The Archive of the Forgotten (Hell's Library #2) - A. J. Hackwith Page 0,23
Contrary to the poetry the librarians spout, the medium is different from the message. At least in this case.” His face flickered before settling into something uncommonly serious. “I have a right to wonder about what I am, don’t I?”
Rami shifted, folding his arms in front of himself for lack of something to do. As much as he liked to discount Hero’s behavior for plots and antics, there was something disconcertingly earnest about him just now. And Ramiel always did have trouble ignoring earnest appeals for help. “Then shouldn’t you be assisting Brevity with her research?” It’s what he was supposed to be doing himself right now. For Claire. Yes, that was something safe to do. Rami abruptly grabbed the inventory log and walked toward the rows of storage.
Hero’s footsteps followed behind him. Rami tried not to notice how much less springy and more purposeful they sounded now, soft, solid clicks against the hardwood. “With the Unwritten Wing and Arcane at odds, I don’t think an answer is set to be found. Not here.”
He was right, but Rami focused on locating the next item to be secured per Claire’s orders: ah, a span of gold fleece. He folded it up with intense focus. “Claire and Brevity will sort it out. They always do.”
“I’m not sure they will, this time,” Hero said softly, and Rami risked a glance. Hero’s gaze was unfocused, set somewhere at shelf height and a million miles away.
“What makes you think that?” Heaven curse him, Rami had really intended not to ask. But it was the wrinkle that tugged at the corner of Hero’s distant gaze. It softened him a little. Made him look almost . . . sad. Almost human.
Rami had always had a weak spot for humans.
Hero’s answer was a ponderous shake of the head. “Claire’s always been bullheaded. That’s not what I’m worried about. The muse always seems to see clear to soften her up and see sense eventually. But Brevity—” Hero’s brow crinkled. “She’s been under pressure. Not just with taking over the Unwritten Wing. She took the losses of the Library hard—every single book. You knew she was close to the damsels?”
“I assumed as books—”
“No,” Hero snapped, then heaved a sigh. “Not as books, as people. We’re people, not just dusty paper. The muse has always seen us . . . seen books . . . as individuals. Felt each loss individually too. It took a toll on her. There are times I catch her staring at the card catalog like a graveyard. She hides it well, but—” Hero stopped, gaze flinching sideways as if just realizing the way Rami watched him. He straightened, pulling on attitude like a rumpled vest. He plucked a finger at the gold wool in Rami’s hands as if it was a displeasing wardrobe choice. “Well, not that I care, but muses are so transparent, and one might worry it might affect her ability to maintain my book.”
“Your book. Yes.” Rami paused with the golden wool enveloping his hands. He hadn’t had great call to spend a lot of time with the broken book. He knew Hero was of the antagonist type of his book; he knew he was a fine swordsman; he knew he never failed to taunt and irritate Claire when presented with the opportunity. Rami knew Hero had escaped the Library once, though he seemed to have stayed content here since the coup, for no reason that Rami could discern.
None of the things he knew made Rami likely to trust him. Not, at least, as he’d begun to trust Claire and Brevity. He’d mostly avoided Hero—found him an irritating distraction whenever they shared the same space—and thought the feeling had been mutual, as Hero had returned the favor.
And yet here he was. Asking . . . for what exactly? “You propose an independent investigation?” Rami guessed.
“An independent investigation,” Hero said with a horrible stodgy impression of Rami’s voice, a mock frown distorting his face for effect. “Yes, that’s an excellent term for it. Let’s call it that.”
Rami didn’t find that reassuring, but he couldn’t find fault in gathering more information, at least. “Your wing is the one with the books.”
“Not,” Hero said cautiously, “the ones we need.”
It took Rami more than a couple of moments to follow that thought to the insane place it led. He stepped back and had to resist crumpling the fleece in his fist. “You mean outside the Library?”
“Not technically!” Hero said quickly. “Just a different wing! Or two. Three.”