by H. Duke
Inkcaster
Book Four in the Library Gate Series
By H. Duke
Chapter 1
April lined up her shot through the sights of Silvis’ pistol. The same pistol that Silvis had meant to frighten, maybe even hurt, Gram with.
She let that sink in, let it steady her hand…
Randall’s voice came from behind her. “Steady. Take your time now, so that when you really need that gun, your hand is quick.”
April stared down the target, an empty can they’d found in the gutter. For a moment she thought about shooting an actual person. She shivered and almost lost her nerve. People had died, but never directly by her hand.
“Concentrate,” Randall said harshly from her shoulder. This was the soldier Randall, the one who knew how to be tough. Soldier Randall was different than the soft-spoken man she was used to.
She was glad for both versions of him. She needed each for different reasons.
Randall’s dog, Rex, sat at his master’s feet. His head was low to the ground, his honey-colored eyes on the pistol. He was no stranger to the sound of gunfire.
Randall’s words brought her back to attention. She couldn’t afford to be weak, not now, and certainly not when she’d need to use this gun for real.
She didn’t wait for Randall to speak again. She aimed and pulled the trigger. The gun exploded in her hands. The first time it happened she was thrown off balance by the kickback. This time she winced but did her best to keep her arms straight.
The bullet bounced off a concrete pillar behind the can, missing the target by a good three feet.
“You can do better,” soldier-Randall growled. “Imagine that can is the head of a Collector holding Barty. You missed, and now he’s getting away. You just lost your one chance to save him.”
April clenched her teeth, ignoring the prickling at the corners of her eyes. She focused on the can, then pulled the trigger. This time she didn’t even register the kickback.
The can shivered as the bullet whizzed past it.
“Damn it!” she cursed through gritted teeth. She’d thought that with her Pagewalker reflexes she’d be an awesome shot—but those only seemed to come when they were needed. Of course, April didn’t want to leave it up to chance. That’s why she was doing these trainings.
“Don’t sweat it,” Randall said, again the supportive version she was used to. “You’re getting better. The first time we came out here I wasn’t sure if I was safe standing behind you.”
“Thanks. I think.” She glanced down at her watch. They’d been there for an hour. It was time to head to the library. They were several miles away on the outskirts of town. Raoul had promised them it was one of the few places in the city where they’d be able to shoot guns without alerting the local authorities.
What that meant, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that they’d been shooting off guns for the last few days and the cops hadn’t shown up. She wasn’t going to ask questions beyond that. Raoul had promised to teach her his own lessons once Randall was through with her, though he didn’t elaborate on what those might be.
“You excited?” Randall asked.
“To go to work? Not really.” She liked her job at the library, but she never got a chance to focus on the day-to-day aspects of it. She always had something else on her mind. That’s how it was when you were the guardian of an interdimensional magic portal.
“I mean for your trip with your grandmother. You’re leaving in two days.”
“Yeah. I guess.” She pointed the pistol at the target once more, then pulled the trigger. This time she was several inches off the target. Damn it!
“Doesn’t sound like you’re excited.”
She winced. She should be happy, and in a way she was. Not only to spend a week of uninterrupted time with Gram, but to have a week off from being the Pagewalker.
“You sure you’re up for this?” She asked. “Being the Pagewalker is an awful lot of responsibility. Trust me, I know.”
Randall shrugged. “It’s just for a week. Anyway, Dorian says we’ve erased so much of the rot that I won’t have to do anything.” He paused. “Are you sure it’s going to work? Switching out?”
April nodded. “It worked last time.” Back after Dorian had first tricked her into becoming the Pagewalker, Thaddeus had shown her how to renounce her Pagewalker duties by throwing a piece of paper with a command written on it through the veil—and it worked. She’d eventually realized that Thaddeus had his own motives and decided she wanted to be the Pagwalker after all. Reclaiming her title had been easy enough once they’d dealt with Thaddeus.
No, that wasn’t what was nagging her. She had the feeling that something was about to happen. She just didn’t know what. She hoped that this was her own misguided anxiety, and not the gate trying to tell her something through what Barty had called her “Pagewalker sense.”
She didn’t want to think about Barty. She raised the gun once more and let loose a shot. With a metallic cling the can fell back off the post.
“Whoah. What did I say about aiming?” Randall said. “That was a lucky shot. You can’t rely on luck.”
She paused for a moment. “Is it selfish that I’m going on vacation when the Collectors have Barty?”
Randall shook his head. “We’ll get him back, but it’s going to take work. Work and time. There’s no point in punishing yourself, and certainly no point in punishing your grandmother.” He paused. “When I joined the military, I signed up for four years of service. You’ve signed up for a lifetime of service. You need to take time off when it comes to you.”
April felt like shooting at the target again, but she’d spent the last bullet in the gun, so she settled for turning away from Randall. “I need to get going or else I’ll be late again. You know how Janet is.”
“Right. I should get back to the apartment and check on Thaddeus. Come on, Rex.”
