by A J Hackwith
“Oh, duke, that’s right.” Claire’s thin smile waxed into something confident. “But you were cast out in a bout of normal demonic politics. You thought you could buy your way back into favor if you deposed me and could offer the books of the Unwritten Wing in return.”
“But he failed,” Rami said, just to see Andras’s frown deepen.
“But you failed,” Claire agreed. She lifted her shoulders in a dismissive shrug. “Not the first to try to burn a library in pursuit of power or politics. It’s practically human of you, old man.”
“Don’t insult me, pup.” Barely contained disdain twitched at Andras’s nose.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. But the fact remains that instead of returning to court you have been imprisoned in a knife of your own making. Malphas knows, by the way.”
Again, Andras’s nostrils twitched at that.
Claire smiled. “She was dearly interested in getting her hands on you. I am the only reason she didn’t.”
“You expect me to be grateful?”
“No, I expect you to be curious.” Claire crossed her arms. “If I can protect a miserable traitor from the all-powerful general of Hell, what else can I do to affect the demonic court?”
Andras opened his mouth, then reared back with the impact of a thought. “If you expect me to believe you can reinstate me in court, you must be desperate. You can’t.”
“I am confident that I can,” Claire said levelly. “In fact, I have a plan that would do precisely that. If, and only if, you help me preserve the Library from Malphas’s machinations.”
“And what is the other option, Claire? Else you’ll bottle me up in the dagger?” He cast a disdainful look at the shattered gem at his feet and stepped over the detritus. He stalked, leisurely, toward Claire. “The books don’t rise to your beck and call anymore. You may not find it so easy a second time around.”
“I agree. So much easier to just let Rami strike down a threat.”
“How pedestrian,” Andras murmured. He turned on his heel, sharp and fearless, and fast enough to make Rami brace his grip on his sword. “Is that what you’re here for, then? Decide to trade one loveless object of worship for another?”
“You wouldn’t know anything of love,” Rami growled between clenched teeth.
“I have the capacity to know just as much as you.” Andras paid no mind as a blue flame formed on the sword and began to dance along the killing edge. “We’re the same, you and I. Our differences are merely a matter of context.”
“Choice. I remained true; you didn’t.”
“Did you? Is that how you find yourself in Hell’s service?”
“I serve the Library, not Hell.”
“What fine distinctions you cut.” Andras lazily dropped his gaze to the sword tip. “It must be a relief, to exercise your darkest rage and call it justice.”
Rami gathered himself, the blade in his hand steady. “You will not bait me.”
“Won’t I?” Andras said mildly. “A shame.” He appeared to dismiss Rami in a glance and turn his attention to Claire. Escaping his regard was like the relief of a cold edge of metal leaving your skin.
If Claire felt it, she showed no sign. But Rami could detect the tension in her eyes, the coil of plans and desperate contingencies she didn’t want to spring. She affected a bored sigh. “If you are done picking fights, Andras, I really do have other business to attend to.”
“More important than me? I am intrigued.” Andras could change his demeanor with a whiplash precision. His snarl faded into a scholarly interest swiftly. “I don’t doubt your intelligence, my dear. But if you have summoned me because you need my expertise with the courts, I fail to see how you can promise anything I haven’t been able to gain for myself.”
“Malphas knows we are trapped. She intends for me to barter dearly for the Library. You are just a bargaining chip I can slide into the pile when she’s not expecting it. Besides, I’ve surprised you once already.” Claire lifted her shoulders with a casual dismissal. “Are you certain I couldn’t do it again?”
The silence answered her question. Andras’s gaze sharpened as he ran inward calculations, infernal odds. After a drawn moment, he nodded. “I may be willing to play your game out. But I want a security.”
Claire’s eyes narrowed. “You have no position to make demands, Andras.”
“Yet I have nothing to lose. If I refuse your deal, you’re still going to have to deal with me and the hassle of containing me again.” His fingertips flicked at Rami without looking at him. “I promise I can make that quite a task. You don’t need another distraction right now, hmm?”
