Chapter 25

Twenty-Five

Kyrith

T he next morning, at opening time, I set down Ammie Talcott’s grimoire with a resigned sigh.

If one thing has remained constant since I was a girl, it’s that people—both arcanists and inepts—always seem to be out to ruin each other.

Ammie Talcott’s grimoire is fairly standard. Full of the runeforms one would expect of any arcanist specialising in ensorcellments.

Until the last three pages.

The designs and notes scribbled in margins don’t fit with the rest of the immaculate book. The neat cursive handwriting has turned sloppy with anger and that translates into the spell on the final page.

I have no idea what the ó Rinns did to Ammie, but she wanted them to suffer. And not just whoever hurt her enough to design such a horrible ensorcellment, but their children and their children’s children.

It takes a special kind of fury to make something insidious enough to carry down to innocent babies. Whatever the cause of her grudge, it must have been serious, because nothing else in her grimoire comes close to this level of malice.

In short, Ammie Talcott has ensured that every single ó Rinn bearing the blood of her intended victim will lose whatever they value most. She set no time limit. She didn’t specify it had to be an object, or an animal, or a person… They could lose it like one might lose a penny down the side of a sofa and find it again later. Or it might be destroyed forever.

It’s vague magic. Dangerous magic.

And it’s strong. She lived almost as long ago as I did, which explains why I’ve never heard of any of this. Very few arcanists were admitted to the Arcanaeum in her time, most of them unclaimed liminal bastards, and the gossip would’ve been old news by the time the adept patrons trickled in.

Generations have suffered under this magic, passing the ‘curse’ down, entwining it deeper into their blood.

Morphing it.

A child could love their mother more than anything, the curse would strike, and suddenly that child would be an orphan. An ó Rinn might adore their spouse, and then be hit with an unexpected affair that destroys their marriage.

I understand, now, the depths of the insanity that could drive one to. To be innocent of any wrongdoing, and yet punished as if you were the perpetrator. It’s so deeply unfair that it even makes me pity Leo—though I know if he catches wind of that, he’ll use it to his advantage.

When he enters the Arcanaeum, I pull on the magic of the library to bring him straight to me.

He finds me drifting around the armillary sphere in the Astrology room. I’ve sealed off the doors and recalled all of the books to their shelves, leaving the space immaculate, except for the grimoire on the desk.

“Librarian, I?—”

“I know what your ensorcellment does,” I tell him, laying my cards out in the open. “I know about Ammie Talcott.”

His expression, already guarded, hardens as he shoves those red-tinted black curls out of his face. “Do you now?”

I nod once, aware of how his attention has locked onto the book. “I am willing to make a deal. You can look over this book, and this book only, if you agree to stop nosing into my private affairs.”

One perfectly arched brow rises, but he doesn’t move closer. “I thought you wanted me to?—”

“I have been dead for five hundred years,” I tell him, glancing sadly down at my arm. “If the key to continuing my existence lies in Mathias Ackland’s grimoire, it’s gone. I would rather enjoy the time I have left with…friends.”

And it’s true. Sometime in the middle of the night, when I was alone with only Ammie Talcott’s rage to keep me company, I came to terms with the idea that, perhaps, the Ackland grimoire should remain lost. That the malice in that book would be better left forgotten in the annals of the past.

Just like Ammie’s magic would be better ended so that all parties involved can move on.

“I still need your assistance to remove the ensorcellment.”

I shrug, moving closer. “There are others out there. Other people who would?—”

“My ancestors have begged everyone and anyone for help a hundred times over. It wasn’t enough.” Galileo watches me with haunted eyes. “I don’t think you understand. This book is just the beginning. I don’t have time to search for someone else with the power and the knowledge and the inclination to help me. I can’t live like this.”

I do understand. That’s the problem. I’m a neutral figure. I could pass harbouring Dakari and Jasper off as something I’ve done for the other houses. But altering the destiny of an entire family is not neutral behaviour.

I shouldn’t interfere. Every iota of common sense tells me this is a bad idea.

“When I was a boy, the curse came for my aunt,” Galileo continues. “She tried ridding herself of earthly attachments to stave off its effects. The magic deduced that what she valued above all things was her happy life. She died slowly, in utter misery. There was nothing the restoration masters could do.”

