kept them with your own book. So when you asked me to repair—”
Beatrice gave a cold, airless chuckle. “Even a fool knows where such dangerous things belong. You’re the only one I would trust with them. And with me.”
Like heat roiling off a fire, power whispered in the air around the pages, whispers of dark things, undone things. Claire stared a moment, then very carefully wrapped the edge of her skirts over the remaining pages of the Codex Gigas.
“What will you do now?” Beatrice asked quietly.
The pages felt heavy and warm in the pocket on her hip. Claire wiped her hands as she finished stowing them, but the residual dread didn’t come off her crawling skin. Her lips fell into a hard line. “We leave. But first I need to talk to a hero.”
27
CLAIRE
Librarians are wisely advised to stay out of the business of realm politics. Nothing good comes of the powers of realms meeting. There’s no clear answer, between paradises and damnations, which are stronger. It depends on the time, the place, the tilt of the world and the spin of the stars. Mostly, it depends on the mortals involved.
It seems blasphemous. In a constant war of immortal forces, ancient demigods, good and evil, the most powerful piece on the board is the fragile pawn of a human soul.
Librarian Yoon Ji Han, 1802 CE
Stay out of politics? Ridiculous! When has a writer ever managed to avoid politics? Every story is political. Tell a soul a story they want to believe, and you can change the world.
Librarian Gregor Henry, 1932 CE
CLAIRE FOUND LETO AND Hero in the kitchen, conferring over a wood-block table. Despite being seated, Hero had to stay at a perpetual hunch to avoid knocking the shiny copper pans overhead. The room was small, cluttered, but cozily appointed in line with Claire’s own tastes, like every other part of Beatrice’s flat. Leto and Hero had a pile of prepackaged cake snacks on a platter between them, and Hero’s frown deepened as he scrutinized one still in its cellophane. “This does not look at all like cake.”
“It is. Try it,” Leto said.
“It’s hard and shiny.”
“That’s just the frosting. It’s soft inside. Well, softish. Try it. Everyone loves them.”
Hero gave him an arch look and finally took a sizable bite. A moment to chew, and then cake sputtered across the table from an explosive cough. Leto broke into a giggle as the other man doubled over. When he finally recovered, Hero’s eyes watered with a withering look. There was a smudge of cream hanging from his offended frown. “You neglected to mention the toxic filling.”
Leto bit his lip. “What? It’s sweet!”
“Sweet? No, honey is sweet. Freedom is sweet. A pretty boy or handsome girl is sweet. That? That burns.” Hero took a large gulp from his mug of tea. “Such nonsense. This is worse than the other place.”
“I don’t know. They seem to bathe more here,” Claire said.
Two faces looked up. A familiar, crooked look of disdain righted itself on Hero’s face. A bit of chocolate frosting clung to his upper lip. He gestured dismissively to the cakes on the table.
“That’s only because you haven’t tried what passes for sweets here yet. Help yourself. Or can we finally leave?”
“I have the codex pages. We just need to find Andras and prepare to leave.” Claire held out her hand. “May I see your book a moment, Hero?”
Hero unfolded himself from the chair and wiped his hands. He reached into his pocket as he rose and handed his book over to her. “I’ve been perfectly behaved. Is there some—”
The flat leather of the cover connected with his jaw, along with the full weight of the tome and Claire’s swing behind it. Leto startled, scattering the snacks on the table as he stumbled to his feet. Claire silenced his squawk with a raised hand, never taking her eyes off Hero.
Hero leaned over the table, massaging his jaw. Canniness and caution flooded his eyes. “What was that for?”
“You never told me.” Claire ran her fingers over Hero’s book, tugging at the blank pages she’d sewn in. “What exactly was your story like? A name like ‘Nightfall’ and looking as you do, I suspected high fantasy. Do you miss being a brave knight, Hero?”
Hero’s brows inched together. “Less than you might think.”
Claire swung. This time, Hero anticipated enough to lean away, deflecting the blow. He came up and backed against the wall. A hanging pot clobbered his head. He grimaced and raised his hands.