worry. “Please tell the Chancellor that I prescribe a strict period of bed rest for the patient,” he said to her. “It is clear that this is a classic case of hysteria. Miss Scrivener should exert herself as little as possible. Once the swelling in her brain subsides, her mind may return to normal.”
“May return?” Hannah gasped.
“I regret to say that sometimes these cases are chronic, even incurable. I understand that she is a foundling, staying here as a ward of Chancellor Ashcroft? Allow me to write down a recommendation for Leadgate Hospital. I am closely acquainted with the principal physician. If Miss Scrivener fails to recover, the Chancellor need only send a letter—”
Elisabeth’s blood pounded hot with anger. She had listened for long enough. This physician was just like Warden Finch, just like Ashcroft: a man who thought he could do whatever he liked to her because he happened to be in a greater position of power. But he was wrong.
When he stood, she gripped his arm with enough force to halt him in his tracks. He tried in vain to pull away, then gaped at her as though seeing her for the first time, his mouth opening and closing like a startled fish. She tugged him close. No match for her strength, he lost his balance and nearly toppled face-first onto the bed.
“Listen to me,” she said, in a low, fierce murmur too quiet for Hannah to hear. “I didn’t grow up in an ordinary library. I grew up in a Great Library. You may scoff at books, but you have never seen a real book in your entire life, and you should count yourself lucky, because you wouldn’t survive a moment alone with one.” She tightened her fingers until he gasped. “You must go to the Collegium at once. The Chancellor said that he’s only just begun. Whatever he is planning, more people will die. Do you understand? You must . . . you must . . .”
The physician had paled. “Miss Scrivener?” he prompted.
Elisabeth let go of him and pointed at the mirror. Or rather, at Mr. Hob’s reflection—for although the butler stood outside in the hallway, the mirror made it possible to see him around the corner, waiting. Only he was no longer a butler, or even a man.
“Look,” she whispered.
Mr. Hob’s suit was the sole feature that remained unchanged. But now it hung on a gaunt, slumped, inhuman frame. His complexion had turned a sickly shade of lavender, and his skin looked grotesquely melted, gobbets of flesh dangling from his cheeks and chin like drips of tallow. His ears were pointed on the ends; his purple hands were clawed. Worst of all were his eyes, unnaturally huge and round and pale, like saucers. They shone in the shadows of the hall, a pair of glazed moons gazing back at her.
Glancing uncertainly between Elisabeth and the physician, Hannah opened the door the rest of the way. Mr. Hob didn’t react. He stood silently, unblinkingly, with his horrible shining eyes, as everyone else stared at him.
“You see,” Elisabeth whispered. “He is a demon. Some kind of goblin, or an imp.”
There came a long pause. Then, the tension shattered. The physician cleared his throat and leaped away, skirting quickly toward the door, as if Elisabeth might lunge out of bed and attack him. As if she were the demon, not Mr. Hob.
“As I was saying,” he said to Hannah, “please give my recommendation to the Chancellor at the earliest opportunity.” He shoved a piece of paper into her hand. “This is obviously a very serious case. Leadgate has state-of-the-art facilities. . . .”
He didn’t appear the slightest bit distressed by Mr. Hob as the butler led him out of sight. His voice receded down the hallway, extolling the virtues of ice water baths for the “mentally disturbed.” Elisabeth sat stunned and shaking as his reaction sank in. None of them had been able to see Mr. Hob’s true form except for her.
The mirror framed her reflection, alone. Trembling beneath a thin nightgown, the blood drained from her face, Elisabeth had to admit that she looked every inch the girl the physician claimed her to be. And she was trapped in Ashcroft Manor more certainly than she had been imprisoned in the Great Library’s dungeon, at the mercy of her greatest enemy.
FOURTEEN
OVER THE NEXT few days, Chancellor Ashcroft treated Elisabeth with nothing but solicitous concern. She was confined to her room during the mornings and evenings, but for