by A J Hackwith
The moment the words were out of her mouth, Claire regretted them. Beatrice recoiled as if struck, lip curling into a startled scowl as she shoved herself away from the desk. She stumbled backward a step, losing her natural grace.
“Bugger.” Claire chewed hard on the inside of her cheek as she berated herself. Her hands stilled on the book. “Bea, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know how you meant it.” Beatrice’s voice was brittle.
“No, I meant—the way the world was when I was alive, the way my family was, I just meant—”
“I get it.” Beatrice’s jaw worked, and she refused to meet Claire’s eyes. “But the woman I loved wouldn’t have said it.”
The hurt simmered in the air, as bitter as ash. Guilt, oily and cold, settled in Claire’s stomach. She sighed, rubbing her nose a moment before pressing forward. “That’s the point exactly. I’m not that woman anymore. I’m not even the lonely soul that you enchanted in the Library. I am the librarian. I don’t need your protection or concern. It is unwelcome.”
Beatrice frowned down at the book on the desk between them, as if she suddenly found herself in a different story than she’d thought she was in. “It doesn’t matter who you are now. You said yourself Hell is—”
“If I decide I want to leave the Library, I will exit under my own resources. This is not a rescue. I am not your quest. I’m sorry.” Claire wasn’t used to trying to sound kind, but she tried for Beatrice.
She felt a mirrored hurt as the unwritten woman’s shoulders dropped. Beatrice turned away, sitting heavily on the edge of the desk. Tension sang in her back as she turned blank eyes out the window.
Claire waited a breath until she could be sure her voice would be steady before pushing the point. “My quest is the lost pieces of the codex. Your repairs are nearly done—you can glue the cover yourself. Now, will you tell me where they are before all of Heaven and Hell falls down on us?”
Beatrice was still for a long moment, long enough for Claire to begin to doubt she was going to respond. Then she tilted her chin down in an imperceptible nod. “Check the back.”
Claire parsed the words a moment before the meaning dawned on her, and her mouth fell open. Her gaze dropped to the old unwritten book in her hands. She flipped the book over and thumbed through the back pages until a folded sheaf of even older papers fell out. “You kept them with your own book. So when you asked me to repair—”
Beatrice gave a cold, airless chuckle. “Even a fool knows where such dangerous things belong. You’re the only one I would trust with them. And with me.”
Like heat roiling off a fire, power whispered in the air around the pages, whispers of dark things, undone things. Claire stared a moment, then very carefully wrapped the edge of her skirts over the remaining pages of the Codex Gigas.
“What will you do now?” Beatrice asked quietly.
The pages felt heavy and warm in the pocket on her hip. Claire wiped her hands as she finished stowing them, but the residual dread didn’t come off her crawling skin. Her lips fell into a hard line. “We leave. But first I need to talk to a hero.”
27
CLAIRE
Librarians are wisely advised to stay out of the business of realm politics. Nothing good comes of the powers of realms meeting. There’s no clear answer, between paradises and damnations, which are stronger. It depends on the time, the place, the tilt of the world and the spin of the stars. Mostly, it depends on the mortals involved.
It seems blasphemous. In a constant war of immortal forces, ancient demigods, good and evil, the most powerful piece on the board is the fragile pawn of a human soul.
Librarian Yoon Ji Han, 1802 CE
Stay out of politics? Ridiculous! When has a writer ever managed to avoid politics? Every story is political. Tell a soul a story they want to believe, and you can change the world.
Librarian Gregor Henry, 1932 CE
CLAIRE FOUND LETO AND Hero in the kitchen, conferring over a wood-block table. Despite being seated, Hero had to stay at a perpetual hunch to avoid knocking the shiny copper pans overhead. The room was small, cluttered, but cozily appointed in line with Claire’s own tastes, like every other part of Beatrice’s flat. Leto and Hero had a pile of prepackaged cake snacks on a platter between them, and Hero’s frown deepened as he scrutinized one still in its cellophane. “This does not look at all like cake.”
