The Library of the Unwritten - A. J_ Hackwith Page 0,65
caught Claire’s sleeve. They traded whispered words, and Claire looked displeased when Andras winked and stepped back into the crowd. Bjorn shoved the door behind them when they caught up. “About time that creature made himself useful.”
Claire bristled. “Andras is a good—”
“Oh, I know precisely what the Arcanist is,” Bjorn muttered grimly. He fished a tiny ivory tube from his pocket. It looked like a quill, but when he brought it to his lips, it let out a tritone trill. “Arlid, I got a task for your folk.”
“I am sure she’s close by,” Claire said dryly.
Not waiting for a response, Bjorn led them through a new door in his study that opened to one crowded hallway. A tuneless hum cut through the low roar of voices. Brevity realized it was coming from Bjorn, causing Valhalla warriors to shift as they passed. Once they were through, the crowd seemed to redouble their celebrations, creating a rowdy wall between them and the angels pursuing.
“That’s a neat trick,” Brevity said.
“Storytelling.” Bjorn gave a sly wink. “Try it sometime, lass. I bet you got a fair hand.”
They shoved through a final door, and cool air swept some of the tension from Brevity. The wide meadow behind the longhouse was still and empty, painted indigo by starlight.
Shadows untangled from the eaves above them. Arlid, captain of the ravens, rose out of a crouch and dusted her leathers. “You called, storyteller?”
“We have some guests taking undue advantage of our hospitality. Not them.” Bjorn waved his hand as the raven women wheeled on Claire. “The angels are getting twisted about in the halls behind us. I reckon it might be time to show them the way back to Heaven.”
“With pleasure.” Arlid’s mouth curved into an unpleasant smile. “But what about them?”
“They are taking a different road,” Bjorn grunted. “Just find and escort the two angels—they’re likely getting into an illegal tiff with a hapless demon.”
“One more, if I may,” Claire said, drawing their attention. She had her hands folded in front of her in that rigid way that she always had when she was pretending to be harsher than she was. “One of my companions will also be returning to the Library in Hell.”
A wilted sound came from Leto. He stepped forward, already entreating. “Please, I can do this—”
“Leto—”
“We’re going to Earth. I’ve got a ghostlight and can help! I—”
“You will,” Claire cut him off. Leto stopped and tilted his head like a confused puppy, and Claire squeezed his shoulder. Then she turned. Her eyes sought out Brevity, and Brev’s stomach dropped. “You have the books.”
Brevity’s hand clenched around the bag she was still holding, then started to try to disentangle itself from it. “Me? No—boss, you need me.” Her voice cracked, threatening to show the start of a panic she was too proud to admit to. Claire more than needed her. Of all the people she thought Claire would set aside, it couldn’t be her. Brevity was her assistant. She was supposed to assist.
She wasn’t quite sure who she was if she didn’t assist. Failed muse, now a failed assistant? No. The thought felt like a fist clenched around her gut. “You need— Well, you need all the help you can get. I’m—”
“You’re a librarian of Hell.” Claire’s voice was steeled, unforgiving. She stopped Brevity’s movements and shoved the bag back into her possession. “I can’t take my books, and we can’t leave the Library unattended. I need you to return and take care of the books. This scavenger hunt may take longer than planned.”
Her eyes were burning. Brevity tried to blink the despair away. “But—what changed?”
“Angels. Secrets. Too many coincidences. Something about this is not right.” Her gaze flicked significantly over Brevity’s head before returning. “I’ll feel better knowing there’s someone responsible taking care of the books.”
Claire’s compliments were rare things. In other circumstances, Brevity might have flushed under the praise. Instead, Brevity’s throat felt tight. “I’m your assistant.”
“And you’re a librarian. I trust you.” The honesty in Claire’s voice stepped Brevity’s panic down to a simmer. Honesty from Claire was also a gift, when not wielded like a weapon. Her smile was weak, so instead Claire swiftly reequipped herself with a frown. She squeezed Brevity’s arm. “I’m just going on an errand. Don’t be so sentimental.”
Anxiety still twisted tight against her ribs, but she forced air between her teeth. “You can count on me.”
“Good.” As usual, Claire misread anxiety as eagerness. Brevity could barely enjoy the rare, warm smile that was there and gone.