The Archive of the Forgotten (Hell's Library #2) - A. J. Hackwith Page 0,45

You never said ya could—” His gaze tracked down to Claire’s stained hand and stopped. It was a peculiar feeling when something as large as Walter froze in place. “Miss Claire, I reckon you got a story to tell me.”

A sigh welled up in Claire’s chest, and with it every dreg of exhaustion she’d tamped down since seeing Rosia disappear into the ink pool in the Arcane Wing. Walter produced a stool from behind the counter, and Claire retold the tale with her hands folded carefully on the claw-scarred countertop, ink black over soft brown.

By the time she reached the argument with Brevity, Walter’s brows had descended to nearly meet his nose. “You got yourself in a muddle.”

Claire’s lips quirked. “Well, if Death says it’s a muddle, then it must be bad.”

“I’m being serious. Serious as Sundays.” Walter hunched over, squinting at her hand with an earnest intensity. He gestured to the line of inspiration holding back the black. “That stopgap the others jury-rigged. It ain’t gonna hold forever, ma’am.”

“And what happens when it doesn’t? Since you seem to know so much about it.” Claire regretted the question as the sorrow sank into the nooks and crevices of Walter’s face. She cleared her throat and moved on. “That’s not precisely why I came to see you anyway. I—”

“Why don’t you make up with Miss Brevity?” Walter asked.

Bird made a noise that was akin to a goose being gently murdered, as if she was seconding the question. Claire’s smile became strained. “There’s nothing to make up, Walter. Brevity and I are fine.”

“If’n you were fine, she’d be here with you,” Walter said with solemnity.

“The Unwritten Wing has their own affairs, I’m sure. Brevity—” Brevity needed to be protected. Claire could not stand to be the cause of another ghost haunting Brev’s eyes. She just couldn’t. She pursed her lips around the words. “Brevity is too . . . distracted at the moment.”

It was true, even if not the truth. Claire thought again about the assessment in Probity’s first glance and the way the visiting muse was genial to Rami and Hero but curdled around the edges the moment Claire entered the room. When she’d been stained, it felt as if the visitor had helped against personal preference. The Muses Corps had never been her closest allies, even when she was librarian. But she hadn’t believed she’d warranted that kind of loathing, professionally.

Which left something personal. Claire simply did not have the time or temperament to deal with the personal. She was not inclined to tease out why some random muse didn’t care for her. It appeared she cared for Brevity with a sincere fondness from a long shared history. That was enough. At least it would serve to keep Brevity company while Hero and Ramiel jaunted off on Hero’s half-baked excuse to get out of the Library, and Claire got to the real work of solving the problem of the ink.

“It is for that reason I am attempting to find answers,” Claire finished, turning the strain in her voice into an overprecise tone that sounded wrong even to her ears. “I should have consulted with you sooner, Walter. I do apologize. Since Andras’s coup attempt I have been . . . preoccupied.”

“You been hiding.”

“I’ve been working.” Claire allowed the sharp edge to turn into a prickle now. “As you would know if you and the rest of Hell hadn’t been mysteriously absent in our time of need.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted me there, Miss Claire,” Walter said solemnly. “Not many people do.”

“Walter . . .” Claire started but quieted as he raised his beefy hands.

“Nah, ma’am. I don’t mean it like that. The nature of what I am—” His lips pulled tight, into a small smile that was unintentionally ghoulish. “No one invites me in, if they can help it. I’m glad I wasn’t there.”

“I understand what you mean.” Claire knew they’d come right up to the cutting edge of losing Hero. Leto. Even herself. But the rows of bodies turned to ash drifted to the forefront of her mind again, like a cloud. “But Death was there, with, or without, invitation. We lost so many.”

“Oh. I’m not supposed ta take sides,” Walter confided in a whisper. “But I don’t reckon those demon critters consider it much of a loss.”

“I wasn’t—” Claire frowned. “I was talking about the damsels. The books.”

“Oh.” Walter stopped and diverted a constipated look at his knuckles. “Right. Right.”

Giant shoulders strained at the seams of his suit as