The Archive of the Forgotten (Hell's Library #2) - A. J. Hackwith Page 0,100

this, but he disliked imagining Hero’s fate even more. He took a steadying breath and carried the items back to the worktables.

Claire’s pet raven was waiting for him, hunched like a vulture over a leather satchel. Rami made a shooing motion as he approached, but the bird continued to worry at the leather strap.

“Off with you.” Rami set down his load and tried to gently scoop the bird into the air as he’d seen Claire do a number of times. She took a stab of his palm for his trouble, which distracted Rami long enough that by the time he finished cursing, the bird had hopped to the other end of the table with the dented crown in her beak.

Time felt as if it were running askew. Rami pressed down his fear and quickly packed the other items into the satchel. “I’m going to need that.”

The bird honked a particularly vulgar response and fouled the chair beneath her.

“Don’t care much for you either,” Rami muttered. He made a move to grab the crown, but the bird hopped to the next table over. Rami sighed, resisting the urge to skewer the bird on the end of his sword, and studied her instead.

The bird was a sullen mess of feathers and terrible attitude, as usual. Her beak clicked as she worked over the thin metalwork of the crown in her jaw. Rami didn’t precisely recognize the piece, but the collection of the Arcane Wing was huge. The crown was a swooping circlet of gold, with a shape that resembled branches, or elk horns. Each crook of metal was crusted with emerald and rose agate, which reminded Rami of Hero’s copper hair.

Rami’s mind betrayed him with the image of Hero in a crown, crooked with that ironic smile that saw all of Rami’s flaws. Hero lived to prod at regrets, which Rami supposed was what drew him to Claire and Rami over Brevity. Early on, Rami couldn’t understand why Claire tolerated him. His first impression of the character had been a boy playing at being a man. His second and third impressions hadn’t fared much better, but Claire had trusted him, so when Hero came to Rami with an audacious request for help, Rami had imagined shepherding the boy out of trouble.

Rami had been quite wrong. It’d been Hero who knew the questions to ask in the library at Elysium, and Hero who’d kept his cool as the Chinvat bridge judged their souls and found them wanting. It was a ridiculous judgment. If the judges of Chinvat had half a level of discernment, they would have tossed Rami off the bridge for all the wrongs his soul carried, instead of focusing on Hero.

The raven squawked again. She flicked her head and improbably tossed the crown across the room. It landed somewhere near the door with a crash that made Rami wince. He shook his head as he went to fetch it. They didn’t have time for this. They never had time, but Hero was lost somewhere in the afterlife and every realm seemed to have a murderous obsession with punishing—

“Souls.” Rami’s fingertips froze above the crown. The realization staggered him like a punch to the gut. He jerked straight and stared at the raven. The bird was watching him expectantly. “Lost souls.”

The raven clicked once, the most approving sound Rami had heard her make. Ramiel, the angel, had been granted certain gifts, gifts he retained even after being exiled from Heaven, retained even here in Hell. Rami was a shepherd of souls. His mind was still reeling when Claire emerged from the back of the archives, carrying a cloak and a particular gray dagger. She looked drawn and resigned as death, but she paused and tilted her head when she caught sight of Rami. “What now?”

“Arcanist . . .” Rami carefully measured each word, uncertain when the idea forming in his head would give out beneath him. It was too fragile to say out loud yet. “What would you say if I thought I could track where Hero’s gone?”

Claire’s fingers jumped along the dagger. Rami prepared for the questions, for the inquisition of Claire’s logical mind that would poke holes in what was surely a false hope, but none came. Instead, Claire considered the crown at his feet before raising her gaze with a hungry kind of certainty. “I’d say, when do we leave?”

27

HERO

There is no library of secrets. Secrets cannot be kept or curated. Secrets have no need for a library,