Claire’s lips thinned. “What do you want?”
“I help you, you regain my standing in Hell’s courts. I lack your confidence in your ability to deliver. So.” Andras drew out his words, lining them up like dominos. “If you fail, I want something else I know you can deliver.”
“For gods’ sakes, Andras, just spit it out.”
“If you fail to deliver my return to court,” Andras said, “you forfeit your soul instead. To me.”
“My soul is already tied here, to the Library. I have never had a say in my fate.”
Andras smiled. “Let me worry about the paperwork.”
“You’re no match for Lucifer.”
A horrific scraping sound escaped Andras. Rami realized with a dawning terror that it was a giggle. Demons were not made to giggle. “Lucifer? That’s a name I haven’t heard in ages. Oh, Claire, how I’ve missed you. There’s so little you understand about the realms you inhabit.”
Claire was too proud to ask it, so Rami asked for her. “What does that mean, demon?”
“It means you’re right: you do need my help more than you know.” Andras tugged at his tailored sleeve and removed an imagined speck of lint. His cool gaze slid to Claire.
The charred floorboards creaked as she shifted, and it sounded like a warning. “I agree to your terms.”
It felt as if the Library itself flickered. Rami felt as if he’d been punched. “Claire!”
“It’s not as if it matters.” She crossed her arms as if suddenly chilled. “My plan will work, and Andras will have his infernal playmates back. And if it should not . . .” She faltered, and Rami read the way she clenched her jaw to keep the ghosts at bay. “If not, we’ll be lost anyway. So, fine, if I fail you can damn me, or lead me around by the nose for all eternity. If I fail at this, my soul is forfeit anyway. You’re welcome to the ragged ends of it. God knows I’ve never had much use of it.”
A smile, cold and bilious, crept up Andras’s face. Claire held up one finger. “You will honor the intent of the terms—”
“No need to wrap me in a djinn’s promise, Claire. The spirit of the game as you propose it is far too enticing as it is. I will not need loopholes.” Andras clicked his tongue as Claire opened her mouth again. “And yes, yes, I will behave as your ally on all things as far as this arrangement goes. I will not hurt a precious hair on your assistant’s head, or so much as dog-ear a page of a book.”
Claire pursed her lips into a fine line. It gave Rami a chance to step up and touch her arm. “Don’t do this. You cannot possibly believe you can trust or control a demon—”
“We have an accord?” Andras prompted.
“It is done, Rami.” She finally looked at him, and the dark of her eyes was wet and unreadable. She gave him the slightest shake of her head: Don’t, leave off, follow my lead. She turned her attention back to Andras. “Brevity is librarian now, you should remember that. Hero is her assistant.”
“A book minding the books? What an absurdity.”
Hero was many things, but Rami wasn’t certain a mere book could be counted among them anymore. Just as well. The more secrets they held over Andras, the safer they would be. Rami would not be the one to correct him.
“And what does
that make you?” Andras always knew the question to strike the most emotional damage. Claire was braced for it, and only Rami saw the thin flinch of the papery wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.
“A patron of the Library. As are you. Come. We should get back to the others.” Claire turned on her heel, as if Andras was a pesky book to be ordered around. “This will require some explaining.”
“Oh, you do spoil me with such entertainment.” Andras brushed past Rami’s shoulder and fell in step with Claire, side by side, out of the ashes and into the Library.
A sigh of air ruffled Rami’s feathers, and he craned his head to the shadows of the ceiling. The Library settled uneasily into the silence. Rami agreed with the sentiment.
29
CLAIRE
Hold tight to those who have earned your trust, kiddo. Hold tight to those who have earned your trust, your softness, your fury, and your fire. Hold tight to those whose stories resonate with your own.
A heart is a kind of library.
Librarian Fleur Michel, 1720 CE
Andras got his entertainment. Claire had thought she’d steeled herself when she emerged out of the depths of the Library with her former enemy at her side, but the way Brevity flinched, then looked hurt, undid all Claire’s certainty. Brevity faded back a step like a wounded animal and didn’t say a word during Claire’s brusque, thorough explanation.
