The Archive of the Forgotten (Hell's Library #2) - A. J. Hackwith Page 0,21

swift strides that sent the torn edges of her skirts frothing like waves.

And then there was this walk. Claire had barely paid attention to the gargoyle as they’d exited, and now she took the stairs in a silent flutter. No less swift, no less decisive, but it was as if the space she’d taken up had narrowed. Shoulders tugged in, feet placed one in front of the other as if walking on an eternal tightrope. Narrowed, focused, but drifting all the same.

It was her thinking walk. Not when Claire was just thinking—the infernal librarian was always thinking—but when she was thinking without resolution.

It’s not as if Rami knew the resolution to . . . Hell, he wasn’t even sure he was clear about what had happened. They’d discovered an anomaly, Claire had been injured, and in the librarian’s infinite illogic, that meant they’d tested that anomaly in the Unwritten Wing and everything had gone . . . askew.

Ramiel wasn’t used to disorientation. He’d worked in several dimensions of existence, after all, before the Fall. He liked to think he had a reasonably flexible perception of reality. But when Claire had placed the blackened pen point to the page, all hell (to abuse the term) had broken loose.

“Quarantine,” Claire said softly to herself. Rami waited a polite moment to confirm that she was actually addressing him before clearing his throat.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes? Oh yes, Rami. I do not like the idea of leaving a pool of that malicious ink open to the air, but we’ll need to section off that area until I can convince the wing to repair itself,” said Claire as she dropped her pen case on the worktable near the door. “And I’d feel better if we locked up the more . . . porous . . . curio items until this is all settled. Anything cloth or paper should be moved, at the very least.”

“Arcanist.”

“As part of the Library it’s going to be difficult to keep damsels out, but I think we can whip up a ward that will discourage them at the very least. Of course, it would be much easier if the Unwritten Wing had the sense to lock down and turn away visitors, but I don’t suppose we should hope for that much wisdom right now. It is our duty to crack on. We should also take care to watch the door—”

“Claire.” Rami put just enough sharpness in his voice to finally halt Claire’s tightrope pacing. She glanced up at him with an affronted look, which Rami tried to mollify with a raised hand. “What happened, up there? You’re rattled.”

“I didn’t—” Claire bit her lip before speaking further. She very carefully looked anywhere but down at her hand. “I hadn’t expected it to work. It shouldn’t have worked. Unwritten stories aren’t supposed to last beyond their books, Rami. That’s the point of the Unwritten Wing—maintaining and caring for the books. Take Hero, for example; he’s stuck as he is because his book’s been damaged. If some part of a story can survive the destruction of its book, then what really are stories made of? The repercussions . . .”

Claire trailed off. Rami waited, but she didn’t continue, instead stared distantly at the fountain pen on the table as if it were a viper. It was a sentence she wasn’t prepared to finish—or couldn’t finish—and Rami knew better than to press her. Instead, he placed it in a context that was safe for both of them. “And the responsibility of the Arcane Wing in this scenario?”

Claire snapped back to herself. “Safeguard artifacts of power. You’re right—of course you’re right,” she said, though Rami really hadn’t said anything clever. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever this is, it’s too dangerous to experiment with. Hell has always been obsessed with the Library, and if they find out about this, they’ll turn their eyes on the Arcane Wing as well. And we’re not nearly so well warded as the Unwritten Wing.”

“When are we not under threat from demons?” Rami muttered. “But Brevity and Hero seemed to think—”

“Brevity will come around. In the meantime, we have to protect them from their incorrect assumptions.” Claire diverted her eyes again and began to fiddle with a stack of papers.

“Your hand?” Rami made a placating gesture as Claire glared at him. “I only ask because it’s my duty as your assistant to understand if you are working under any . . . diminished capabilities.”

“Do I look diminished to you?” Claire’s chin jutted up, and it was