A Hackwith - The Library of the Unwritten

Unwritten books yearn, and unwritten books change. Yet we expect them to remain timeless. I would say that’s an accurate description of Hell.

BOOKS WERE HEAVIER—AND muses stronger—than they looked. Leto had offered to carry Brevity’s bag and quickly regretted it. He scrunched his nose as he followed the others down the stairs.

They passed through the Arcane Wing’s ornate double doors, and he nearly collided with Brevity as she came to a sudden stop. Claire’s back went rigid, while Brevity shuddered. Leto craned over her head to see what had startled the librarians.

He really wished he hadn’t.

At the center of the laboratory, Andras conferred with two very large lab coats. The sheer size required to fill these lab coats was surprising enough, but then the lab coats turned. The faces above starchy white collars were… not there. Or they were there in the same way that the Library’s gargoyle was there—that is to say, in angles and proportions that were only reality adjacent, best not considered straight on. But these faces didn’t just give you a headache, like the gargoyle did; they twisted and writhed and broke through your calm, like sanity-fed maggots. Their smiles contained screams.

And there were so many. Leto looked away only to see another half dozen such creatures working the shelves. He was certain they hadn’t been there on his previous trip, but now their presence was overwhelming. Leto focused on his shoes and fought the urge to retch. Behind him, Hero made a queasy noise.

Claire alone kept her eyes riveted straight ahead as she cleared her throat. “I didn’t know you’d taken on interns in the Arcane Wing, Andras. Let alone such… prestigious ones. Wherever did you recruit them?”

The Arcanist looked up from his papers and glanced at the hulking horrors to either side of him with a fond smile. “It is so hard to find reliable help. I’ve had to devote quite a lot of time to recruitment lately.”

Claire shook her head. “And here I thought I was your only mentee. I’m crushed.”

“You’re still my favorite.” Andras gave an indulgent smile.

“What are those things?” Leto hissed to Brevity.

“Horrors, they got a lot of different names aboveground. You don’t usually see them outside the lower levels of Hell. Demons use them sometimes to keep a legion in line.” Brevity frowned at the lab floor as she hung back.

“They most definitely shouldn’t be here.” Claire dropped her voice so it wouldn’t carry to Andras’s very sharp hearing. “The Library isn’t supposed to deal in torment. Or tormentors.”

“Not for humans at least,” Brevity said, catching Claire’s gaze with a coded look.

“Not normally dealing in torment,” Claire corrected after a weighted moment. “This is not normal.”

“Maybe they’re the runts. Castoffs and rejects of the proper Horrors,” Hero suggested. He’d recovered enough to pull level to Claire and sneer at the creatures that towered above them. “Seems this place deals in that kind of thing.”

“Either way, it’s none of our business.” Claire let out a little breath as the Horrors turned away. Leto found it comforting that even she was unnerved by them. She nodded to Andras as she raised her voice. “If you’re ready to go…?”

“Absolutely. Just through here.” Andras led them farther into the lab, winding around shelves, limned with dust, that held strange artifacts. A rusted ring that glowed black. Spectacles that didn’t quite reflect the same image in their lenses. Red gems, black pearls, white bones. And stacks of books, books that were still, not lively like the unwritten ones. They emanated a thick, pulsing power nonetheless. It made Leto long to wipe the goose bumps off the backs of his arms.

The raucous cawing of ravens could be heard all through the Arcane Wing, but it grew louder as they drew closer to the back. Turning the corner of a tall row of shelves revealed a rookery of cages, each filled with a black bird. Ruffled feathers and suspicious eyes turned to meet them. Andras brought the group to a halt and fiddled with a large key ring, occasionally fitting a key to a lock on a cage as he muttered.

“I assume you’re familiar with such conveyance,” he said.

“In theory, yes,” Claire answered, looking about as displeased to see the ravens as they did her.

Andras finally opened the first cage with a flourish and paused to give her a sideways glance. “You’re certain you and your people are up for this, Librarian?”

“Capable and willing. Your concern is kind, Andras, but misplaced.” Claire tightened the bag across her chest. “We’ll have time before there’s any cause for alarm. A trip to Valhalla’s wing is unusual but still in the bounds of my duties as librarian.”

“And then? Surely you don’t think Valhalla holds what we’re looking for.”

“After Valhalla…” Claire hesitated, and Leto caught the way her eyes measured him in a glance. “The ghostlights will buy us time once we hit Earth. It’ll be suspicious, but His Nastiness won’t bother sending Hounds until it’s obvious we’ve flown the coop without permission. I suppose we will just need to avert disaster within twenty-four hours and return before the lights run out.”

“A reasonable assumption.” Andras did not seem as sure, but he turned back to the caged ravens. “As you say. Demons do not need to worry about such things. But the afterlife would be such a dimmer place without you in it, mind.”

“Oh, get off it. You’d be moving the furniture in my wing in a heartbeat.” Claire almost but not quite stifled a smile. “Let’s get going.”

“Right, then.” Andras cleared his throat and expanded his address to everyone. “Simple process. Pull a feather, give the bird your treasure, then run like the dickens after it.”

“Run where?” Hero asked with a frown.

“Wherever it takes you. All ravens know how to get to Valhalla—they’re creatures of Odin. But they’re contrary beasts, require a firm hand, from what I can tell. The path between realms is treacherous.” Andras settled into a tone that made it obvious he was used to issuing orders and not answering questions. “Ravens have myopic, greedy natures. They can be bought, for a price. You must offer it something you dearly value. The shinier the better, but you’ll need to be quick to reclaim it at the other end.” He raised his brows expectantly at Claire, who nodded.

“Leto and I have our ghostlights. Hero, you will offer your sword. And Brevity…”

“Stupid raven better not claw it up.” Brevity was already picking at the skin of her wrist. Leto blinked as the edge of one propane blue tattoo slowly came away from her skin. Brevity kept it pinched between two fingers as delicate translucent lines twisted and squirmed in the air. It glimmered in the low light, like the shed skin of something beautiful and rare.

“What is that?” Leto asked. He tried to keep his voice down but knew he was gawking nonetheless.

Brevity’s answer was muttered, quiet enough that Leto barely caught it. “Inspiration.” After a moment, the muse raised her voice but didn’t risk more than a glance at Leto. “I kept it. Muses are just supposed to transport inspiration to humans, deliver it at the right time and place, help things along. That’s it. That’s why I was kicked out. I was a good muse at first, but… well, build enough dreams for other people, and you start wanting to make something for yourself.”

“Inspiration?” Leto repeated. “You mean that’s someone else’s sto—”

“It’s mine .” Brevity’s voice cracked.

Claire cast an oblique glance at where Andras and Hero were engaged in dickering about his sword, then rested a hand on Brevity’s shoulder to guide her a polite distance away. She lowered her voice. “Brev, it’s okay.”