It was still better than Hero’s reaction. Claire forced herself to look at him. He’d flinched as much as Brevity when Andras had made his entrance, but it was a flinch forward. He hadn’t removed his scabbard since the Valhalla interview, and his hand was on the hilt and the blade free before Claire could speak a word. When she finally did begin talking, instead of staring at Andras he turned his gaze to Claire with a stark, unreadable look.
Claire barely spared a moment to consider the other librarians’ reactions. Bjorn was the only one who had known Andras, and Claire didn’t need to look to feel the aggrieved insult radiating off the Norseman. Their opinions didn’t matter anyway—not as much as her people’s did. Once, the Library had been her world. Strange how a heart could grow but narrow to a pinpoint of focus.
The thought slowed Claire’s defense. Brevity appeared to have been waiting for the opportunity of the pause. “Why?” Her voice cracked at barely a whisper. “Why him?”
Regret was oily in her stomach. Claire swallowed hard. “The Unwritten Wing has rebelled once before. While our case is more formidable with all the Library united behind it, I don’t trust Lucifer to play fair.”
“You think Andras will help us? Out of the goodness of his heart?” Hero was acid and hurt.
“Bold of you to insinuate I have a heart, book,” Andras said.
“No.” Claire bit down on the explanation of the deal she had made. She didn’t dare look at Rami to see if he would keep her secret. “We don’t need him to help; we simply needed leverage.”
“Boss—” Brevity said in that low tone that threatened to morph her hurt into pity. No, Claire didn’t want that. She turned sharply and faced the skeptical faces of the librarians.
“We’ve already explained the import of the situation. The Library does not choose the unintelligent. None of you are stupid enough to fail to grasp how dire the need is. This is not a discussion. You can speculate and debate all you like, but we have no other choice. The Library rebels, or the Library dies.”
“Stories don’t die,” the young man with the notebook mumbled.
“Souls do. Or will wish they did. Go ahead and ask any demon.” Brevity leveled her gaze around the room. “Most of you come from paradise realms, so maybe you think you can come to an agreement with your hosts. But ownership isn’t safety, no matter how benevolent.”
“A leash is a leash,” Hero said quietly.
Hero had won the right to talk about leashes. Claire nodded but hesitated to open her mouth. There was a granite line to the turn of Brevity’s chin that said she wasn’t done, and didn’t need Claire to justify herself.
“Pup.” A voice in her ear made her flinch. It wasn’t the menacing purr she heard in her dreams, but Andras’s voice always contained a threat where there’d once been reassurance. He had drifted to a stop just behind her chair, arms crossed, a kind of calm curiosity on his aquiline features as he watched the librarians continue to debate plans. His eyes didn’t drift, but he knew Claire was listening. “Have you given any thought to after?”
“After?” Claire found herself murmuring out of the side of her mouth too. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to disrupt Brevity’s progress with the librarians. Not because she didn’t want to be seen speaking with her supposed prisoner. “I wouldn’t think that’d be your concern.”
The edge of Andras’s frown twitched. “You’ve always been my concern, pup.”
“Don’t—don’t call me pup.” Claire breathed calm through her nose. “Your concern only ever existed to the extent it served your machinations. I’ll grant you played a long game.”
“I’m a patient creature.” Andras tapped a finger on his crossed arms, as if contemplating how much to say. “You are underutilized.”
No. Absolutely not. She was not bringing this divisive nonsense to the discussion. Claire slipped out of her chair and drifted to the kettle in the corner. Andras, predictably, followed. “Some people don’t seek to control and use everyone around them.”
“No. You’ve acquired . . . friends.” He made the term sound like lice. Andras sighed as she sedately set about the ritual of brewing a new pot. How many pots of tea could put off the inevitable? “And that’s why you’ll fail.”
“I believe I can convince Hell to release its hold. One way or another.” They were sufficiently far away that their voices wouldn’t carry to the table. Claire portioned a scoop of stout black tea leaves into the pot and checked to make sure her strainer was at hand as she waited for the water to boil. “I believe Hero could persuade the sun out of the sky, if need be. I believe that if anyone can draw a room full of librarians together, Brevity can.”