Magic… How young was he?

“My grandfather has been a miserable tyrant since before I was born, because he lost his ability to feel happiness as a child. Overnight, he just…lost his spark.”

His face cracks a little, and he begins to pace the rug with agitated steps. “My Da pushed my mother into leaving us to spare her. He watched her remarry and have another son, redoing her entire life without us. Turns out, that didn’t stop him from loving her. She died in her sleep on my eleventh birthday, and he killed himself not long after. I was told to be grateful that the curse didn’t manifest with my death, instead.”

It would take a heartless monster to remain unmoved. It could all be an act to gain my trust, but if I had to guess, I’d say this is the most genuine Galileo has ever been with me.

“I started medical school—did you know that? But I was starting to care too much for my patients, my colleagues. I decided to stay away from the University, to avoid making friends, and then worried I was too close to my tutors. You have no idea what it’s like to fear becoming attached to anyone or anything, and Lambert , stars above, that eejit …”

And because I’m also an outsider dragged into the Winthrop heir’s ineludible orbit, I understand instantly.

“He wouldn’t leave you alone.” Just like he wouldn’t leave me alone.

Typical Lambert. He has no self-preservation.

The golden god is like a collector of strays and broken things, bathing all of us in his addictive light until we feel like we belong. Like we can breathe and smile despite ourselves.

“Normal arcanists don’t want to interact with us. But I have friends now, Kyrie. Friends I can lose.” His shoulders slump, his pacing slowing. “I have nothing else that I can trade for your help, and I need your help. I stayed behind last night because I hoped that, if I couldn’t get Mathias’s grimoire for you, perhaps blackmailing you with whatever you were hiding might work.”

The temperature in the room drops several degrees, and the books flutter angrily.

“And now?” I ask, putting myself subtly in front of Ammie’s grimoire.

He says nothing, and I grimly surmise that that means the option is still on the table.

Reluctantly, I have to admit that I get it. More than I want to.

If I were in his shoes, I would do anything to protect what I valued most. It’s why the ensorcellment is so horrifying. How many atrocities have been committed by desperate ó Rinns trying to save their homes? Their families?

I’ve seen the runeform. I know how complicated it is. The likelihood of him breaking it without my help is slim to none.

“A deal would be preferable for both of us,” he finally says. “You may not feel it, but your presence would be…missed. Without you, the Arcanaeum would become just another blasted thing for the parriarchs to fight over. Don’t give up just yet. Perhaps Mathias’s grimoire isn’t necessary. There are other avenues, and if we can be…open with one another, then I’m willing to try. I’ll forge a covenant swearing to keep your secrets, if that’s what it takes.”

His words circle in my mind, bringing foreboding visions of the Arcanaeum back under the control of the parriarchs.

“That won’t work,” I tell him. “Covenants require blood, which I don’t have.”

He must surely know that, but the intention is reassuring.

“Then you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“I’d rather have your promise that you’d protect the Arcanaeum if I were gone.”

“If that’s what it takes,” he agrees easily, but my shoulders don’t relax until he says, “Yes, I swear it.”

I shouldn’t take his words at face value, given that Dakari distrusts him so intensely. I’m willing to bet half the books in this room that the grudge between their families is the reason for that. There’s a risk that he knows something else that I don’t, and that worries me, but knowing Galileo’s motivation, and the reasons behind it, lends me confidence as I rake my gaze over him.

“Take off your shirt,” I eventually order. “I need to see how it’s changed before I can promise anything.”

Galileo smirks, and I’m suddenly glad that I’m unable to blush. It’s not like gawking at his chest is my primary motivation… It’s necessary.

Okay, maybe it’s a bit of a bonus.

Keeping my poker face isn’t as easy as I would’ve hoped, but I manage it as his long, slender fingers go to the top button of the crisp black silk and slip it free, then the next.

When the shirt falls from his shoulders, pooling around his elbows, I’m very glad I no longer need to breathe, or I might’ve given myself away.