“It is. Try it,” Leto said.
“It’s hard and shiny.”
“That’s just the frosting. It’s soft inside. Well, softish. Try it. Everyone loves them.”
Hero gave him an arch look and finally took a sizable bite. A moment to chew, and then cake sputtered across the table from an explosive cough. Leto broke into a giggle as the other man doubled over. When he finally recovered, Hero’s eyes watered with a withering look. There was a smudge of cream hanging from his offended frown. “You neglected to mention the toxic filling.”
Leto bit his lip. “What? It’s sweet!”
“Sweet? No, honey is sweet. Freedom is sweet. A pretty boy or handsome girl is sweet. That? That burns.” Hero took a large gulp from his mug of tea. “Such nonsense. This is worse than the other place.”
“I don’t know. They seem to bathe more here,” Claire said.
Two faces looked up. A familiar, crooked look of disdain righted itself on Hero’s face. A bit of chocolate frosting clung to his upper lip. He gestured dismissively to the cakes on the table.
“That’s only because you haven’t tried what passes for sweets here yet. Help yourself. Or can we finally leave?”
“I have the codex pages. We just need to find Andras and prepare to leave.” Claire held out her hand. “May I see your book a moment, Hero?”
Hero unfolded himself from the chair and wiped his hands. He reached into his pocket as he rose and handed his book over to her. “I’ve been perfectly behaved. Is there some—”
The flat leather of the cover connected with his jaw, along with the full weight of the tome and Claire’s swing behind it. Leto startled, scattering the snacks on the table as he stumbled to his feet. Claire silenced his squawk with a raised hand, never taking her eyes off Hero.
Hero leaned over the table, massaging his jaw. Canniness and caution flooded his eyes. “What was that for?”
“You never told me.” Claire ran her fingers over Hero’s book, tugging at the blank pages she’d sewn in. “What exactly was your story like? A name like ‘Nightfall’ and looking as you do, I suspected high fantasy. Do you miss being a brave knight, Hero?”
Hero’s brows inched together. “Less than you might think.”
Claire swung. This time, Hero anticipated enough to lean away, deflecting the blow. He came up and backed against the wall. A hanging pot clobbered his head. He grimaced and raised his hands. “Peace, woman!”
Claire held the book over her head again.
“What’s wrong with you two?” Leto stumbled between them, holding up his hands though he didn’t seem certain who was a threat to whom. He visibly relaxed when Claire lowered her arm.
“Lesson time, Leto. It’s important to know your archetypes. You know the difference between a hero and a typical villain in a fight?” Claire said, pinning accusing eyes at Hero over the teenager’s shoulder. “Heroes are optimists. Ambush a hero, and you’ll get shock, anger. Retaliation at the injustice. But a villain, a villain, now . . . they know how betrayal works. Strike a villain, they expect it. Villains get cautious, not angry.”
“Oh, I can be plenty angry,” Hero said.
“Don’t.” Claire clenched her hands and had to remind herself not to twist the book in her grasp. She shouldered past Leto and shoved the book hard into Hero’s chest. “You lied.”
“It was more of a . . . failure to correct.” Hero grimaced down at his book. “You were the one that started calling me a hero! I didn’t th
ink I’d be around long enough for it to matter, but then . . . well.”
“You’re a villain.”
“And you’re a murderer!” Hero snapped. “If we’re going about handing out titles. Were we supposed to forget that?”
“Don’t try to deflect this—”
“Like you did?” Hero leaned into his space, a harsh sneer coiled and ready to strike. “Perhaps we should be talking about what is going to happen when the whole of Hell’s court hears about what you did, hmm? When we get back, I’m going to have such fascinating stories to tell.”
Claire held her expression still, despite the self-doubt and misgivings curdling through her anger. “I’m the librarian.”
“For now,” Hero said. “What would you do to stay that way? Maybe you could lose track of another book, warden. Let’s talk about that.”
