A Hackwith - The Library of the Unwritten

“Or in bed, eh, Holfad?” And both warriors devolved into an entirely inappropriate exchange about the relative bed-warming merits of both the librarian and her champion.

But that had been two ales ago. By now the small barroom had emptied out as the more sociable warriors flowed back to the halls and the less sociable ones went to sleep. Rami took the opportunity to process his drink and his night.

Their prey had obviously made too big an impression for Valhalla to look the other way when Heaven confronted them. He and Uriel were warriors, and therefore respected in Valhalla, but from the way the Norse storyteller had taken the librarian under his wing, it seemed Hell had friends in Valhalla as well. The trick would be catching them alone.

The reflection of his frown abruptly dissolved into ripples in his drink. A fresh mug careened against his, spilling a generous portion of the contents of both across his knuckles.

He jerked his head up. The curse on his lips died as his eyes landed on the woman at the other end of the bar. She had one arm bandaged, poorly, and her braided hair was in some disarray. But that coin-flip smile was just as unreadable as on the pier. The librarian had the look of someone caught perpetually midsecret.

She raised her own mug at him. “Sorry—I’m a poor shot. Bars weren’t places for a lady when I was around. Or, at least,” she amended after a pause, “not the kind of lady my family allowed me to be.”

Instead of responding, Rami gave the room a sweeping glance. The pub was but not quite deserted, with a few inhabitants drinking by the fire. The keg master in the corner gave them a shrewd squint before turning back to his cups. A silent warning not to start any trouble.

“Librarian.” Rami felt caught halfway between a grunt and a sigh. The woman had the knack to wear him down in a blink.

“Claire,” she corrected. “It’s Claire, by the way. If you’re going to be hunting us, threatening destruction of our immortal souls, all that, personal names seem like the proper thing.”

Rami bristled and found new fascination with his drink. The weight of her gaze on his shoulders was nearly intolerable until she pushed herself from her stool and slid down the bar. She stopped one seat away, just out of arm’s reach. So she wasn’t entirely stupid.

“What brings an angel to the halls of Valhalla?”

“I imagine the same thing that brings Hell’s servants.”

At the corner of her mouth there might have been a flutter of irritation that was quickly smoothed away. “Tenant. Not a servant.”

Rami snorted, though he found his tongue considerably looser than he liked. He was not like Uriel, disdaining every soul not Heaven-bound—he of all people knew the many paths that led everyone astray—but the librarian’s manner set him on edge. A creature of Hell that didn’t consider itself a servant was either dangerous or a fool. It was beginning to strike Rami that the librarian might be both.

Rami must have muttered that thought out loud, because the woman laughed. “A fool. That might be fair. From time to time.” She surprised him by taking the insult with a shrug.

Rami tried again. “Where’s your pet demon? Tired of pretending he’s human?”

“Leto is human. Though… I suppose convincing you of that story would take too long for one drink,” she said. “But my other pet demon is here, so I don’t disappoint you. Say hello, Andras.”

In a blink, a figure dressed in fussy silks sat where no one had been before. Sharply pointed ears and pupils the color of blood gold marked him as, indeed, a demon, and a powerful one at that. Black-striped hair glinted like a pelt in the dim light. The taste of sulfur slicked the back of Rami’s throat and burned his tongue. The handsome demon looked harmless and familiar, in the way of the worst childhood nightmares. He gave a mild smile that was too well crafted to be sincere.

“‘Hello, Andras,’” the demon mimicked politely. “I am not a pet, by the way.”

“Apologies, Arcanist. I was merely speaking his language. We’re less than animals in some eyes,” Claire said with a cool look at Rami.

“So I hear.” Andras swept his eyes over Rami with a look that felt surgical, claws hidden in a velvet glove. A predator behind those glasses, Rami felt in an instant. He recalculated his estimation of the creature.

The Library had brought force. It seemed an odd way to show their hand. Rami shifted to keep an eye on the demon, though found he much preferred looking at Claire. “I take it you’ve found what you seek here?”

“Not yet,” she said easily and, Rami thought, a bit too promptly. “But travel is taxing on our kind. We intend to enjoy Valhalla’s excellent hospitality. Price of admission was high enough, so we might as well get our money’s worth. Leave tomorrow evening.”

Rami doubted it. “And I suppose this visit means you don’t intend to surrender the book.”

“What book would that be, again?”

“You obviously know of what I speak. You stole it from me.”

“The scrap, you mean. A misunderstanding, really.” Claire shook her head. “You know, if you’d been just a little more patient and a little clearer when we met, you’d still be in possession of it. Here I thought angels were supposed to be forgiving and kind.”

“I’m not that kind of angel.”

“I know very much what kind of angel you are, Ramiel, Thunder of God, Watcher of the World. Question is, why is a fallen angel helping Heaven?” Claire tilted her head. “Why are you here?”

Rami fell silent. He knew there was nothing to say.

The abomination wrapped in a gentleman’s skin didn’t help matters. “Ask him what Heaven’s offered him,” Andras said.

Claire frowned. “I wasn’t aware that Heaven was in the dealmaking business.”

“You’d be surprised.” Andras shrugged.

“All right, I’ll bite. What’s Heaven offered you to jump-start a war, Ramiel?”

“Again, not your concern—” Rami paused. “What war?”

Claire exchanged a look with the demon, but only Rami saw the look that crossed Andras’s face as Claire glanced away. Eyes narrowed, lip twitched up. Pleased. Possessive. Predatory. While Claire sat with the creature at her side as if it were a favored pet.

For the first time, Rami wondered if the librarian knew what kind of creature she had at her back. But his speculation was cut short by Claire’s sniff.

“Are you telling me you’re hunting a book whose purpose you don’t understand?”

“And what should I know, Librarian?”

The librarian’s brown eyes gleamed with amusement. “I’ll give you one thing for free, though I know you won’t believe me: what you’re after is not anything Heaven has a right to. And your interference here could cost the mortal world dearly. More than that, you’ll need to ask your terrifying partner.”

“Uriel has told me all I need to know about your sins.” The creeping, hollow unease in his chest made Rami toss out the first rebuttal he could think of. Harsh and untrue, but he knew better than to admit that to servants of Hell.

Both Claire and the demon fell silent.

“The angel out front is… Uriel ?” Claire asked.

Rami cursed himself for rising to the bait. He pushed the still half-full mugs away from him as he stood from the bar.

“Surrender the artifact and give up this errand, Librarian.” Rami’s jaw tightened. “Don’t risk your eternal soul.”

“I find myself already damned, but your concern is noted. I’d watch the threats. We’re guests of some very nice hosts with very large axes,” Claire said, gaze falling to where Rami’s fingers brushed the hilt at his side.