Andras appeared to grant that with a roll of his hand. “And then what?”
“And then . . .” Claire bought time for her thoughts by fishing for a spoon in the drawer. “We build something new.”
“Simple as that.” Andras’s sarcasm was acidic. “You know what you need, then?”
“A realm, a guide, a library, and a god,” Claire said to herself. She’d repeated it, like a perverse kind of prayer, since she’d picked it apart in Poppaea’s memories. The afterlife wasn’t all whimsy. To exist as a realm—not a hosted barnacle as they were now—they would need four things.
“I’ll grant you that you’ll have a people.” Andras tilted his head at the discussion taking place at the table. “I’ll even give you the unearned belief that you’ll find a way around a place and guide. But gods, Claire? Those are in rare supply these days.”
Hell and harpies. Claire had hoped that he wouldn’t have bothered himself with her strategy beyond what he wanted. The water came to a quick boil—thank Hell—and she poured it into the teapot with unnecessary caution. “We shall manage.”
“No. You won’t.” Andras may have been a patient demon, and a vicious enemy, but when he decided to press a point, it was quick. “There are no gods left, Claire. Not anymore.”
Claire jostled the teapot and nearly sent the kettle flying. She cursed under her breath and finished the pour before twisting her attention to Andras. “You’re lying.”
“Oh, the schemes I could make if I were.” Andras’s smile was bitter. “Really, my girl, hadn’t you noticed? There hasn’t been a real god ruling a realm since before you were born.”
“That can’t possibly be true. When I first arrived, Malphas—”
“Malphas gave you a peek of a minor illusion that you were still new and freshly dead enough to fall for.” Andras
scoffed. “Lucifer is hardly the only one to have wandered off. Didn’t your pet angel ever tell you what sent Uriel spiraling, desperate enough to hunt you?”
“He said—” Claire paused, gaze flying involuntarily to where Rami stood, a good sentinel behind Brevity. He’d likely tracked that Claire had stepped away, but he kept an intimidating countenance reserved for the librarians at the table. Ever the good soldier, Rami was. Strange how Heaven let him go so easily. “He said Uriel was manic. The angelic host had been left to rule on their own, and she was frantic to—” Claire stopped and took a sharp breath. She stared at Andras. “She was frantic to draw back the attention of their Creator. But that doesn’t mean—!”
“Lucifer, the Almighty, Odin—even the quieter notables like that bloody Monkey King. No one’s seen hide nor hair of them in centuries.” Andras sighed, as if it was a family embarrassment he was admitting. “I suppose I can’t blame them. All those eons, epochs, generation after generation of the same old whining and needy creation? Anyone would need a vacation.”
Claire refused to believe what she was hearing. She reached for her tea but found her hand shaking, to her distaste. She glared at her palm. “But for the afterlife to exist, there must be gods somewhere.”
“Perhaps. But the only ones left in the realms are us. Demons, spirits, monsters, and mortals.” Andras was quiet for a breath, just long enough for her to look up. “There will be no almighty to save you.”
“I do not expect to be saved.” Claire couldn’t help but cast a glance over her shoulder. The only ones who had taken notice of her absence, outwardly at least, were Hero and Brevity. Hero’s alarm was watchful while Brevity’s was . . . sad. Undefinably sad. Claire looked away again. “You said something about being underutilized.” She drew herself up to meet Andras’s stare again.
“Me? I’m just a spectator. How could I know anything?” Andras demurred, chuckling at whatever surely murderous expression appeared on Claire’s face. “I only wanted to counsel you to think about the Library’s future, and yours. I am deliriously curious to see a new realm born. What kind of god could become a library, after all?” Claire frowned. Andras was circling something he apparently felt was incredibly clever—and important—but she didn’t see how. When she didn’t say anything, Andras merely smiled. “It will be spectacular. I’m sure. Your tea is getting cold, dear.”
