The Archive of the Forgotten (Hell's Library #2) - A. J. Hackwith Page 0,62

help maintain the integrity of the story. But that was curation. That was editing. Ink unattached to a book felt like a tool of creation. Or destruction. Ink could be both, to written words. Brevity saw the potential—it was why she argued for experimenting to understand if this substance could restore lost books—but the hard look in Claire’s eyes said she wasn’t thinking about creation.

Brevity couldn’t hold that gaze. It hurt too much. She diverted to the vials in Claire’s hands. Just ink to Claire. But Brevity saw the colors. Lucille’s familiar tangled skein of tawny gold and violet spilled light from the right vial, twining like lazy mist between Claire’s fingers. Unwritten books always reached for Claire, for humans. The left vial was different. The colors that reached from the mystery ink were numerous, like a rainbow put through a blender, chopped into static.

Probity had an intent expression at her side. She could see it too. Carefully, Brevity reached out. Claire’s eyes narrowed, and she half expected her to snatch her hands back, but she allowed Brevity to carefully pick up each sample. She held Lucille’s up to the light, as if to examine it. The threads of color still wisped through the air, back to Claire. No interest in Brevity’s nonhuman touch. It’d been that indifference that had troubled Brevity during her time as a muse too. Humans created; muses only inspired.

But Probity thought that could change.

Her stomach fluttered at the thought, so Brevity quickly switched to studying the ink from the Arcane Wing. The static cloud of color flickered when she held it up, and Brevity half expected it to lash out. The spectrum churned and subsided, drifting like a fragmented cloud around the glass.

Not reaching.

“Slight differences,” Brevity said carefully, as if just admiring the sheen of the ink. She brought her hands together. The glass vials had begun to warm against her palms, along with a quiet, persistent treachery of an idea.

“They are different,” Claire allowed. There was an intensity in her eyes as she tried to catch Brevity’s interest. “I know you want to try to restore the lost books, but until I can fully test these inks, it’s too dangerous—”

“Tests.” Something like emotional vertigo tilted through Brevity. She wanted answers; she wanted redemption; she wanted hope. But if it was Claire’s job to experiment and understand unknown artifacts now, it was Brevity’s job to preserve the books first. It felt like a mirror of their previous argument, and wrong. “The damsels are not here for you to test on.”

Claire sighed. “Brev, I don’t mean it like that. You know I wouldn’t—”

Brevity clenched her hands together around the vials. “I know you’ve stayed away from the Unwritten Wing for months”—leaving me to pick up the pieces—“and now you finally return, only to damage one of the books in my care. The books aren’t here for your whims, Claire. Not any longer.”

Too far, too far. Claire’s cheek twitched and her back straightened. Her voice dropped to a strange softness. “You don’t have to remind me of my failures, Brev.”

“No,” Probity spoke up, just as soft, backing Brevity. “But she does have a duty to protect the Library from them.”

Wrong, this was all wrong. But Brevity had only one way forward—Claire had only left her with one way, no matter how much she hated it. “The Arcane Wing has claimed jurisdiction over the unbound ink. But Lucille’s ink is part of her book. I can’t allow it to leave the Unwritten Wing.” She rolled the vials in her hands before stiffly holding one out. “Any further ideas you have should be run through me. But in the meantime—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Claire interrupted lowly. She snatched the vial back and shoved it into her pocket. “I won’t be needing any further help from the Library in this matter.”

You’re the Library too. Unwritten and Arcane against Hell, remember? Stop. Think this through. Misery welled up in Brevity’s stomach as Claire strode away, disappearing into the shadows of the stacks as quickly as if she could shadowstep.

17

BREVITY

Myrrh. When the log revealed these entries, I knew Fleur had to have taken leave of her senses. Any logical person would—there’s no need for a fanciful conspiracy when a god-demon has absolute control over the realm. I set about disproving Fleur’s conclusion with hard application of facts.

I couldn’t. There are irregularities that make no sense. The pages of the Library’s books have no detectable composition or construct. Books exist on the shelves