A Hackwith - The Library of the Unwritten

Brevity flinched. She gave Claire an uncharacteristically bleak look before her gaze shied away to her arm again. “Muses aren’t supposed to keep anything for themselves. I was sent to the Library for punishment.”

“Muses aren’t my biggest fans,” Claire explained.

“You weren’t exactly thrilled yerself, boss.”

Claire’s mouth twisted. “I refuse to be anyone’s punishment .”

“If we’ve all got our valuables…” Andras cleared his throat, breaking the sympathetic quiet that had derailed the two librarians. His eyes were sharp, though, and Leto had the uncomfortable feeling that no incidental admission made in front of the demon was missed. “I thought you may want to take your companions through first, and I’ll bring up the rear.”

Claire composed herself. “You’re the arcane expert here, Andras. Perhaps you should lead.”

The Arcanist and the librarian exchanged a look, held just a second too long to be casual, before Andras nodded. “Off we go, then. Try to keep up.”

Andras opened a cage and hauled one of the birds out by its legs, awkwardly enough to make the whole rookery take up complaint. He dodged snapping beaks and thumped it harshly on the side of the head until the poor bird lay still. He plucked a single black feather from its side and offered a tiny silver dagger from his pocket in exchange. A fragmented jewel in the hilt shone and glimmered independent of the light.

The raven eyed it, tilting its head to one side, then another, before snapping up the bauble. Andras had to jerk back his hand to preserve his fingers. He swore, but in a fitful burst of feathers, the raven launched into the air and took off down the aisle.

Leto watched, wide-eyed. “But where’s it—”

The raven, with Andras close on its heels, passed through the rocky face of the far wall. The rock shifted, then snapped back into place with a vaguely jelly-like wobble. Leto’s stomach swam to watch it.

Claire rattled at the lock on the next cage. “There’s your demonstration. Let’s get moving. Brevity, you next. Then Hero and Leto.”

Claire reached into the cage with far more care than Andras had and came out with a calm—if gravely annoyed—raven perched on her wrist. She passed the bird to Brevity, who took a steadying breath before plucking a feather and offering the bird her shimmering ribbon of light. The bird snatched it up, and they were off, running toward the same rock face at the end of the aisle.

Hero cast a shrewd glance toward Claire. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me carry my own book. You might get lost after all.”

Claire snorted and shook her head. “Your care for my well-being is touching, as always. I’ll be along with the book right behind you.”

“The connection—”

“I’ll risk that it’ll hold. Now go, book.”

Hero allowed one disappointed curl of his lip before he repeated the procedure. His raven took off, flying with ease despite the large sword clutched in its talons. Leto supposed immortal magic birds were bound to be strong.

Claire turned to Leto. “All right. You’ve seen how the others did it.”

“Right.” Leto eyed the wall, which looked worryingly solid. The others hadn’t even had the courtesy to flinch. He wondered what happened when you flinched. He wondered what happened when you fucked this up too.

“The running is the easy part.” Claire stroked the waiting raven’s head. “The vital thing is to keep your eyes on the raven. It can be tricky in there. It’s a road between worlds, nowhere and everywhere at once. No matter what you hear, no matter what you think you see—follow the bird. Stay focused. Got it?”

Leto doubted anything in the world could possess him to abandon a magical lifeline, but the creases in the librarian’s brow prompted him to nod with more confidence than he felt. “Got it.”

“Good. I’ll be right behind you.” Claire handed him the raven. Its claws were gentle as they clamped around his wrist, dry but smooth and hot. The bird was surprisingly heavy and swayed on his forearm. Dark beady eyes regarded him with a canny kind of judgment. The bird gave only a disgruntled croak as Leto plucked the smallest feather he could manage from its chest. He swallowed hard, then opened his hand to reveal the ghostlight.

It had once again become a white candle upon its return to Hell, though slightly shorter and with a melted pool of wax around the wick. Leto had worried it wouldn’t be shiny enough to be acceptable, but the raven gave it a careful once-over, then snapped it up. Hard nails pinched momentarily into his skin as the raven launched itself into the air.

And then they were running. Leto was so concerned about keeping up that they’d passed through the rock face before he’d had a chance to anticipate the impact. The moment they were through, shadows swam up and engulfed him. The world narrowed to only the bobbing bird ahead of him, white candle clutched in its claws like an arrow pointing the way. Frost ticked up the back of his neck, but he kept his eyes locked straight ahead.

Not so bad, Leto thought.

Then the whispers started.

“BOYS. STOP BEING LITTLE monkeys and smile for the picture.”

Leto stumbled. His stomach dropped as he spun in the direction of the voice. It echoed around him, as if the speaker was lost in the cavernous dark. He twisted around and barely caught sight of the black bird disappearing into the fog. He broke into a run again, but it felt slower, as if he was covering less ground than before.

“You got to check this out.”

“That’s crazy.” Leto’s lips moved around the response. It was his voice, and they were his lips that spoke it, and they felt like his words, but it was wrong, all wrong. As if he were watching himself from far away. His legs gave out beneath him, and it was a shorter fall to the ground than it should have been. His knees banged against a soft surface that was suddenly slippery and pliable. Leto smelled chlorine and sun-warmed rubber, an inner tube in a shady backyard pool. The laughter that cut up through his constricted throat felt like a foreign presence. “Did you see the one where he—”

“I know, right? We could totally start our own channel.”

The other voice was young and gleefully confident, just over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, a figure swirled through the deep mist, and it took every inch of self-control not to twist to face it. He shoved to his feet, though he could feel his body changing. The bob of the ghostlight was a speck in the dark. He ran, even as his legs stretched and returned to something like normal.

“You never got time to chill anymore.” And now the voices sounded older.

“I’m just busy. You know.” The words were frosty with apathy. Leto tried not to say them, but they forced their way out anyhow.

“Yeah. I know.”

Everything felt familiar, like an echo. Leto clutched his fist over his chest, where an ache bloomed. The ground swayed, roiling with the mists, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his feet. The raven didn’t care. He was swimming after the bird to—where, forward? Backward? Deeper in or farther out? Time dilated, a drip of fatigue in his veins. Like bleeding out. A lulling exhaustion, spiked with dread.

His lips parted again, and there was no fighting this painful script. “Stop, Darren. I don’t have time—”

No. Don’t, Leto thought.

“I just thought—”

Stop. Leto tried to bite his mouth closed to keep it in. You don’t know—it ruins everything. Don’t say it, don’t—

Pain blossomed over the horror, and Leto’s lips bled as they parted. “Well, don’t. Shit, Darren. Don’t bother thinking. Just don’t.”