The Archive of the Forgotten (Hell's Library #2) - A. J. Hackwith Page 0,128

stretched, unfurling like a spring leaf. She rose to her feet, still facing away, full of an alien grace that her coltish limbs hadn’t had before. She tilted her head one way, then another, as if releasing a crick in her neck. As if, a suspicious part of Hero’s mind supplied, she was limbering up for a fight.

But when Rosia turned, pivoting on the ball of one foot like a dancer, her expression was relaxed. Her gaze, as it flicked around to each of them, felt altered. No longer spectral and eerie, but focused. She still had moonbeam eyes, but sharp as a crescent shaped by the dark.

“Rosia?” Brevity crouched at the side of the basin. There was a tension in her shoulders that said she was trying. She was trying to be librarian, do her duty, hold it together by her fingernails. Claire’s shoulder shivered beneath his hand. They were all exhausted, all wounded and changed, one way or another. Hero recognized with a sudden certainty that if pressed to a fight one more time, it’d be too easy to break.

The smooth skin of Rosia’s brow furrowed for a moment, perplexed, before she appeared to recognize Brevity. “Hello there.”

Hero’s alarm stalled—not decreasing, but freezing in place. Rosia’s voice had been high and soft, a whisper from a ghost girl. The voice she wore now was warm and solid, like a well-made violin.

Brevity’s face knit into concern. “Rosia? Is that really you?”

The damsel appeared to take that question seriously, pursing her lips for a silent second before nodding. “Quite. I am the most me that I have ever been, in fact.”

“You’re not Rosia.” Claire’s own voice was full of cobwebs. Hero felt her shiver before she cleared her throat and tensed again. “Rosia was a specter. A ghost girl from a ghost story.”

“Rosia was that, for a long time.” She didn’t look upset by the accusation, just thoughtful. “She wanted to be more. Knew there was more. Tried to be more. But the story kept coming through. It was like drowning.” Her pale eyes diverted down to the empty basin at her feet again. Toes scuffed against dry stone. “Easier to drown in ink.”

Hero made a scoffing noise in his throat, if only to make sure the roil of emotion that clotted his mouth didn’t come out as a sob. “Yet you don’t look drowned. It destroyed me.”

“It didn’t mean to.” Rosia looked serious and folded her hands in front of her chest. “You asked for a story and it tried to give you one.”

“I wanted my story,” Hero hissed.

“That was a mistake. Ink can’t write what’s not in you.” Rosia took a step forward, hesitating when Claire flinched back. She stopped near Brevity, who appeared to be staring openly at Rosia with something approaching wonder, not suspicion. “I listened—read? Yes, I read. I read and I read all the stories, until I found myself again.” A smile cut through Rosia’s somber affect. She grinned down at her hands, wiggling them before turning that delighted glance on Brevity. “It took a while, but I found myself in stories. I don’t have to be a ghost. I’m not a ghost.”

“You’re not a ghost,” Brevity repeated with a little awe. “Everyone looks for themselves in story.”

“It worked the same for you, didn’t it? Once you started listening.” Rosia turned her attention, sharp and bright, on Hero, and it felt like a dissection. “You put yourself together with stories too.”

Hero had nothing to answer that. Rosia had touched the ink and found certainty; he had only survived with more questions.

Claire’s head had been bowed, but it came up slow as a rising thought. “Rosia, where’s your book?”

The girl looked down at her hands. They smoothed down her ivory skirt and came away clean. There was no lump in her pocket, no place to stash a small rectangle of paper. She let out a low breath and smiled at Brevity. “Librarian, can I go home now? I’m hungry and this place is too quiet.”

“Rosia, your book—” Claire began sharply.

“I am my own story now.” A first thorn of defiance pricked through Rosia’s voice. She paused, considering. “Or I am many. I haven’t decided yet. But I am enough.”

The minute twitch Claire made traveled up Hero’s arm like a quake. She opened her mouth, then closed it with a shiver.

“Librarian.” Rosia had focused on Brevity again, and a kind of delight softened her face. “I am glad you’re still here. Don’t worry; I’ll help with