A Hackwith - The Library of the Unwritten

“What will you do now?” Beatrice asked quietly.

The pages felt heavy and warm in the pocket on her hip. Claire wiped her hands as she finished stowing them, but the residual dread didn’t come off her crawling skin. Her lips fell into a hard line. “We leave. But first I need to talk to a hero.”

CLAIRE FOUND LETO AND Hero in the kitchen, conferring over a wood-block table. Despite being seated, Hero had to stay at a perpetual hunch to avoid knocking the shiny copper pans overhead. The room was small, cluttered, but cozily appointed in line with Claire’s own tastes, like every other part of Beatrice’s flat. Leto and Hero had a pile of prepackaged cake snacks on a platter between them, and Hero’s frown deepened as he scrutinized one still in its cellophane. “This does not look at all like cake.”

“It is. Try it,” Leto said.

“It’s hard and shiny.”

“That’s just the frosting. It’s soft inside. Well, softish. Try it. Everyone loves them.”

Hero gave him an arch look and finally took a sizable bite. A moment to chew, and then cake sputtered across the table from an explosive cough. Leto broke into a giggle as the other man doubled over. When he finally recovered, Hero’s eyes watered with a withering look. There was a smudge of cream hanging from his offended frown. “You neglected to mention the toxic filling.”

Leto bit his lip. “What? It’s sweet!”

“Sweet? No, honey is sweet. Freedom is sweet. A pretty boy or handsome girl is sweet. That? That burns.” Hero took a large gulp from his mug of tea. “Such nonsense. This is worse than the other place.”

“I don’t know. They seem to bathe more here,” Claire said.

Two faces looked up. A familiar, crooked look of disdain righted itself on Hero’s face. A bit of chocolate frosting clung to his upper lip. He gestured dismissively to the cakes on the table.

“That’s only because you haven’t tried what passes for sweets here yet. Help yourself. Or can we finally leave?”

“I have the codex pages. We just need to find Andras and prepare to leave.” Claire held out her hand. “May I see your book a moment, Hero?”

Hero unfolded himself from the chair and wiped his hands. He reached into his pocket as he rose and handed his book over to her. “I’ve been perfectly behaved. Is there some—”

The flat leather of the cover connected with his jaw, along with the full weight of the tome and Claire’s swing behind it. Leto startled, scattering the snacks on the table as he stumbled to his feet. Claire silenced his squawk with a raised hand, never taking her eyes off Hero.

Hero leaned over the table, massaging his jaw. Canniness and caution flooded his eyes. “What was that for?”

“You never told me.” Claire ran her fingers over Hero’s book, tugging at the blank pages she’d sewn in. “What exactly was your story like? A name like ‘Nightfall’ and looking as you do, I suspected high fantasy. Do you miss being a brave knight, Hero?”

Hero’s brows inched together. “Less than you might think.”

Claire swung. This time, Hero anticipated enough to lean away, deflecting the blow. He came up and backed against the wall. A hanging pot clobbered his head. He grimaced and raised his hands. “Peace, woman!”

Claire held the book over her head again.

“What’s wrong with you two?” Leto stumbled between them, holding up his hands though he didn’t seem certain who was a threat to whom. He visibly relaxed when Claire lowered her arm.

“Lesson time, Leto. It’s important to know your archetypes. You know the difference between a hero and a typical villain in a fight?” Claire said, pinning accusing eyes at Hero over the teenager’s shoulder. “Heroes are optimists. Ambush a hero, and you’ll get shock, anger. Retaliation at the injustice. But a villain, a villain, now… they know how betrayal works. Strike a villain, they expect it. Villains get cautious, not angry.”

“Oh, I can be plenty angry,” Hero said.

“Don’t.” Claire clenched her hands and had to remind herself not to twist the book in her grasp. She shouldered past Leto and shoved the book hard into Hero’s chest. “You lied.”

“It was more of a… failure to correct.” Hero grimaced down at his book. “You were the one that started calling me a hero! I didn’t think I’d be around long enough for it to matter, but then… well.”

“You’re a villain.”

“And you’re a murderer!” Hero snapped. “If we’re going about handing out titles. Were we supposed to forget that?”

“Don’t try to deflect this—”

“Like you did?” Hero leaned into his space, a harsh sneer coiled and ready to strike. “Perhaps we should be talking about what is going to happen when the whole of Hell’s court hears about what you did, hmm? When we get back, I’m going to have such fascinating stories to tell.”

Claire held her expression still, despite the self-doubt and misgivings curdling through her anger. “I’m the librarian.”

“For now,” Hero said. “What would you do to stay that way? Maybe you could lose track of another book, warden. Let’s talk about that.”

“Like. Hell.” She held his glare, the only sound in the kitchen Leto’s nervous shuffling. She would hide, she would obscure, she would mislead, but hell if she would ever fail the Library again. She couldn’t stand more ink on her hands, stains that wouldn’t rub out. Claire shook her head. “You were never a hero.”

“Figured that out on your own, did you? Here I thought I’d been the perfect gallant.” Hero’s lips thinned into a line before his eyes moved over her shoulder. “Or was there a little bird?”

Beatrice lingered at the kitchen door. Her arms were crossed and she held herself tall and tense, like an arrow pulled ready for a target. “Some of us care about the truth.”

“Oh no.” Claire whirled on Beatrice. “You don’t get to say a word about the truth.”

A nerve twitched in Beatrice’s haughty face. “I’m not the one who—”

“I don’t trust either of you. At least he”—Claire practically stabbed Hero’s chest—“knows it’s a lie. He pretends to be a hero—but you think you’re being heroic.”

Beatrice’s expression became injured and glacial. She said nothing before withdrawing again. Claire waited until the unwritten woman had disappeared down the hallway to release her sigh between pursed lips. She turned and caught Leto’s look, which was part judgmental teenager, part injured puppy.

“You are very good at driving people off,” Leto said.

“It’s a gift.” Claire’s smile felt forced, but she offered it anyway.

Hero lost his bravado after the outburst and wilted against the wall. “It appears we both have secrets to keep—”