cracked one eye open with great effort. His gaze glittered, beneath the bruises and black filth. Claire turned back to her work. “Heard what?”
“When you confronted Andras. You said ‘my book.’”
“Is that what you heard?” Claire felt a small smile grow on her lips before she remembered herself. Loss welled in her stomach as she shook her head. “No books are mine now.”
For once, Hero didn’t have a response.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
THE DOORS TO THE Arcane Wing protested as she pushed them open. Claire stood at the entrance a moment, squinting as she indulged her gloomy mood with the darkened interior.
It had taken much talking and two pots of tea to get Brevity to accept her sudden promotion. The muse had ranted and railed, and at one point Rami had had to restrain her from fade-stepping right to Lucifer’s court herself to set things right. But in the end, she’d slumped down beside Claire on the couch, sulking dully.
“This sucks, boss.”
Claire silently agreed, but she rolled her eyes at Brevity. “Only because it’s new. You will be an adequate librarian if you—”
“But after all we did. That I— It’s not fair.”
“What ever gave you the idea that Hell’s Library would be fair? You should know better by now. Stories are capricious at the best of times, and . . .” She bit off the lecture that might make her feel better but would only increase Brevity’s hurt. Tears had just finished drying tracks down her face, but the muse looked close to waterworks again. She slipped her hand into Brevity’s. “You’ve already proven yourself to be a champion of the Library. You’re strong, Brev. You’ll be an admirable librarian. Better than I was. Look at it this way. You can finally brew all the atrocious strawberry-whatsit tea you want.”
Brevity pulled together the broken bits of her smile. “And you’ll be there?”
“I’ll be around,” Claire said evasively. “Just not when you’re stinking up the place with that rubbish.”
There might have been kinder ways to pass the mantle, but Brevity had experience reading between Claire’s words. She rallied to help Claire finish restoring Hero’s book. Claire had chosen to rebind him in a vivid green leather cover—primarily because it matched his eyes, but also because it was bright enough to annoy his aesthetic. The book was repaired, but the front pages remained stubbornly blank. No matter what techniques she attempted, Hero was still exiled from his own book.
He’d taken it in stride and seemed to at least get more color back in his cheeks as time went on. His eyes were back to their usual calculating mischief.
Brevity began the long work of putting the stacks back in order (the gargoyle had done the kindness of righting the fallen shelves before returning to its post in the hallway). Hero helped where he could, primarily by grumbling loudly from his recovery couch. After a few days, Claire felt confident enough to leave them to their work.
The Library would go on without Claire. The stories already had.
Rather than indulge in the morose thought, Claire decided to return to the Arcane Wing the artifacts she’d stolen and see what her new posting would bring. It was just as gloomy as she remembered. The shelves and cupboard stood ransacked where she’d raced through, scooping up anything Andras had left behind.
The raven cages, naturally, stood open and empty at the back. Arlid had taken back her people, leaving the place oddly silent. Claire ran her fingers over dust-coated shelves as she worked her way back, trying to place amulets and rings back where she remembered them.
“One shelf up. It was next to that atrocious violet crown.”
Claire placed the piece and turned to see Hero lounging against the open doors. “Lounging,” perhaps, was not the right word, as the doors contributed a great deal to keeping Hero’s battered body upright. His arm was in a sling, but his wounds were beginning to heal. Scar material, pale as parchment against his tan, was beginning to form in spiderwebs along his jaw. Skin puckered and curled over his temple, marring his much-lauded cheekbones. Time would never fade the scars entirely.
Hero was marked, changed from how he was written, but it didn’t appear to affect the mocking smile at her questioning look. “I have an excellent memory and humans think of the ugliest things.”
“Yes, well, someone dreamed you up.”
“You wound me, warden.” Hero placed the fingers of his uninjured hand to his chest, bitterness keeping his voice from being as