The Archive of the Forgotten (Hell's Library #2) - A. J. Hackwith Page 0,127

if she’d touched a live wire. “The well. Rosia. I need to see the well.”

“You need to rest,” Rami started, but Claire was already teetering to her feet. The angel sighed and lent his arm. Claire charged down the aisle toward the back of the wing as fast as her battered body allowed.

That left Hero with Brevity. Luckily, his librarian was much steadier on her feet—and much more sensible—than the previous one. Brevity accepted a hand up but followed them at a sedate pace.

“You’re you, Hero,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear. “Claire just needs to work it out in her own head.”

The upside-down feeling in Hero’s head eased an inch. Brevity did that—saw the rough edges her people rubbed against one another and tried to smooth them. It was a remarkable trait, but Hero couldn’t remember anyone ever acknowledging it. He tried, but his throat was already clogged with so many things, he could only nod. “Did you know?”

Brevity shook her head slowly. “I didn’t—at least, I didn’t think I did. I didn’t put it together.” She chewed on her lip. “Maybe Probity had.”

Hero had too many emotions roiling like a pack of rats in his head to hold on to one more. He hesitated, then said, “She said something, before she left.”

Brevity looked up, full of trepidation. “What’d she say?”

“She said to tell you”—Hero took a moment to recall the words exactly—“ideas never die.”

The silence in Brevity’s eyes as she quickly looked away spoke volumes. Hero was literate in those silences, so he waited it out.

“It was something we said, back then. We thought we were invincible. We thought we could do anything. When I was a muse, we . . .” Brevity chewed her lip raw. Claire appeared to be having an argument with her black bird ahead of them. At least if she was that irascible, then Hero suspected she’d recover all right. “Muses are obsessed with humans. But we’re not taught to care about humanity as people, just as creators. The end creation is what is important. Ever hear of an artist wrecking themselves for their art? That’s a bad muse. And internalized capitalism.”

“But you’re not like that,” Hero pointed out, and Brevity rewarded him with a tired smile.

“Nah. I was always curious about humans. Then I got kicked out and actually had to deal with one. Woof.” Brevity pulled a face, but it was riddled with fondness as she glanced after Claire again. “Humans are a tough nut. It’s obvious—at least to me—that a story is essential to the person who tells it. No matter how cliché or common your story is, it’s you telling it, right? We understood that essential connection, but we didn’t care much about the soul. Few muses care much what happens to the human after the story is told.” Brevity fell quiet. “But taken too far, that’s how you get folks like Probity.”

Hero had a dozen questions queued up behind his tongue. He had a soul? Or just part of one? Was it his creator’s? Every book was made of a soul? What did that mean—for anything? He felt starved for answers, but they caught up and all of Brevity’s concern focused on Claire.

A well of shadows trumpeted out of the floor and cupped a basin within. The reservoir of ink at the back of the Arcane Wing remained, with one significant change. Claire’s knees banged into the ledge as she dropped down. Hero’s chest clenched as she leaned precariously over the edge with a gasp. “Rosia.”

The others rushed to join her—and if Hero secured a firm grasp on her shoulder to keep her from tipping in, it was purely out of professional concern, of course. He needn’t have worried. The interior of the well dropped away to a smooth concave of stone. The ink was gone, and left not a dab behind.

In its absence, instead, curled up tight as a seed, was a girl. Rosia lay on her side, arms pillowing her head. She didn’t move. Claire jerked forward and Hero was glad he had a grip on her shoulder.

“No,” Rami said from behind them, already moving past to drop down the slope of the basin. “Let me.” He crouched down as he approached Rosia and reached out. His fingertips were still a breath away from her cheeks when her eyes blinked open.

A tick in Rami’s shoulders put Hero on alert. Whatever he saw in the girl’s face startled him. Rami stepped back as Rosia