The Library of the Unwritten - A. J_ Hackwith Page 0,4

leafy thicket.

Claire’s target was the far wall, a large section of buttery pale yellow drawers. Endless rows of drawers that hadn’t been there a moment ago. The Library functioned on requirement, shifting and flowing to the needs of the books and librarians. Leto eyed it with anxiety, but Claire shoved the folder back into his hands. She began to scale a ladder clipped to a rail. “Author name and story title?”

“Ah . . .” Leto opened the file. “Author, McGowan. Amber Guinevere McGowan.”

Her foot stabbed out at the wooden wall, and the ladder coasted a few feet down the row of drawers. “McGowan. Right. God, middle name Guinevere? What were her parents thinking? No wonder she never became a writer.” Claire yanked a drawer open. “Title?”

“Uh, the missing title just says ‘Nightfall.’” Leto looked up as Claire let out a snort. “Something wrong?”

“I think every writer, written or unwritten, has some glorified adventure titled ‘Nightfall’ stuck in their head. Half the residents here were a ‘Nightfall’ at one point. Even unwritten stories eventually migrate to something more original.” Claire danced her fingers over the drawer before snapping up a card. She slid the drawer closed and descended.

Her sneaker-clad feet hit the ground, and Claire headed for the exit. “Calling card says it’s definitely still in Seattle. Brev, you up for a field trip?”

Brevity’s gold eyes grew to saucers, and she stumbled forward in a little dance. Her voice wasn’t quite a squeal but flirted with the idea. “You mean upstairs?” she said breathily. “Always and forever, boss.”

2

LETO

This log is a curious thing. Previous volumes appear to date back to early Sumer. Yet I can read and understand every word. Books are a strange kind of magic in this Library.

The reading has been enlightening, no doubt. Though rambling and peppered with a plague of personalities, it chronicles the training and supplemental experiences of every librarian that has helmed the Unwritten Wing.

Ancient Egypt had her Book of the Dead, a scroll buried with loved ones to guide them and advise them on their behavior as they navigated the afterlife. I suppose that makes this our Book of the Dead Librarians. All the proper protocols for navigating but never escaping this place.

Thousands of years of librarians have kept their advice in this book. Somewhere, somewhere, there’s got to be a solution for the problem I’m faced with.

Apprentice Librarian Claire Hadley, 1988 CE

HELL WAS A SERIES of hallways. An endless series of hallways, at least to a junior demon. They wound through passages Leto didn’t recognize, broad balconies, and whispering broom closets. They passed jagged stairs and alcoves with shadows like wounds, and finally a non-euclidean gargoyle that had a troubling habit of not quite staying in the viewer’s spatial perception. Leto averted his eyes from it at the start of a wince-inducing headache.

Each hall was lined with a narrow bay of windows. The first looked out upon wide fields of wildflowers, the next on a dark cavern with endless pools of starlight, the third, a lava-drenched plain. The conflicting light painted the hallway in a rainbow of bright and dark, yellow afternoons and blue twilights spilling over them as they passed.

Finally, the librarian took a sharp right into a narrow doorway that Leto would have missed. Its wooden arch was decorated with an icon for travel: a small set of interlocking wheels, marred with the claw marks of large birds. He followed the women down a steep set of stairs, watching Brevity’s light teal hair as it bounced like a brightly colored flag. They emptied out into a claustrophobic office, taller than it was wide.

Leto stumbled to a stop behind Brevity and turned in a slow circle. The office was tall, he realized, in order to accommodate the dizzying rows of shelves that reached from the floor up into the shadows of the ceiling. Unlabeled jars of various shapes lined each shelf, putting out a faint but steady colored glow that was the room’s only light.

Brevity grinned at Leto with ill-concealed amusement. “First time traveling?”

“Yes, er . . .” Leto shot her an alarmed look. “Rather, no. I’m not going with you, am I? I just deliver the paperwork.”

Brevity shrugged and turned to tap at a glass jar that swirled with plum and sickly orange mists. Leto stepped toward Claire. “Miss . . . eh, Head Librarian?”

“Not now, kiddo.” Claire slapped her hand on a dusty bell sitting on the counter. Instead of a simple chime, a trio of vibrations pinged hard