Unhallowed (Rath and Rune #1) - Jordan L. Hawk Page 0,77

for his brother. What might Sebastian have done for Bonnie, if their places had been reversed?

He took his glasses off and buried his face in his hands. Exhaustion slowed his brain; he hadn’t slept much last night. The memory of the various reasons why that had been sent another wave of bitterness through him.

Enough. Self-pity would get him nowhere.

He dropped his hands and put his glasses back on. He’d just begun to put the letters into some sort of order. He picked one from around the time of the museum’s completion—like the previous letter, this one had never been mailed.

Nathaniel R. Ladysmith

Widdershins, MA

July 3, 1859

Alex,

I don’t know why I’m writing this. The staff at the asylum say you have to be restrained, to keep from hurting yourself or those around you. You are in no fit state to read a letter.

I suppose I’m putting pen to paper in anticipation of your recovery. I have to hope that someday we’ll be together again. These things that haunt you will loosen their grip on your mind once the final brick is put in place in the library, and Emeline Hollowell trapped completely, where she can no longer taint the sanity of those around her book.

Why did I let you talk me into binding the books to you? The strain of mastering them all was too much for your mind. Why did I listen to you; why didn’t I share the burden and bind them to myself instead?

I’ll spend the rest of my life despising myself for putting you through this, even if it was at your insistence. I can only pray for your recovery and hope our time together is not at its end.

With all of my love and affection,

Nathaniel

Sebastian’s throat felt tight. Alexander Dromgoole had died in the madhouse. Ladysmith’s hopes had been for naught; they’d never seen one another again.

God. Poor Nathaniel.

Perhaps Sebastian had let his temper get the better of him when it came to Ves. He was angry and betrayed, but Vesper had confessed in the end. He’d exposed things about himself to Mr. Quinn and Sebastian both that he’d likely never shown to anyone else, and done it to save the library from Fagerlie.

Was Sebastian about to throw away a relationship he’d spend the rest of his life regretting having lost?

He forced his eyes back to the letter. Ves had said Fagerlie meant to have the Book of Breath bound to him using his hair as thread. It sounded as though Dromgoole had done the same, only with all four books, and it had driven him mad.

Ladysmith clearly hoped the end of construction on the library would free Dromgoole somehow. “…Once the final brick is put in place in the library, and Emeline Hollowell trapped completely…” he read aloud.

No. It couldn’t be.

He put down the letter and began to rifle through the pile of architectural drawings. Dromgoole hadn’t restricted himself to any particular type of building, it seemed. There were churches, houses, even a tomb. Finally, near the bottom of the pile, he found page after page detailing the layout of the museum.

Sebastian spread them out across his desk, then onto the floor when the desk proved too small. The set seemed very thorough. There was the overall site plan, then elevations, sections, and floor plans encompassing both entire floors and specific sections. A disproportionately large part of the stack seemed dedicated to the library—although, as the labyrinth was the most complicated single part of the museum, that made sense.

He studied the plans intently. There had been a small renovation on the second floor, after the battle between the world-ending cult and the librarians resulted in damage to one wall during the Dark Days. Otherwise nothing had changed that he could see.

He flipped through to the elevations and sections. There was something about them that nagged at him. Maybe it was simply that they reminded him of the puzzle boxes he enjoyed putting together. Indeed, the library could have been a puzzle box writ large; it appeared the various rooms and sections left a hollow at the center. Or, rather, a single thick column which no doubt supported the roof.

Didn’t it?

He sorted hastily back through the other plans. Nothing else in the museum looked remotely like this.

The renovation. The alteration was slight. But if this had been a puzzle box with something inside, the pieces would no longer have fit together correctly. The pattern disrupted.

Or, more accurately, if he was right and the library itself was a