“Like. Hell.” She held his glare, the only sound in the kitchen Leto’s nervous shuffling. She would hide, she would obscure, she would mislead, but hell if she would ever fail the Library again. She couldn’t stand more ink on her hands, stains that wouldn’t rub out. Claire shook her head. “You were never a hero.”
“Figured that out on your own, did you? Here I thought I’d been the perfect gallant.” Hero’s lips thinned into a line before his eyes moved over her shoulder. “Or was there a little bird?”
Beatrice lingered at the kitchen door. Her arms were crossed and she held herself tall and tense, like an arrow pulled ready for a target. “Some of us care about the truth.”
“Oh no.” Claire whirled on Beatrice. “You don’t get to say a word about the truth.”
A nerve twitched in Beatrice’s haughty face. “I’m not the one who—”
“I don’t trust either of you. At least he”—Claire practically stabbed Hero’s chest—“knows it’s a lie. He pretends to be a hero—but you think you’re being heroic.”
Beatrice’s expression became injured and glacial. She said nothing before withdrawing again. Claire waited until the unwritten woman had disappeared down the hallway to release her sigh between pursed lips. She turned and caught Leto’s look, which was part judgmental teenager, part injured puppy.
“You are very good at driving people off,” Leto said.
“It’s a gift.” Claire’s smile felt forced, but she offered it anyway.
Hero lost his bravado after the outburst and wilted against the wall. “It appears we both have secrets to keep—”
“Don’t.” Claire cut Hero off. “We will discuss your future—at length—when we get back to the Library. But for that to happen, we must get out of here. I do have a way you can help redeem yourself. Call it an act of goodwill.”
“How fortuitous for me.” Hero narrowed his eyes. “Why do I feel I am not going to like this?”
Claire merely smiled and gestured them both toward the table. “We need a distraction.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
WHEN CLAIRE EMERGED FROM the kitchen into the study a short time later, Andras was lounging on the couch with a cup of coffee and already deep in discussion with Beatrice. He rose when he spotted her entrance, and gripped her shoulders tight in a hug. “I’m sorry, pup. I tried.”
His hands lingered on the tension in her shoulders. It was supposed to be a comfortable squeeze, but felt more like a measuring of meat.
Claire ignored the quiet alarm in her gut. “The angels are already here?”
Andras ghosted a nod. “Roosting like vultures on the outskirts. They aren’t in yet, but it’s only a matter of time—an hour, if we’re lucky.”
“Hell,” Hero muttered as he and Leto emerged from the kitchen behind Claire.
“Heaven, if we’re being precise.”
“They’re watching the main gates, but I was discussing our options with Beatrice just now. There’s a road that leads out to the farmlands. Only used by the residents. The bridge looks unguarded. I don’t think they know about it,” Andras said.
“The Hellhounds will smell us the minute Leto and I step outside the wards. How far is this entrance to the nearest realm gate?” Claire shot a sharp look to Beatrice. “There is a gate to an afterworld here, yes? Malta has too much history to be barren.”
“There is . . . of a sort.” Beatrice’s stiff frown fell into uncertainty. “It’s not active, as far as I know. There are some ruins connected to the catacombs—old, very old. There’s a gate there, but I don’t know what it connects to. Could be a dead realm. A lot of beliefs have lived and died here.”
“It will get us out of Earth, which gets us away from the Hellhounds. At this point, I’ll barter passage with the tooth fairy if I have to.”
“The tooth fairy is real?” Leto asked.
Andras’s grin was malicious. “Not the sort you’re thinking, child.”
Claire ignored them both as she considered, rapping her fingers on her crossed arms. “How far from the gates?”
“On foot, at a dead run?” Beatrice sounded doubtful. “It’s close. You could make it in a couple minutes.”
“There’s no outrunning Hellhounds, pup. You step outside the ward, they will be on you.” Andras’s gold eyes softened. “Perhaps you should consider your hero’s offer and stay here.”
Claire raised a brow. “The demon wants me to abandon Hell?”
