A Hackwith - The Library of the Unwritten

“As Arcanist, I get to choose my assistants.” Rather than let it sink in, Claire latched onto a demand at random. She glanced briefly at Rami. “I won’t work with those vile creatures Andras had in here.”

“Easy enough. You destroyed most of them anyway,” Malphas reminded her. She slid off the desk, rolling her shoulders like she’d won something. “I’ll leave you to give your pawns the good news.”

The demon disappeared in a swirl of iron and cinnamon. Claire stared at her desk. She found herself preoccupied with the knots twisted on Hero’s book, noting the irregularities for trimming. Her hands clenched when Rami cleared his throat.

“I can go find Brevity. If you…” He trailed off when Claire nodded, and he turned and disappeared into the stacks.

Claire tilted her head back and closed her eyes. She drew in a slow breath and exhaled firmly, driving out any thought of the changes to come. She shuddered, eyes squeezed tighter.

When she could be sure of herself, she twisted in her chair and squinted at the unmoving body on the couch. The body whose face hadn’t moved but whose breathing had shifted just slightly when Malphas appeared.

“I suppose you heard all that.”

A whisper of movement tugged up the corner of Hero’s lips. He kept his eyes closed, but his color was better. When his lips parted, Hero’s voice was hoarse. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Rami was concerned about you. You could have said something.”

“I like playing hard to get.”

Claire snorted. “You do love a chase.”

Hero couldn’t quite manage a laugh, and when he tried, it turned into a pathetic, stumbling cough. He licked his lips with some effort. “ Did you destroy all the pages of the codex?”

Claire’s smile was bitter. “Maybe. Maybe not. Better to let the courts wonder. The Library will be vulnerable for a while. If I did destroy them, we’re fair game. Open to being swept up by the next demon with a hunger for power. If I didn’t , then I’m a threat only Lucifer has the authority to address. Until they know, even Malphas will stay out of the Library.”

Hero huffed weakly. “Clever.”

“I learned from the best.” Claire’s eyes dodged to Andras’s dagger. She turned back to the book in front of her and picked up the paste brush again. “For now I’ll need to finish fixing your binding. Again. ”

“Maybe you’ll get it right this time.”

“Everybody’s a critic,” Claire muttered as she began to apply the paste where the binding would adhere to leather. She worked in quiet for a few moments until Hero spoke again.

“I heard you, you know.”

Claire turned and saw Hero had cracked one eye open with great effort. His gaze glittered, beneath the bruises and black filth. Claire turned back to her work. “Heard what?”

“When you confronted Andras. You said ‘ my book.’”

“Is that what you heard?” Claire felt a small smile grow on her lips before she remembered herself. Loss welled in her stomach as she shook her head. “No books are mine now.”

For once, Hero didn’t have a response.

THE DOORS TO THE Arcane Wing protested as she pushed them open. Claire stood at the entrance a moment, squinting as she indulged her gloomy mood with the darkened interior.

It had taken much talking and two pots of tea to get Brevity to accept her sudden promotion. The muse had ranted and railed, and at one point Rami had had to restrain her from fade-stepping right to Lucifer’s court herself to set things right. But in the end, she’d slumped down beside Claire on the couch, sulking dully.

“This sucks, boss.”

Claire silently agreed, but she rolled her eyes at Brevity. “Only because it’s new. You will be an adequate librarian if you—”

“But after all we did. That I— It’s not fair .”

“What ever gave you the idea that Hell’s Library would be fair? You should know better by now. Stories are capricious at the best of times, and…” She bit off the lecture that might make her feel better but would only increase Brevity’s hurt. Tears had just finished drying tracks down her face, but the muse looked close to waterworks again. She slipped her hand into Brevity’s. “You’ve already proven yourself to be a champion of the Library. You’re strong , Brev. You’ll be an admirable librarian. Better than I was. Look at it this way. You can finally brew all the atrocious strawberry-whatsit tea you want.”

Brevity pulled together the broken bits of her smile. “And you’ll be there?”

“I’ll be around,” Claire said evasively. “Just not when you’re stinking up the place with that rubbish.”

There might have been kinder ways to pass the mantle, but Brevity had experience reading between Claire’s words. She rallied to help Claire finish restoring Hero’s book. Claire had chosen to rebind him in a vivid green leather cover—primarily because it matched his eyes, but also because it was bright enough to annoy his aesthetic. The book was repaired, but the front pages remained stubbornly blank. No matter what techniques she attempted, Hero was still exiled from his own book.

He’d taken it in stride and seemed to at least get more color back in his cheeks as time went on. His eyes were back to their usual calculating mischief.

Brevity began the long work of putting the stacks back in order (the gargoyle had done the kindness of righting the fallen shelves before returning to its post in the hallway). Hero helped where he could, primarily by grumbling loudly from his recovery couch. After a few days, Claire felt confident enough to leave them to their work.

The Library would go on without Claire. The stories already had.

Rather than indulge in the morose thought, Claire decided to return to the Arcane Wing the artifacts she’d stolen and see what her new posting would bring. It was just as gloomy as she remembered. The shelves and cupboard stood ransacked where she’d raced through, scooping up anything Andras had left behind.

The raven cages, naturally, stood open and empty at the back. Arlid had taken back her people, leaving the place oddly silent. Claire ran her fingers over dust-coated shelves as she worked her way back, trying to place amulets and rings back where she remembered them.

“One shelf up. It was next to that atrocious violet crown.”

Claire placed the piece and turned to see Hero lounging against the open doors. “Lounging,” perhaps, was not the right word, as the doors contributed a great deal to keeping Hero’s battered body upright. His arm was in a sling, but his wounds were beginning to heal. Scar material, pale as parchment against his tan, was beginning to form in spiderwebs along his jaw. Skin puckered and curled over his temple, marring his much-lauded cheekbones. Time would never fade the scars entirely.

Hero was marked, changed from how he was written, but it didn’t appear to affect the mocking smile at her questioning look. “I have an excellent memory and humans think of the ugliest things.”

“Yes, well, someone dreamed you up.”

“You wound me, warden.” Hero placed the fingers of his uninjured hand to his chest, bitterness keeping his voice from being as light as it should have been. He gestured to his face. “I suppose there’s no being mistaken for a hero now.”

Claire turned back to the shelves. “Don’t be silly. You could be a grimdark darling. Heartless and rugged.”

“Rugged. Now, there’s something I’ve never been called.” Hero chuckled, the act of which made him grimace. “But this place is dark enough for both of us.”

“Andras was not a bright person. Spaces match their owners.” Claire gave the warren of bleak cages a baleful look.