looking at the hero. “Go. Be back here with book in hand in twenty minutes.”

THEY WAITED ACROSS THE street from the coffee shop, at a bus stop bench just long enough to accommodate all three of them. Claire had fallen into a quiet that was tense enough for Leto to wish she was yelling at people again.

The librarians kept their eyes fixed on the coffee shop’s window. The hero was inside for moments before reappearing at the front table with the redheaded author, just as he’d promised. Leto could see him cradling the woman’s hands across the table, their heads angled toward each other.

Leto rubbed the backs of his knuckles before breaking the silence. “So, uh, do you two do this often?”

“I wish. I love it up here.” Brevity sighed. “But characters don’t often just walk off with their books. And stamping is even more rare.” She gave the librarian a side glance.

Leto’s curiosity overcame his nerves. “What exactly does that do?”

“Stamping?” Again, Brevity’s eyes bobbed to Claire and away before she answered. “A stamped book becomes part of the Library’s special collection. It means the librarian can IWL it.”

“IWL?”

“Interworld loan,” Brevity explained. “Loaned out to or called back from anywhere, basically. Books have a way of going where they’re needed, and Hell’s Library keeps unwritten art, but it isn’t the only library out there—I hear great things about Valhalla’s, actually. It keeps all the untold acts of heroism,” Brevity said. “Librarians can summon a stamped book back to Hell’s Library from anywhere, even if its calling card is destroyed. If it’s in Special Collections, it will always return to its originating Library.”

“Sounds… serious. Why don’t you do that to all the books to avoid their going missing like this?”

“There are limits. It… takes a little from the head librarian to administer and maintain a stamp.” Brevity chewed on her lip.

Leto glanced back at the shop window. “What do you think he’s saying? You mentioned something about fixing stuff.”

Brevity started to shrug, but Claire made them both jump by answering. “There’s no fixing that damage.”

“What damage, though?” Leto asked after a moment of surprise. “I mean, he’s handsome. I’ll give him that. But it seems like just a date…?”

Claire didn’t turn her attention away from the couple in the window. She drew in a long breath. “Books don’t appear as normal people to their authors. Characters are made of something more to the one who created them. They’re made of our dreams, our scars, slivers stuck beneath our skin. You’re not meant to meet someone like that. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s talking to the most alive person she’ll ever meet. The kind of alive you don’t find in real life. No one, no great love or her own flesh and blood, will ever come close. She’ll remember that glint in his eyes, the twist of his chin, a casual turn of phrase. She’ll hold it quietly in her mind like a fire. A fire that will consume everything.

“If she’s lucky, she’ll walk away haunted. But if she’s unlucky, she’ll believe it. She won’t write him; she’ll spend her whole life looking for him.” Claire’s knuckles were white on her lap. “If she’s smart, she’ll try to forget. But that brand of memory is always going to be there, seared into a tender curve of her heart, a breath caught in her chest. It kills you eventually.”

Cars rattled past. Brevity’s expression was startlingly serious, wide-eyed, and silent. Leto stammered for a response, but the librarian cut him off with a harsh laugh.

“You surely didn’t think I got duty in the Unwritten Wing by random chance?” Claire’s voice was hollow. She glanced at Leto with a paper-thin smile. “You know how they say ‘Never meet your heroes’? For authors most of all, never meet your heroes. Ruins everything.” She shook her head as she continued to watch the coffee shop.

They fell quiet. Brevity scuffed her toes on the sidewalk, while Leto squinted up at the rooftops, trying not to think about what he didn’t understand.

The sun was setting fast, and the brick face of the buildings began to bleed shadows, clay turning the color of dried blood. The seagulls echoed from the ferry port down the street, and Leto knew the tour boats would be evicting the last of their passengers, while the ferries took on commuters headed home. He did not stop to wonder how he knew this.

“Please stop looking at me like that, Brev,” Claire finally said.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a soap bubble about to pop. I am perfectly capable. It’s just been a long… There he is. About time.” The librarian shook off the look her assistant gave her and stood quickly as the hero crossed the street.

They intercepted him at the corner, and the unwritten man held his hands up with a taunting smile. “Easy, warden. I surrender to your tender mercies.” The hero’s tan seemed a bit paler to Leto, and his eyes darker in the fading light.

“Your book, hero.” Claire had shed all sense of wistfulness on the short stride from the bench.

The hero reached into a jean pocket and pulled out what looked at first like a small tourist guide. As his hand withdrew, however, the book expanded and shimmered until he was holding a weathered leather tome of the same style that filled the Unwritten Wing. Claire snatched the book out of his hands and ran a finger over the spine carefully before handing it to Brevity to stow away. “You hid it in the coffee shop.”

“I did.”

“And you made your good-byes to the author?”

“Yes. It was… hard. She was upset. Crying.” The hero’s eyes strayed across the street, searching the windowed front with a shadow of pain. “She thinks I broke up with her.”

Claire was unmoved. She pointed down the street as they began walking. Leto and Brevity fell in line behind them. “I hope you were not foolish enough to try to reveal yourself to her.”

“No, of course not. Something more subtle had the same effect.”

Claire stopped so abruptly that Leto nearly ran into her. She twisted the hero by one arm and diverted them into the closest alleyway. The steamy smell of old rubbish reached out to greet them. The hero wrinkled his nose, and Claire shoved him against a wall. Her heavy braids whipped and nearly caught both Brevity and Leto in the face as she wheeled on the taller man. “What did you do?”

The hero’s lips held a smug smile. “You make the most colorful of fusses, Librarian. Is being surly and dramatic part of the position?”

“It’s part of having to deal with idiot heroes all day. Answer me, book, or so help me, I will take a cleaver to your spine.”

Leto was uncertain whether she was speaking about the book or the man, but Claire repeated her question. “What. Did. You. Do?”

“It was just a hint, really.” The hero looked far too pleased with himself. “I gave her my opening pages.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You…” She swore and shot out her hand. “Brevity, the book.”

Her assistant wrestled the large leather manuscript out of the bag. She cast a spooked look at the hero before passing it over. Claire fished out her ghostlight lighter. It filled the darkening alleyway with a faint blue glow. Brevity nudged Leto, and they both shuffled a step to make sure the eerie light wasn’t obvious from the street.