“The demon doesn’t want to witness his dear friend’s demise. Or that of her stray.” Andras nodded to Leto. “You’ve been through enough. You could stay safe here, just for a while. I can think of something to tell the royal cuss when I get back. Maybe even get him to call off the Hounds.”
A sour huff escaped Claire’s lips. “Even you don’t lie that well, Andras.”
“I’ve accomplished more in my time.” Andras pressed a hand to his lips. “Please. Stay here. Live a long, ridiculously human life. Several lifetimes. Read books, feel the sun, get happy and fat. You’ve done your time; your soul deserves it. Give this pretty idiot a chance to redeem herself.”
Claire shook her head. “There’s too much at stake right now.”
Andras’s eyes strayed to Claire’s pockets. “Send the codex with me. I will take care of it.”
It was tempting, even now, even with Claire knowing what she knew. Perhaps Andras saw that. He saw the way Beatrice had created a home—their home—the one that they’d imagined. There, by the window, where Claire could read within a pillar of sunlight. There, an alcove where her typewriter could go—maybe even the modern equivalent—and she could finally try to write all those stories that had festered and burned cinders into her brain. The quiet streets, the charming locals, the distant sea. The coats by the door, perfectly matched.
Of course it was tempting; fantasy always was. It was terrible and it was beautiful and it was. Claire’s chest felt tight, possible futures clenched in a trembling breath. If she risked looking to Beatrice now, it would be all over. “You’ve been a mentor and a good friend, Andras. Always looking out for my best interests. But you taught me to be a better librarian than that—don’t insult me by asking me to give up my duties now.”
Andras’s smile was strained; a shadow passed over his eyes. “Forgive me, Librarian.”
Librarian, not pup. Claire inclined her head, and turned to find Leto looking at her with sad eyes.
“I’m staying,” he said.
Claire swallowed, still shaken. “That’s not unexpected.”
“I can’t leave, ma’am. I won’t die again.” Leto’s voice sounded flat. “And even if I don’t—I don’t want to be a demon anymore. I’m human here.”
Claire dropped her gaze. She understood; of course she did. And the understanding built to a weight in her chest. She squeezed Leto’s shoulder once, and then there was no more putting it off. She turned to find Beatrice watching her. “You will help him?”
“He can stay as long as he wants. Just as you could.�
�� A quiet had overcome her. It was ridiculous how quickly it came back to Claire, how easily she read Beatrice’s moods. She knew every tell, the way the soft skin at her temple twitched when she was carrying an injury.
The air was dry; that had to be why it hurt when Claire took a breath. “You know I can’t.”
“I know, and I know you.” She made an aborted gesture with her hand, as if she’d reach for Claire but wasn’t certain if she was allowed to. Beatrice’s dark, serious gaze never left Claire’s face. “I’ll always be here. If you ever lose your way again.”
Claire refused the heat at her eyes. No use allowing such a thing now. “I’m never lost.”
Beatrice’s mouth broke into a glittering, sad kind of smile. “That is true.” She sighed. “And I know people in town who can set Leto up with whatever he needs.”
Claire swallowed and forced her chin up and down in a nod, and nothing more. “Thank you.” She glanced back to Leto. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” Leto’s tone wasn’t at all believable.
“You can do this.” She gave him one fierce hug, patting down the disarray in his bushy hair, straightening his collar. Then, and only then, she turned to Andras. “You know where this gate is?”
“I do.”
“And you’re certain it’s clear?”
Andras nodded, eyes sad.
Claire drew a quick breath. “All right. Then let’s run for it.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
THE SILENT CITY EARNED its name when dusk fell. As tourists fled on taxis and buses, the city eased into a domestic quiet. The sun sank below the tall stone walls, painting the streets in lavenders and grays. The streets were nearly empty as Claire, Hero, and Andras made their way quickly through them.
Beatrice had wanted to guide them herself, but Claire insisted she stay with Leto. The angels were still trying to get in, and if they made their way to the flat, they would discover Leto. From what she’d seen, she wouldn’t count on the serenity of Heaven keeping the peace.
