The Library of the Unwritten - A. J_ Hackwith Page 0,86
before, they’d been like a computer virus, infecting and corrupting but originating externally. The anger simmering in his chest now, he couldn’t understand, but it felt natural, close to the skin.
The winding alley dumped out into a small courtyard. The fountain at the center hadn’t held water for a while, but the sun-warmed stones felt nice under his fingers. He slumped against them and closed his eyes to breathe. The farther he got into the city, farther away from the echoing Hellhound howls, the less fear gripped him, leaving him with just the thoughts he brought with him.
Lashing out at Claire had been more instinct than choice, but feeding off her shame had been unforgivable. Claire had been kind to him, more than she needed to. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but then he’d been glad he had, because he was just so angry. It was a living thing, boiling in his gut. He was so tired of being disappointed, being hurt. And this cut deeper, somehow. He knew, logically, that everyone in Hell was there because of their own failings. He knew Claire wasn’t just an unwritten author, and she could be hard and merciless.
But there was sin and there was betrayal. The idea of betraying someone who trusted you—images flashed through his head: a death for lack of well-placed trust . . .
Leto gripped his head to stop the throb. It was unforgivable. The worst sin. It welled, a searing and familiar hurt, and he immediately wanted to hurt anyone who’d do such a thing. To make them suffer, as they deserved to.
That’d be what a demon would do, wouldn’t it?
He’d pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes hard enough to feel his pulse. Light flared and the pain was real, despite his temporary form. Leto wasn’t sure which was the real him anymore, the demon or the human. He wondered if he’d have to choose at some point, and which was the better choice.
“Easy there. Those eyes are expensive to replace.” Claire’s soft voice nearly sent him tumbling into the empty fountain.
She stood at the other side of the stone ring, diminished somehow. Her shoulders were hunched and her arms wrapped around her, pale knuckled, holding on or holding in. It was a fragile pose, human. Irrationally, that made anger lance back up Leto’s throat. He turned away. “I bet you could stitch me up just like your books. Demons are easy enough to replace.”
“You’re not a demon.”
“And you’re not a liar.” Leto hated the bitterness in his own voice.
Claire sighed. He could feel her looking around, gauging the emptiness of the square before speaking. “Leto, listen, you shouldn’t run off—”
“Or what?” He was being petulant, but he didn’t care. He reached for what he instinctively knew would hurt. “You’ll banish me too?”
“Those words only work in Hell,” Claire snapped before grimacing. “What I mean is . . . No. Leto, I would never—”
“Never? Sure, go on—tell me everything you’d never do as a dead person. You’ve been so good at keeping your word so far.” His hand wound a fist over his chest to quell the clenching feeling. It was irrational, this black bleak feeling lodged in his lungs. He didn’t want to wield it, especially not at Claire again, but it felt like the infection had reached his tongue. He hurt. “What’s gonna happen now? Are you going to turn against us too? I bet you could figure out some way to sell us out, trap us here, hide your secret.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! It’s not as if— I never lied to you. I just didn’t—” Claire stopped, and from the look that crossed her face, Leto didn’t need to say anything to crucify her. She was doing it to herself.
“I’m not saying I don’t deserve it, Leto,” Claire said softly. “I deserve everything you’re feeling. But we’re stuck here together, for now, and contrary to what you think, I would never leave you behind. So if you want to sit here forever and hate me, that’s okay. Or if you never want to speak to me again—”
Something of the acidic feeling withered in Leto’s throat and turned to ash that left an awful feeling in his mouth. He heard the whispers from the raven road again. We never talk anymore.
“No,” Leto said instead. “I just . . . I followed you. Because you seemed . . . different, better. I didn’t know where else to go, and you seemed to care.”