The dog leapt up and trotted over. Randall rubbed the top of his head affectionately.
“How is Thaddeus?” April asked.
Randall winced.
“That bad, huh?” April raised an eyebrow.
“Bad enough that I don’t want to leave him alone for too long. Let’s go.”
~~~
“So many rooms, so many keys…”
Thaddeus shook his head. He did his best to keep himself from muttering the words. Still, sometimes he slipped. And he couldn’t keep himself from thinking them.
But he was getting better. Yes, he was getting better. Wasn’t he?
He didn’t know what he’d been thinking. Helping the Pagewalker! He kept going over the events of that night in his head. He’d been upset, confused. He’d been angry. But surely if he’d just spoke with Mason…
Mason.
Mason was dead, dead because of him. No! Mason was dead because of the thing that had been inside him, that vile, evil, magical thing… He’d swallowed it and look what it had done to him!
He’d helped them, the Pagewalker and her friends. He’d had to help them to protect himself. Because the Agency would be coming after him now. After what he’d done.
He looked through the window to the outside of the apartment. It wasn’t his apartment, not really, even though it was his money paying for it. The Agency knew where his old apartment was. Luckily, he had an account set aside that the Agency didn’t know about, a little emergency fund in case they were ever compromised by an enemy.
He never thought he’d have to use it to hide from his own colleagues. Former colleagues.
He moved towards the door. The Pagewalker had taken his cell phone, but he could go out to the pay phone on the street and call them, explain what had happene
d. He’d tell them that he was in the Pagewalker’s good graces again, that they could use him as an informant.
They wouldn’t trust him right away, but they couldn’t turn down that chance at information. He’d earn his way back in. It might take years to get back where he’d been…
He pulled his hand away from the doorknob as the room around him began fading away. He was familiar with the process of losing touch with reality—it happened on a near daily basis since he’d ingested the threshold—but the specific scene the gate showed him was always new.
This time, he was somewhere damp and dark. Shallow breathing came from the pitch black to his right. Every so often the breathing was interspersed with a choked sob, as though the person sharing the space with him was trying not to make any noise. The sobs were faint and high-pitched, as though they came from a young female.
Thaddeus wished he could comfort her. He’d tried to interact with others in past visions, but it never made any difference. It was like trying to affect the actions of a character in a movie. No matter how much you yell at the screen, they never listen. You can’t change what’s already happened.
He wondered what her name was, and he was met with a flash of insight from the gate. Her name was Malloria, and she was seven years old. He’d experienced such insights before, but not always. Some things the gate saw fit to keep from him.
A trapdoor above their heads lifted, and dim light illuminated a pale face next to his. Malloria’s face was dirty, and tears had formed meandering, river-like lines down her round, puffy cheeks.
A man stood above them. The girl’s father. He held a wand in his spare hand—a wielder. “Stay quiet, Malloria, no matter what happens. Understand? And don’t come out until it’s safe.” He wasn’t speaking in English. Thaddeus thought he was speaking in French, but he wasn’t certain. He understood the words all the same.
The girl, too upset to speak, only nodded.
“Good girl.” The man replaced the false floor, and something was dragged over the top, maybe a rug, plunging them into even deeper darkness.
They waited in terse silence for what felt like forever but was probably only a few seconds.
Dread filled Thaddeus’ heart. He knew what was coming. What always happened.
Pounding erupted above, rhythmic and insistent. Malloria sobbed harder, but struggled to remain silent, so Thaddeus felt it more than heard it. Was it the gate transferring this feeling to him, or was her breathing so labored that it made the air between them tangibly compress and depress?
Voices came from the same direction as the pounding. They spoke in a language that Thaddeus didn’t understand, a language so old he didn’t even know its name, but still he understood.
“Open up, wielder filth!”
The girl’s father did not respond, only continued to mutter the incantation under his breath. Thaddeus found himself rooting for the man, though he knew he should be rooting for the agents at the door. But the man’s efforts would be in vain. They always were.
“Won’t you show me at least one time where they get away? Won’t you?”
He yelled at the gate, but the girl continued to cry, the man continued to mutter, and the people at the door continued to pound and shout as if he weren’t there, because he wasn’t. Not really. This had all taken place hundreds of years ago.
The pounding grew louder—they were using some device to break down the door—then splintering ensued, growing louder along with the voices, and then the men were inside the dwelling.
“Take his wand and bind his hands and mouth so he can’t curse you with his trickery!”
The wielder continued to mutter, even though they were already inside. Did the man not realize he was doomed? Why didn’t he fight back?
“Stop that!” there was a sharp smacking sound accompanied by the crunch of teeth. We wear sigils that protect us from your evils.”
After the man recovered, he continued to mutter, but his voice was thick, and every few words he’d blow out wetly, as though emptying his mouth of blood.
“I said, stop that!” there was another harsh thwack, and the muttering ceased, replaced by the sound of dead weight crumpling to the floor.
“Unconscious. Where is the other one? The girl?”
