A Hackwith - The Library of the Unwritten

THE SLAP TURNED LETO’S chin. He took a step back from where they stood near the counter of the coffee shop, but Brevity advanced on him, hands on her hips. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“I, uh…” Leto twisted, meeting pair after pair of blandly curious eyes. They had the attention of the entire shop, whether out of sympathy or annoyance. Claire positioned herself discreetly at the far wall, near the book’s table. The hero, as Claire had called him, and his companion were entirely focused on Brevity’s display. “You found out…?”

He had just enough warning to flinch before another open hand aimed for his shoulder. Brevity burst into a very believable font of tears. The former muse had mastered the art of crying prettily, and Leto heard sympathetic murmurs drift among the coffee shop’s patrons.

He reached out to pat Brevity on the shoulder. “I’m sorry….”

“Don’t touch me!”

Although the red-haired author was riveted, the hero began to lose focus as he scanned the crowd. His eyes stopped when they stumbled upon Claire. The two locked gazes with a crackle of energy that went unnoticed by the rest of the shop.

A flash of silver hung from Claire’s fingertips, held low at her side like a blade. Her lips moved. The faintest silver script swayed, just a moment, in the air between them. The hero’s eyes narrowed and he stood up from the table with a murmured word to his companion.

Brevity cleared her throat, bringing Leto back to their improv.

“Can’t you at least tell me what I did?”

The hero and the librarian exchanged a series of hissed words and sharp gestures across the way. Claire seemed to get the advantage when she flicked up the hand holding her tool. The hero blanched and shot nervous eyes toward his oblivious companion.

“It’s like you’re not even here.” A nudge brought Leto around to face wide brown eyes. Brevity gave him an inscrutable look before her eyes welled with tears again. “You don’t even see me anymore.” Her voice was a stage whisper.

Leto’s stomach did a flip-flop, and he hesitantly put a hand on Brevity’s arm. He garnered the courage to make his contribution to their little display. “I, ah, always see you. How could I not see a beautiful girl?” He resisted cringing at the line, randomly plucked from his limited exposure to human romance. His voice was not quite as confident as he would have liked, but he frankly had trouble thinking straight in close proximity to Brevity’s large, wet eyes.

Past Brevity’s shoulder, Leto could see the hero scowl at Claire. He leaned over and whispered something to his author. She made a face, but the handsome man mollified her with a smile. The hero stood and began making his way out of the coffee shop, Claire tight on his heels.

Just in time. The onlookers were growing bored now that Brevity and Leto weren’t screaming at each other. Brevity made a melty noise, flinging her arms back for show. “Why’re you always so sweet, huh?”

Leto had just enough time to catch a subtle wink from the muse before she caught his chin and pressed soft, smiling lips against his.

“YOU DID GOOD,” BREVITY chattered as they popped out of the coffee shop a few minutes later. “I was going for a big, classic breakup fight, but that makeup kiss made most people uncomfortable enough that they wanted to look away anyway. Good idea.”

Leto managed a nod as if, yes, of course, that had been his plan all along. He kept his chin tucked into his chest to hide the heat still on his cheeks. He was grateful to find Claire and the bronze-haired man—Leto still had trouble thinking of him as a character from a book—waiting for them around the corner.

Claire had the tall man cornered against the brick building, pinned with a scowl. Brevity and Leto slowed as they approached.

Claire spared a glance in their direction. “It’s hidden it.”

“The book?” Brevity wrinkled her nose. “Don’t suppose he’ll tell us if we ask really nicely?”

“He is not an it . He’s also not an idiot and is standing right here,” the man said as he crossed his arms and slouched against the brick wall. “I have no intention of going back to slowly go insane for all eternity on some dusty shelf.”

“And I have no intention of letting you hang around here, torturing that poor girl,” Claire said. “The difference is, I have a say in the matter. You do not.”

“I’m not torturing her!” The hero straightened. “She’s… she’s so… I could never harm her.”

Claire gave an impatient wiggle of her fingers. “She’s amazing. She’s brilliant. She’s creative and thoughtful and clever and kind. That the gist of it?”

“Yes.” The hero’s face softened. “You see it. She’s perfect. At first I just wanted to meet her, but now… we’ve spent days just talking. If I can just inspire her to—”

“She’s your author. Inspiring her to write is not your job. You’ve already caused enough damage.”

“I have been a perfect gentleman!”

An arm shot out and Claire pinned the much taller man against the wall. “You’ve already hurt her. Just your being here has changed her. She’s going to be paying the rest of her life for your damn selfish curiosity.”

The man started. “I have not! I—”

“Did she argue?” Claire snapped. “When you made your excuses? Did she even notice you were exiting with another woman?”

“I… am very persuasive.” The hero covered sudden uncertainty with a delicate sneer. “Not that you would understand such an intimate connection.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, I’m an ogre. You wound me. And you’re still twisting her mind all up just by being here.”

“I can’t be….” Color drained from his face. “An agreement, then. I’ll show you where I hid it. I’ll go with you. Just… let me say good-bye to her.”

Claire was unmoved. “No. Out of the question.”

“It’s not a trick! You can even watch me. Please.” The hero gave a pleading glance to Brevity and Leto. “I owe her a decent good-bye, at least that much. Wouldn’t that help repair some of the damage I’ve done?”

Brevity spoke up. “A proper good-bye might make him more human, boss. To the author.”

Claire’s face remained stony. “Are you speaking as a former muse?”

“Speaking as a girl who remembers how hearts work. Since sometimes you forget.”

Claire huffed her disagreement and considered. She rustled in her bag. “Fine. Hold out your hand.”

“What?”

“Your hand, hero. If I’m letting a book walk around, I want some insurance. You’re getting a stamp.”

“I’m not…” The hero’s delicate brows knit together in confusion. Nonetheless, he reluctantly shoved up a sleeve. “This is demeaning. You already have my card. Is this really necessary?”

“Quite.” Claire retrieved from her bag a small stamp with a stubby wooden handle. She squinted and twisted one of the gears at the base. With a utilitarian jab, she stabbed the tip of the handle into her own palm. Brevity made a small noise as she looked away.

Leto felt queasy but entranced. Blood pooled briefly on Claire’s hand before being wicked into the stamp’s handle. Leto swore the wood now had a warmer, ruddier sheen.

In another practiced move, the librarian snatched the hero’s palm and planted the stamp’s rubber end squarely in the center of his pale wrist.

A red-black ribbon of ink escaped from the rubber circle and twined its way around the hero’s wrist, leaving behind a worming knot of threads and shapes. The medallion pulsed on his forearm. Curiosity getting the better of him, Leto leaned closer. A tiny calligraphic font, almost too slender to read, shifted in chaotic patterns across the hero’s skin.