A Hackwith - The Library of the Unwritten

Like a roller coaster.

Roller coaster. A term he hadn’t recognized when Claire said it right before the summons this morning. But he could picture it clearly now: the clattering metal track, the thick, foam pads that came down across his shoulders and always smelled vaguely of someone else’s sweat, someone else’s nerves. The flip in his gut as the roller coaster would start. The feeling of a hand grabbing his, belonging to someone soft and bright and all wonderful things at once. The smell of popcorn drifting up from below… human smells. Mortal feelings. Living memories.

Leto did not notice his legs failing until his knees banged against the wooden railing harshly. Claire caught him under one arm, stopping his chin from meeting the wood. She supported his weight with a grunt. “Easy, now.”

“I’m… I’m not a demon?” Leto’s voice was suddenly hoarse. “I’m mortal.”

“Well, technically no. You’re not mortal, not anymore. Bad term for it. Dead, eternal soul, and all. But you were human , once. Up here.” Claire hitched him to his feet and waited till Leto’s knees worked again. Then she drove him forward, off the sidewalk to the pier. “Onward, now. Walking helps.”

Leto’s heart was trying to swim out from his chest, but he moved his legs woodenly. “I don’t understand.”

“You explained it well enough before. When you die, you get what your soul’s debt demands. Like what you need to do to atone for what you’ve done, or to just forgive yourself, to heal, or find justice. It varies. My soul decided I needed to spend a century or two—god, I hope I don’t reach past that—as the keeper of the Unwritten Library in Hell. Lucky me. Yours… Evidently you needed to be an amnesiac demon. Rather melodramatic, that.”

They started down the long pier. It was wide and ringed with cheery lights. Patio restaurants. People talking. Boats groaning. It threatened to overwhelm him. There was a light post at the end of the walkway, and Leto kept his eyes locked on that.

“You don’t remember anything, even being up here?” Claire asked.

Leto squeezed his eyes closed briefly, but it did no good. His memories only tasted of bitter anise and shadows. “I… know things. Stuff about here. This place. But I don’t remember how I know it.”

Claire shrugged. “Well, it’s a unique sentence for a soul—that’s for sure. Must have been a hard end. Not many people see themselves as literal devils.”

“I’m not—” Leto’s hand absently tugged at an ear that was still blunted rather than pointed, here in the human world. “But I remember being a demon!”

“What do you remember? Being summoned for courier duty? What about before that? What did you do yesterday?”

“Well, sure. I was doing… demony stuff.” Leto faltered. To tell the truth, before this assignment it was all a dark haze he couldn’t really put his finger on. He had a fleeting impression of a figure, someone powerful and terrifying, resting a hand decked with cold rings on his shoulder. He remembered a constellation of stars falling through his hands. Bitter chalk on his tongue. He knew things about being a demon, but specific memories skittered away from him when he reached for them. “How did you know?”

“His Grouchiness doesn’t usually send a brand-new, full-fledged demon to deliver a file folder, first of all. We’re in a library of magical texts. Do you really think we deliver messages by hand?”

“Well. Now that you mention it…”

Claire smiled. “And if you’re a demon of entropy, you’re the worst one I’ve seen, because you got torn up at the idea of shorting a taxi driver’s tips. And then Walter confirmed it when we set up transportation—only human souls need ghostlights. Even if he hadn’t, once we got up here, it was all the little things. Human things. Like the cute little blush when Brev kissed you.”

“I did not!”

“Ah, there it is again.”

Leto buried his face in his hands, but they’d reached the end of the pier. They walked past an open patio where diners nibbled on overpriced oysters, and came to a stop at the railing. Claire nodded at the view. “You know, I had a view of the ocean when I was alive. Not here. England. Colder, harsher, different kind of pretty.”

“Was it nice?”

Claire considered. “I wouldn’t have the slightest idea. I suppose it would have been, had I noticed.”

Leto hesitated. “What will happen when we go back?”

Claire braced her elbows against the railing and faced him. “That’s largely up to your soul. You may remain a demon. You could try to speak to Boss Creepy if you want.”

“No! No, that’s all right.” Leto shook his head so fast that Claire chuckled.

“He’s not that bad. Well—he is, sometimes. But any good story is half exaggeration. It’s not that bad. Really, being—”

Claire’s words cut off, and her expression went rigid as she stared past his shoulder. Before he could turn, a cold, sharp point presented itself between Leto’s shoulder blades. A voice, gritty and sounding of steel and stone, spoke low from behind him.

“Stand down, demons.”

“Speaking of exaggerations…” Claire had excellent posture. She had relaxed while leaning against the railing, softening as she talked of souls and eternity, enough that she seemed almost human. But she stood straight now, with a hard, chill gaze reserved for the voice behind him. Leto didn’t dare turn with something pressed against his spine, but the gaze told him enough.

“We have no business with you, Watcher,” Claire said.

Leto didn’t know what a Watcher was, but from the curl of Claire’s lip, it didn’t seem like a friendly thing. He’d never thought to ask what would happen to a soul that got stabbed while visiting Earth. In his human form, he doubted it was anything good.

“But I have business with you,” the voice grated. “Identify yourselves, or you will be short one demonic servant.”

“If you are as dull as you seem, it appears I must. You’re speaking to the head librarian of the Unwritten Wing. The boy you’re frightening is Leto, a human .” Claire held one hand clenched on her bag, as if shielding the trade tools within.

“I know a demon when I see one. And you—a librarian .” The man breathed the word like a curse, like he was admitting something. “Of course. Then I am just in time.” He let up the blade from Leto’s back, though Leto wasn’t sure whether it was from relenting or that he was now focused on another target.

Leto twisted as he backed up defensively. From the voice, he’d honestly expected something closer to Walter: looming and monstrous. But the man was not much taller than Leto himself, was thick shouldered and dark with strong features. Broad face, olive skin, and sharply angled brown eyes dark with threat. A strange trench coat hung to the ground, slate gray with an odd assortment of dark-colored feathers peeping out from under the epaulets and trailing down the back in a scattered pattern. A short sword clutched in one thick hand gleamed under the pier lights.

Leto risked a glance at the evening crowds on the patio not too far off, but the eyes of the diners seemed to slide right over them as they gazed across the pier. No one saw the madman with a sword. Or Watcher, as Claire had called him. Whatever the man was, Leto wanted to be far away from him.

Leto retreated, trying to move toward Claire, but the man flicked his gaze at him. “That’s far enough.” Dark eyes shifted back and the Watcher spoke low to Claire. “He would send you. I know what you’re here for. Hand over the book.”

The corners of Claire’s lips tugged into a mocking smile, but Leto was close enough to see the new tension tighten her eyes. “Why, Watcher, patron checkouts are not my department. But if you want something to read, you only had to stop by during library hours. What are you after, some bodice ripper to liven up your dull, immortal exile?”