Malloria, who had squealed slightly when her father had been struck, started to hyperventilate. The darkness was filled with the dank smell of urine—she’d wet herself.
“Search the grounds and house. Does this place have a cellar?”
Thaddeus held his breath. Here it came. The girl would be found and the vision would end…
The agents started searching. They pulled up the rug, and lines of light seeped in between the floorboards.
“No—only bare earth. There might be a root cellar in the yard.”
Through the gaps in the boards Thaddeus saw the man, the leader, nod his head. In another two centuries, this would be Thaddeus. “Find her. She may have run off into the woods. Witches do not fear wolves or the other creatures that stalk the night—they consider them friends. Remember that and be sure she does not find them before you find her. She may look like a child, but she is as dangerous as any of them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Every man except those guarding the father went outside. How had they missed the trapdoor in the floor?
Then it came to Thaddeus. The father wasn’t muttering an offensive spell—he was disguising the false floor.
The father’s last free act had been to protect his daughter.
Thaddeus couldn’t help but laugh. The gate had showed him what he’d wanted, hadn’t it? A scene where someone’s efforts against the Agency (though it hadn’t been known as the Agency then) had prevailed. It just wasn’t what he expected.
Of course, the gate had known he’d ask the question even before he’d thought to ask it. There was no way it had been a coincidence. There were no coincidences when the gate was involved.
The scene dissolved away, and the apartment came back into focus.
He ran for the kitchen drawers, pulling them open, looking for something to write with. Every vision the gate had shown him started out vivid but faded as quickly as a dream until he remembered only pieces.
He wasn’t going to forget this one.
Finally he found a black permanent marker, and began to scribble.
~~~
April sat at the long table in one of the downstairs meeting rooms trying to look like she was paying attention. Often, she felt like she was off in her own little world up in the Werner Room, and wasn’t as aware as she should be about what was going on in the rest of the building. The rest of the library staff seemed to be fine with letting her do her own thing.
After they’d finished discussing the needed maintenance repairs that would (or more accurately, would not) be made to the library that quarter and the events and classes they would host, Barb shuffled her papers.
“There’s one more item of business,” she said. “The nighttime guard position. I know many of you” —her eyes lingered on Becky— “feel that Andre might return, but frankly, it’s ill-advised to keep the library understaffed, especially at night when staffing is at a minimum. A call for applicants will be put out this coming—”
Becky cleared her throat, and, with a glance at Janet, began to speak. “Sorry to interrupt, Barbara, but I have a suggestion about the nightly guard position.”
Uh-oh, April thought. Was Becky still holding out hope that Andre was going to come back? She hoped not. She already had enough to feel guilty about.
“Oh?” Barb said. “I’m listening.”
“I don’t think we need to post a call for applications. We already have someone who fills the role of security guard.”
Barb pinched her nose. “Becky, I… admire your loyalty to Andre, but—”
Becky shook her head. “Not Andre. Randall Washington.”
April sat up straight. “What?”
Becky’s eyes darted to April, but Barb ignored
her outburst. “Randall Washington? The homeless man? I’m familiar with the name. You’ve had many instances in the past where he’s been a disturbance.”
Becky nodded, then shook her head. “That’s true, but he hasn’t had any incidents in the last year, except for a minor outburst when he found out that Mae had passed. And can you really blame him for that? I mean…”
Becky seemed to lose her nerve under Barb’s scrutiny, and Janet began to speak. “This is something we’ve been discussing for a couple weeks. Randall has stepped up since Andre disappeared. When Andre’s son went missing, he prevented his ex-wife from attacking April. Both Becky and I witnessed this.”
Becky seemed to regain her nerve. “And ever since, Randall has helped around the library, making sure that everyone is safe. He’s done this with no expectation of benefit to himself.”
Janet pulled out a stack of papers. “These are written testimonials from customers and staff detailing times that Randall has acted as a guard.”
Barb sighed and held out her hand for the papers. Janet passed them down the table.
Janet spoke. “He’s successfully calmed intoxicated patrons without need for police involvement, dealt with unruly teens, and even helps patrons find materials.”
“We wouldn’t even need to train him much,” one of the nighttime library assistants said.
The others nodded their agreement.
Barb spoke again. “Be that as it may, HR requires staff to have a mailing address. He’s homeless.”
“No, he’s not,” Becky interjected. “He recently moved in with a friend. He was telling me about it the other day.”
This was true. Randall and Rex had moved in with Thaddeus so they could keep an eye on him—not that April would describe him as a friend.
“And he’s a veteran,” Janet added.
Something sparked in Barb’s eyes. “A veteran, huh? It would make a nice story, something to distract from Andre’s disappearance and the gas leak debacle.” She grimaced at the memory. She looked through the papers, her lips pressed together in calculation. Finally, she looked up at April. “Ms. Walker. Your name isn’t on any of these testimonials, yet Randall spends the most time in the Werner Room, if I remember the write-ups correctly.”
