Unhallowed (Rath and Rune #1) - Jordan L. Hawk Page 0,25

was a thing of destruction and despair, and anonymously expressed their instinctive dislike. “We can search the bindery, if you like. See if we can find some clue as to what has happened to O’Neil. I’ve already looked through the desk—any personal items he might have left behind are gone, but if you’re willing, feel free to conduct a more thorough search in case I missed something. I’ll look through the various cabinets and make certain they only contain the supplies they’re meant to. Oh, and I should check the backlog, in case the book was sent here for repair and there was no note made of it.”

Sebastian looked down at him, eyes wide behind his silver spectacles. “I don’t mean to keep you from your own work, but thank you.”

Ves’s throat tightened. He wondered suddenly what would have happened if he were a normal man. Human. Unafraid.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice huskier than he’d meant it to be.

Sebastian’s lips stretched into a slow smile. Now that he’d dropped his chilly demeanor, stopped treating Ves as an intruder, he was even more of a temptation than before.

No. He couldn’t let these thoughts get the best of him, not when there was no hope of having anything more. Ves turned away quickly and went to the nearest cabinet.

It wasn’t long before Sebastian said, “I believe I’ve found something.”

Surprised, Ves left off his own search and joined Sebastian at the desk. The archivist had emptied and removed the drawers, and now he drew Ves’s attention to the empty space where one had been. “Look—a tiny spring.” He pushed it in with a pen nib, and a small click sounded.

Sebastian smiled triumphantly as what had appeared to be a decorative column separating the pigeon holes shifted slightly. He tugged on it, and it slid out; the column was in fact the front of a concealed document drawer.

“How did you know to look for a hidden drawer?” Ves asked.

“I didn’t, exactly.” Sebastian flushed slightly. “Puzzle boxes and the like are something of a hobby of mine, so I just thought I’d take a quick look and see if there were any hidden compartments.”

“Well done,” Ves said. “What’s inside?”

Sebastian turned up the drawer. An envelope with something heavy inside tumbled out, along with a sheet of paper yellowed with age.

Ves picked up the paper first. On it, a bold hand had written:

“To whomever comes after me: I charge you to continue our sacred work. To stand against necromancy and things from the Outside, and bind them so they cannot exert their will on our world.”

Below were four signatures:

Nathaniel R. Ladysmith, December 13, 1859

Thomas Halliwell, February 10, 1864

Rebecca Rath, October 31, 1882

Kelly O’Neil, January 28, 1905

Ves’s fingertips tingled faintly. He’d seen signatures in blood enough times to recognize it now. “Rebecca Rath—that’s your mother, isn’t it?”

Sebastian’s face had gone pale with shock. “I…yes. And Thomas Halliwell was my great uncle—my maternal grandmother’s brother.”

“But what does any of this mean?” Ves was no sorcerer, but he would have bet his last dollar that there was some sort of magic at work here. If he placed his own signature below the others, he’d be taking the most solemn of oaths.

What the devil was going on in this place?

He’d scoffed when his seatmate on the train had warned him against coming to Widdershins. But its museum was a maze, and its library a labyrinth. The head librarian kept a skull on his desk and a bloodstained book on his wall, and threw knucklebones to decide who to hire. Bats performed pest control. The librarians were convinced curses kept their books safe from theft.

And now it seemed those who worked in the bindery had been signing some sort of blood oath to bind more than just books.

“It’s the sort of thing one might find in a secret society, though one with a very limited membership.” Sebastian pushed his glasses up on his forehead and squinted. “I’d have to take a closer look, but on first inspection the paper appears to have been made prior to the 1860s. We have a few—sadly few—documents signed by Mr. Ladysmith, so I would have to compare them to confirm the authenticity, though at first glance it seems to match. But Kelly’s and my mother’s signatures are real.”

“I bow to your expertise, archivist,” Ves said. “I think it’s safe to assume Thomas Halliwell’s is authentic as well, then.”

“He trained my mother, just as she meant to train me.” Sebastian’s lips flattened into a tight