The Library of the Unwritten - A. J_ Hackwith Page 0,66

“Now, listen. Go back with the ravens. Wake up the Library—it will listen to you. I’ll send messages if I can—you can have Walter help you do the same. Business as usual, but if anything troubling occurs, you have full authority to lock it down. Got it?”

“Lock it down? But I don’t—”

“You can do this.” Claire swept her up into a smothering hug that was almost as alarming as her orders. Things were truly serious if Claire was hugging. “I expect tea when we get back.”

Brevity felt like she’d swallowed a slug. “Don’t have any fun without me.”

Claire made a dismissive noise. “No books, no annoying assistant, Mediterranean island. Going to be a vacation. Might not come back.”

“Don’t you dare.” Further words were cut off by a disturbance of wood and steel coming from the longhouse. Arlid glanced at Bjorn, and he nodded.

“If yer goin’, now is the time.”

“We are.” Claire released Brevity and nudged her toward the raven woman. “Make sure she gets back safe.”

“That’s up to her soul.” Arlid gripped Brevity by her shoulders, jerked, and then the meadow disappeared in a smothering rush of frost and feathers.

18

CLAIRE

Books have songs, songs have stories, and then there’re humans at the heart of the jumbled mess. I’ve come to the conclusion that you just can’t subtract a human from the story, no matter how hard you try. Even death doesn’t do that.

Librarian Bjorn the Bard, 1712 CE

BJORN LED THEM ON a serpentine path across the field, hiding their escape in a churn of lavender that tickled and tugged at Claire’s skirts and suffused the air with flowers. The day had passed twilight into the kind of crystal night seen only in the after-realms. There was no wind to carry sound, but no one spoke, and for once Claire was happy for an absence of words. Leto’s concern fluttered at her back like a wounded bird.

She wasn’t running away, precisely. She was fulfilling her responsibilities, sending Brevity back to the Library. She’d waited too long to give Brev more responsibility anyway. Even if this all turned out to be a fool’s errand, it was good for Brev to get a feel for running the desk. Brevity was competent, talented. The Library would mind her, and nowhere was safer. She would be fine.

She would be fine.

“All aboard.” Bjorn broke into her thoughts as they stopped at the edge of a lake.

It was the same shore that they’d arrived on, cold and barren. There was no dock, just a stone-mortared embankment jutting out into the dark water like a tooth. A shabby weapon stand and a coil of rope were the only things that marked any official status. A small, open wood boat swayed, half-anchored on the sand. It was larger than a canoe, and the lip of the thin wood was painted a cheery green that didn’t reassure Claire in the slightest.

Thick gravel churned under their feet, and the water sent a shock of ice through Claire’s feet where it lapped at the toes of her shoes. She climbed aboard and Hero and Leto followed with significantly more reserve.

“We’re sailing to Earth?” Leto asked, as if, after the day he’d had, that would be the logical conclusion.

“Just till we get out of the realm.” Claire tossed Bjorn the rope that anchored them and passed an oar to Hero.

“I hope you know more of sailing than I do, warden.” Hero eyed the oar with reluctance but positioned himself to row.

“Head toward the mists, fast as you can.” Bjorn braced a foot on the bow of the boat and gave a shove to dislodge it from the gravel. “I’ll handle the rest.”

“Right. You’ve got the hard part.” Claire caught herself as the boat began to hitch and bob beneath her.

“Just find those blasted scribbles before Heaven does.”

“Beat an archangel, divert war, save our souls. Simple as that?” Claire called.

“I still got my bets set on you.” Bjorn raised his voice to be heard as the boat drew out into the lake. His grin was a spark of white against the dark.

They cleared the shore, and Claire snapped up the second oar, earning a surprised nod from Hero as she bent in to row. They fell into a quick rhythm and were nearly to the mists when a noise rose up from shore.

Two figures—one tall and vengeful, one short and stony—appeared at the rise. Andras was nowhere in sight of the shore, which Claire hoped meant he’d escaped according to plan. The tall angel,