The runeform is a huge, twisting thing, wrapped across his right pectoral and down to cover some of his ribs. His pale, slender body seems almost dominated by it, the magic dark and sinister. I drift closer without meaning to, drawn in by the sight.

Dismantling a runeform is a tricky business, one that could take hours. Unlike the lesser ensorcellment I undid with a one-word incantation for Lambert, this will take multiple nullification spells, each one tailored for the runeform in front of me. It will also need to be performed in stages, each one unwinding it like a knotted ball of string. It’s likely that some of the magic woven in will act like a trap, causing the curse to activate immediately if it’s approached wrong. I’m almost certain I’ll need to create some of my own, which could be a problem, given that I no longer have a grimoire.

We’ll cross that hurdle when we come to it.

“You may as well sit down,” I grumble, as the Arcanaeum summons a sheet of paper to the desk and a pencil begins to sketch the runeform out in neat, exact lines. “I’ll work on this?—”

“Dakari said you die every night.” Galileo takes the seat I’ve offered him, dragging the grimoire forwards. “How? Are there other ghosts involved? We saw?—”

“Echoes. There are no other ghosts here. The Arcanaeum has its own…quirks and desires, but aside from that, there’s only me.” It chafes to talk about this, but I try to temper my tone. He is only trying to help, after all.

“I am sorry, for what it’s worth,” he mutters, poring over the pages with his left hand while leaving his right side exposed for my study. “Invading your privacy like that wasn’t my finest moment.”

“You still did it.” I can’t quite keep the snappiness out of my voice. “I would have rather taken some secrets beyond the grave.”

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. You were young.”

“Only five years younger than you.”

“You weren’t raised as an arcanist, nor given anything more than a rudimentary understanding of the world you were joining. They took advantage.”

Yes. They did. On that, we agree.

We lapse into silence as I finish up the sketch, putting it side by side with the one I copied from Ammie’s grimoire. Like this, the differences are plain.

“The constellations are completely different,” I murmur to myself. “I don’t even recognise this one.”

The warping of the original is a testament to how old the magic really is. Even then, it seems extreme, almost like Ammie designed the spell to change with each new victim, making any long-term efforts at breaking it useless.

“I gave up,” Galileo says, glancing over my shoulder at the pages. “My attempts recently have been focused on divination.”

“Seeing the future,” I recall, with no shortage of amusement. “An odd backup plan.”

He nods jerkily. “If I can create a spell that will allow me to see the outcome, I might be able to change it. Or if I can see a future ó Rinn breaking the ensorcellment, I’ll be able to do it sooner.”

Both unreliable outcomes based on questionable understandings of the nature of time—the one thing which is immune to all magic. “Surely others have tried before?”

His throat bobs as he swallows. “Yes. The most reliable attempt was a hundred years ago, by an uncle of mine. He’d already lost his home to a fire and was striving to prevent the same from happening to his unborn child. All he managed to glean was that the answer to our problems would be found ‘beneath a sky of false stars.’”

Which is a torturous non-answer, but his glance at the ceiling speaks volumes.

“You think he meant…this room?”

I only redecorated it a little over a year ago, just before Galileo became a patron. Before that, the ceiling was filled with sun-catchers.

“It’s the only solution I could find that hadn’t been explored before. I had a cousin who tried investigating the sewers beneath the Hollywood walk of fame, but that didn’t go well for her.”

Blinking, because that means less than nothing to me, I cover my confusion by beginning the process of dissecting his runeform into its base constellations. Just because he failed, doesn’t stop it being the only reliable method I know for nullifying ensorcellments. My legs drift upwards behind me until I’m lying in midair while I work, but Leo doesn’t comment.

Unfortunately, the moment he realises I’m done with my sketch, he shrugs his shirt back over his shoulders, removing the view I’d been sneaking glimpses at over the top of the paper.

Damn, is it too cold in here? I bite my lip, realising that the chill of my presence probably doesn’t help matters, then scold myself for noticing in the first place and turn back to the charts.

We’re both silent as we focus, and for a moment—just one foolish moment—I pretend that things are how they were before North walked into the Arcanaeum. I take comfort in his proximity like I used to, before I knew about the schemes that never sleep beneath his skin and the true deceptiveness of that hawkish gaze.