The Archive of the Forgotten (Hell's Library #2) - A. J. Hackwith Page 0,122

women who were not her enemies, prisoners, or rivals, but friends. She was so stupid it took the deaths of hundreds—hundreds of goddamn wonderful people—to realize it. It was your fault, Claire! Okay? I’ll finally say it. It was your fault, and none of this would have happened if you had just talked to me! And not—”

A shiver, starting somewhere distant and rolling right through Brevity’s chest, stole her breath. Black scales began to flake and peel. Beneath, just beneath, were the tiniest freckles of brown skin. Distantly, Brevity realized Rami was praying. It seemed fitting, trapped in her own confessional. “I blamed you, Claire. I said I didn’t but I did. And then when there might have been a way to fix it, you just—you just gave up. When it was no longer your job to care, about the books, about me, you just gave up.” The world spun, as if she’d lost touch with the ground again. Which was strange, because Brevity couldn’t even feel her toes. She was fairly certain it was her turn to melt. “I’m here to make you decide, right now, whether you are giving up on yourself or not. You’re not a story, Claire. You’re a human; you’re my human. And if you end, I’m ending with you.”

She couldn’t feel Rami’s hand. Everything was color. That’s what black was, wasn’t it? All color, all the potential color of the world together, minus light. Everything and nothing at once. There was no wall between the air in her lungs and the air without. Only the low, steady pulse of Rami’s prayerful words in some angelic tongue. The ink was ignoring her now, passing through her the way she herself passed away, in favor of drifting along the currents of Rami’s words. Black peeled away to reveal a brown cheek. Claire was under there, surviving and wonderfully human in every way Brev was not.

Brevity would never be human; she was a muse. So as the language of the spheres rolled through her head, she did what muses do. She let go of the allure of story, let inspiration and ink fall through her fingers, and fell to Earth.

36

HERO

Going mad is an excellent defense. Nothing is so discounted, dismissed, as an eccentric woman speaking the truth.

Librarian Fleur Michel, 1792 CE

“NO, NO, NO, NO . . .” A keening sound shook Hero out of his shock and pulled his gaze away from Rami. Probity rocked on the ground, holding Gaiety to her chest, but her attention was only on Brevity. She took sobbing breaths and straightened. “No. I can fix this. I won’t let her do this.” Probity abruptly lowered her unconscious younger muse to the ground. She started forward with intent in her wet eyes.

Hero drew in a breath and had Rami’s sword raised and leveled at Probity’s throat before he exhaled. The muse’s reddened eyes narrowed. “Get out of my way, book.”

“I don’t have one of those anymore.” Hero’s quiet admission startled a reaction out of Probity. Hero hardened his jaw and kept himself and the blade between Probity and the others. “I don’t think I get to be a story without a book. Then again, I haven’t been sure what I am for a while. I’ve tried and thought I was winging it, you know.” His smile was a snarl, but it wasn’t directed at Probity. “I was a loyal assistant for Brevity. I was a clever rival for Claire. I tried to be a questing hero for Rami. An angel that needs a hero—imagine that.”

Probity made an impatient noise and tried to brush past the blade. Hero twitched his wrist. It was a tiny movement, but just enough to flick the tip of the sword into the soft of Probity’s palm. She drew back with a hiss, and Hero waited. He waited calmly, silently, until Probity raised her chin and met his gaze with glittering hatred in her eyes.

“I’ve tried to be a lot of good things for each of them, in every way they need to be loved. But if you threaten them, if you take one single step closer . . .” Hero’s breath broke. He slid his foot forward, relishing it as Probity jumped back a step at the end of his blade. “For you, for their sake, I will be the wickedest and worst monster. That’s a promise.”

Muses were always in motion, so when Probity held still it was an unnatural sensation. Her breathing was fast as she