The Library of the Unwritten - A. J_ Hackwith Page 0,21

mortal.”

“Well, technically no. You’re not mortal, not anymore. Bad term for it. Dead, eternal soul, and all. But you were human, once. Up here.” Claire hitched him to his feet and waited till Leto’s knees worked again. Then she drove him forward, off the sidewalk to the pier. “Onward, now. Walking helps.”

Leto’s heart was trying to swim out from his chest, but he moved his legs woodenly. “I don’t understand.”

“You explained it well enough before. When you die, you get what your soul’s debt demands. Like what you need to do to atone for what you’ve done, or to just forgive yourself, to heal, or find justice. It varies. My soul decided I needed to spend a century or two—god, I hope I don’t reach past that—as the keeper of the Unwritten Library in Hell. Lucky me. Yours . . . Evidently you needed to be an amnesiac demon. Rather melodramatic, that.”

They started down the long pier. It was wide and ringed with cheery lights. Patio restaurants. People talking. Boats groaning. It threatened to overwhelm him. There was a light post at the end of the walkway, and Leto kept his eyes locked on that.

“You don’t remember anything, even being up here?” Claire asked.

Leto squeezed his eyes closed briefly, but it did no good. His memories only tasted of bitter anise and shadows. “I . . . know things. Stuff about here. This place. But I don’t remember how I know it.”

Claire shrugged. “Well, it’s a unique sentence for a soul—that’s for sure. Must have been a hard end. Not many people see themselves as literal devils.”

“I’m not—” Leto’s hand absently tugged at an ear that was still blunted rather than pointed, here in the human world. “But I remember being a demon!”

“What do you remember? Being summoned for courier duty? What about before that? What did you do yesterday?”

“Well, sure. I was doing . . . demony stuff.” Leto faltered. To tell the truth, before this assignment it was all a dark haze he couldn’t really put his finger on. He had a fleeting impression of a figure, someone powerful and terrifying, resting a hand decked with cold rings on his shoulder. He remembered a constellation of stars falling through his hands. Bitter chalk on his tongue. He knew things about being a demon, but specific memories skittered away from him when he reached for them. “How did you know?”

“His Grouchiness doesn’t usually send a brand-new, full-fledged demon to deliver a file folder, first of all. We’re in a library of magical texts. Do you really think we deliver messages by hand?”

“Well. Now that you mention it . . .”

Claire smiled. “And if you’re a demon of entropy, you’re the worst one I’ve seen, because you got torn up at the idea of shorting a taxi driver’s tips. And then Walter confirmed it when we set up transportation—only human souls need ghostlights. Even if he hadn’t, once we got up here, it was all the little things. Human things. Like the cute little blush when Brev kissed you.”

“I did not!”

“Ah, there it is again.”

Leto buried his face in his hands, but they’d reached the end of the pier. They walked past an open patio where diners nibbled on overpriced oysters, and came to a stop at the railing. Claire nodded at the view. “You know, I had a view of the ocean when I was alive. Not here. England. Colder, harsher, different kind of pretty.”

“Was it nice?”

Claire considered. “I wouldn’t have the slightest idea. I suppose it would have been, had I noticed.”

Leto hesitated. “What will happen when we go back?”

Claire braced her elbows against the railing and faced him. “That’s largely up to your soul. You may remain a demon. You could try to speak to Boss Creepy if you want.”

“No! No, that’s all right.” Leto shook his head so fast that Claire chuckled.

“He’s not that bad. Well—he is, sometimes. But any good story is half exaggeration. It’s not that bad. Really, being—”

Claire’s words cut off, and her expression went rigid as she stared past his shoulder. Before he could turn, a cold, sharp point presented itself between Leto’s shoulder blades. A voice, gritty and sounding of steel and stone, spoke low from behind him.

“Stand down, demons.”

“Speaking of exaggerations . . .” Claire had excellent posture. She had relaxed while leaning against the railing, softening as she talked of souls and eternity, enough that she seemed almost human. But she stood straight now, with a hard, chill gaze