The Library of the Unwritten - A. J_ Hackwith Page 0,70

brow, trying to call the narrative song of the book to mind like Bjorn had taught her. She rifled around in her soggy skirt pockets until she came up with a pale scrap of parchment.

It was small, smaller even than the codex remnant they had. It was the remains of a calling card—the calling card that Bjorn had destroyed . . . except for this ashy tendril of paper. She closed her eyes to listen. It was not an entirely unfamiliar sensation, Claire had decided.

It was like when she’d been alive. Whenever she read a book in a binge, cover to cover in a day with little break, she always found it stuck in her brain like a haze. The narrative voice stuck with her, and for a bit after, it was always like a waking dream, living someone else’s thoughts. The book haunted like a ghost in her head, coloring moods until she shook herself from it.

Tracking a song, like Bjorn had taught her, felt like that. Only instead of a vague feeling, it was a pulse she could hear if she listened close enough. The codex’s song was not a pleasant one. Dark and bottomless and splintered, broken glass and tremors in the deep, like corrupted Latin and whale song. But it was there, stronger now that they were on Earth, and she could trace it.

That, at least, was reassuring. She brought her attention back. Leto was staring at her with wide brown eyes. He did look rather puppy- dog-ish as a human, all teenage gangly. She remembered, abruptly, his rough trip to Valhalla. “Are you all right?”

Leto blinked, then rubbed his nose, not quite meeting her eyes. “Oh. Yeah, that one . . . wasn’t— It didn’t feel as . . . real.”

Drowning, apparently, was preferential to whatever he had seen on the raven road. Claire sighed and started wringing out her wet skirts, grimacing as she touched her tangled hair. “Andras will be along soon, if all went well. Where’s Hero?”

“He was going to go look for a towel and something to eat.”

Claire stopped midtwist. “You let him leave, alone, on Earth, with his book?”

“Yes?” Leto suddenly looked uncertain. “You weren’t waking up, and we were worried, so—”

“Oh, I’ll bet he was worried.” Claire struggled to her feet and spun in place. They were in an alley. “Which way did he go?” Leto pointed and Claire ordered him to stay put before she pelted into the street.

The roadway connected to the alley was wider but not by much. The thick walls, built to hold back the ocean and the invaders that traveled it, were composed of sedan-sized blocks of sandstone, as were the dust-choked streets. Many of the older buildings rose out of the same sandstone, though she could see newer constructions, bright plaster and steel cobbled and clinging to the parapets of the thick walls like barnacles on a pier. Everywhere, the architecture blended the most outrageous features of a dozen cultures together to spit out medieval walls and minarets with fairy-tale abandon.

The street was busy and forced Claire to waste time weaving between pedestrians. She shouldered her way downhill toward what looked like a port. The nearest form of transportation was a good bet for a book on the run, and Claire cursed herself for giving up her tools. She couldn’t easily locate, let alone call, an IWL outside the Library. That had to be what Hero was banking on. She would chain him to his shelf if he . . .

The road dumped into a square plaza. Claire had to boost herself up on the edge of a fountain to see over the crowd. She zeroed in on a flash of bronze on broad shoulders and dove into the throng again.

She found Hero at the back of a line for the taxi stand. He was slouched into his jacket, but said jacket was velvet and satin in a sea of denim, so it did little to hide him. Claire cleared her throat. “Food and towels? Really?”

Hero startled, but when he turned his head, he already had an innocent smile on his lips. “I am simply being solicitous about your health. I have it on good authority that the next village over has positively the best kebabs. . . .”

His face was handsome, symmetrical, and enticingly punchable at the moment. “Your consideration is overwhelming. Taxis, really, Hero? I’m insulted,” Claire said. “I thought when you decided to abandon your word, you would be a