A Hackwith - The Library of the Unwritten

She shooed the damsels off, ignoring the way Aurora trailed after the other two, a quiet blue shadow that cast long, questioning looks back at Brevity as she went. They’d believed her; of course they had. It was what the Library did: distant librarians going about their business, keeping the books in their care well and at arm’s length. It was the norm Claire had set, and if anyone noticed that it was Brevity—social, flighty, trivial Brevity—trying to fill those shoes now, the damsels were too sweet to say so.

The empty spaces between her ribs quivered, but held. Brevity pressed her palms to the desk, feeling the vibration as another impact hit the wards. It was a steady drum now. Something was trying to invade the Library. Whether it was because Andras had lost control of his Horrors, or it was some demonic plot to pull the Library into the tug-of-war games of Hell’s court, Brevity had no way of knowing and didn’t care . From inside the wards, the Library was alone.

Alone. The word made Brevity want to crawl back under the desk, but instead she pressed her knuckles into the wood until they stung and the gilded lines of inspiration on her skin stilled. The capacity for fear was still there, because the unknown was still there. But the damsels had reminded Brevity that imagination wasn’t just a weakness; it was a tool. Anxiety could fill up the darkness with all the monsters it wished, but if Brevity tried very hard, maybe she could squeeze in one monster of her own. She was cut off from the world, but she still needed to protect the damsels, keep them in the suite, protect the books. All she needed was an audience.

Care for the books, Claire had said. There was at least one book not yet home in the Library.

RAMI HAD WATCHED UNTIL the librarian and the book had disappeared across the crocodile beast’s back.

He’d waited while the creature churned the water and disappeared again, leaving behind only a gentle foam that melted into bright blue waters. The abandoned stretch of beach stilled, waters turning idyllic instead of frothy. As if none of it had ever happened. As if a human soul hadn’t just been sacrificed to satisfy some pagan thirst. As if the needless sacrifice hadn’t been because they feared the justice of Heaven.

Because they feared him.

Fear not. The voice in Rami’s head was sour, mocking, and too similar to Uriel’s timbre for his taste. Angels were supposed to be feared. By evil, by forces of chaos. They were made to be feared to drive the darkness back. Not to drive suffering young souls into the mouths of hungering beasts. That, Uriel and Rami had done on their own.

The ruins were cold. Rami turned away from the arch and rubbed the gooseflesh out of one forearm, staring sightlessly at the bones churned to dust at his feet. None of this sat well with him. They’d drawn blades against mortal souls. They’d made a deal with a demon, and as a result, the armies of Hell would be arraying against one another. If demons were at one another’s throats, even if—and Rami felt it most unlikely—Lucifer himself got overthrown, surely it would result in a stronger position for Heaven. He could return to Uriel and get orders on how to proceed next. The petty losses and trials of those who would serve Hell were none of his concern.

And yet, he couldn’t get the image of the boy on the scale out of his head. Couldn’t forget the broken noise that shattered from Claire’s throat as the jaws descended.

A lost soul, she had called him. Lost souls had been Ramiel’s duty once. All the Watchers had owed their services to humanity, once, before the Fall. Rami’s responsibility had been the guidance of the lost.

Rami hadn’t felt competent to guide anything in a very long time.

But the look he’d seen on the boy’s face hadn’t been lost. His eyes had been clear, and his chin had been set. Even broken, he’d stood straight as the shadows closed. That kind of calm, that kind of peace, didn’t deserve oblivion in a dead god’s realm.

It took Rami only a thought to return to Heaven from Earth. He arrived at the Gates practically before he realized he’d made a decision. The Gates felt smaller, the light less bright somehow. He cut through the cattle line of dead souls, ignoring the sputtered cries of the lesser cherub that had filled his place at the desk. He strode past the guard, not toward the Gates but toward the tower. He hesitated only a moment to be surprised that the door was unlocked before he shoved his way in.

“Ramiel.” Uriel raised her brow from where she leaned over her desk, archaic maps spread before her. “Report.”

He paused, clasping his hands behind his back as he considered how to approach the plan shaping in his mind. He opted for formality. “The adversary escaped through an undocumented gate.”

Uriel stiffened. “Hell?”

“No. Some afterlife of a local dead religion. Worshippers long extinct. Water worshipping and sacrifices. I didn’t recognize it.”

“Continue.”

“I stationed myself and observed their progress. They lost a b… an ally. It’s now just the librarian and the unwritten book. They proceeded deeper into the realm. I believe they will seek a direct exit to Hell. They won’t come back to Earth again.”

“Good, very good.” Uriel seemed preoccupied with her maps. “That will buy us time for our next plan.”

Rami squinted, but couldn’t make out the gibberish scrawled across the maps between them. “Sir?”

“Hell.” Uriel looked up, and Rami nearly stepped back at the bright, hungry gleam in her eye. The archangel made a fist on the surface of the map. “You heard the demon. That’s where he’ll take the codex pages.”

Rami held very still. “You want to infiltrate Hell.”

“Not infiltrate, invade.”

“That means war and the Creator has forbid—”

Uriel’s fist thudded against the desk. “The Creator is not here to forbid! Think. The point of getting the codex was to decrease Hell’s power and return our god to our realm. Why settle for a piece of paper when we could present our maker a kingdom ?” Uriel looked up and the zeal roaring in her eyes diverted as she studied him. Her shoulders relaxed. “But you, of course, are not part of my forces anymore. You need not concern yourself with it.”

Rami felt off-balance. “Sir?”

“Yes, of course. We had a deal. You didn’t succeed in procuring the codex , and I should point out your commitment wavered at times, but…” Uriel made a dismissive gesture. “You acquitted yourself well. I will speak to the Host as soon as this whole library business is behind us.”

The fuel in Uriel’s fireplace cracked as the silence drew out. Galaxies burned and grew cold.

The Host. He’d thought he’d made up his mind, but Rami’s resolve wavered. In his mind’s eye the Gates opened for him, the first time in millennia. It’d been so long he could barely imagine what lay behind them, but he could feel it. He could taste it, gold and warmth, peace and absolution. He would be allowed to go home.