The Library of the Unwritten - A. J_ Hackwith Page 0,6

themselves. Brev here being an exception worked out by the Muses Corps.”

“When they kicked me out,” Brevity muttered.

Leto nodded uncertainly. He had heard the rumors, of course. The whispers about the unwritten works by Hell’s librarian. Claire hadn’t held the position that long—thirty years was a blink in Hell’s terms—but she’d become a whispered name in demonic courts for the stories she’d left uncreated, filling the shelves, worlds unmade. The rumor said there was a whole annex of the Unwritten Wing that housed her works, under lock and key, never visited. Buried under the fog of some old and quite horrible scandal.

Of course, Leto thought, any good rumor always had a scandal.

“Right,” he said, attempting to recover, rubbing the back of his neck, and looking anywhere but at the stern woman. “I just . . . Well, shouldn’t you be doing your time to get out of here? Isn’t that the only reason mortals are here, to, y’know, work through their . . . their . . .”

“We all get the afterlife our soul requires. I’ve heard the sales pitch,” Claire supplied with an impatient cluck of her tongue. “This is mine. Lucky me. The trick they don’t tell you is that the longer you’re here, the harder it is to remember anywhere else.” She paused as Walter lumbered slowly back out of the gloom. “It’s quite inconvenient. As are these questions.”

“S’why boss needs a summons,” Brevity said. “Spirits and demons can come and go on business. But mortals can’t leave Hell if their souls haven’t freed them yet. But with a bit of ritual magic, library folk get a day pass.”

“A day, no more,” Claire said. “Not everyone gets access to a ghostlight, but since it’s part of the Library’s duties, King Crankypants has to make an exception.”

Leto couldn’t help but twitch every time she did that: refer to Lucifer with a horrific pet name. It was disrespectful. Undignified. Not done. He’d begun to suspect that was why she did it.

Walter reached the counter and paused to pat delicately at his suit pocket. He whipped out a pocket square the size of a bath towel and wiped the counter before carefully placing two waxy candles on it. He then heaved one of the large glass jars filled with colored fog and set it next to them on the counter. “Modern-day Seattle area, aye? Where you want t’ be set down, Miss Brevity?”

Claire answered instead. “City center is fine. Space Needle, if you need a landmark.”

“The base of the Space Needle, this time,” Brevity added with a scrunched-up face.

“Oh yeah, sorry ’bout that . . .” Walter furrowed his brow and twisted the jar sharply, once, twice, three times. Each time, the swirling mist inside changed color slightly, darkening from sky blue to navy, brightening from forest green to spring. The colors settled into a slate blue and lime swirl, and the eyeless creature seemed satisfied. “That should do it.”

Brevity stood on her tiptoes to reach over the counter and inspect each white candle before sticking them in one of the many pockets of her cargo pants.

Leto eyed the swirling jar and edged another step toward Claire. “Pardon me, Miss Librarian, but I don’t think I’m authorized to travel. I was just supposed to—”

“Deliver the assignment and assist with completion. This is assisting.”

“I don’t think I’ll be much help—”

“It’s just a summons, Leto.” It was the first time the librarian had bothered to use his name, and the demon felt irrational heat in his cheeks. She offered him a trace of a smile. “A summons to a relatively boring time and place on a relatively boring errand. If you’re new, it’ll do you good to learn how these things work. I imagine that’s what High Grump had in mind. Unless you want to return to him to check?”

“No! No. I mean, if . . . you’re sure, ma’am.”

“You have matches?” Claire asked her assistant, and Brevity nodded.

“And spares.”

“Right. Walter, whenever you’re ready.”

The giant nodded, rubbing his gnarled palms on his pants once before twisting the lid off the jar. Leto caught what sounded like a whisper of seagulls as Walter set down the lid with a clang. The giant took the oversized jar carefully in two hands, leaned over the counter, and upended the jar over Brevity’s head.

The mists swirled out, not so much in a downpour, but like roots seeking purchase. They snaked around the muse’s head and swiftly raced around her, thickening as the room filled with the