Chapter 37

Thirty-Seven

Kyrith

T houghts of Leo and his curse haunt me through the first week of December and into the second. He doesn’t attend Hopkinson’s lectures or make any more attempts to talk to me. Oh, and he’s taken to wearing a heavy woollen turtleneck everywhere, probably because that runeform now glows so brightly you can see it through the fabric of one of his silken shirts.

I tried to warn him. I even held back from pointing out that I told him trying an experimental spell without asking for a second opinion was a bad idea.

So why do I still find it hard to look at him without guilt rising?

It’s not the only thing I feel when he’s around, either. Wariness lingers in the space between us like a white elephant. People say things they don’t mean in anger, but he hasn’t apologised. I know why, of course. In his mind, he’s protecting his friend. Protecting what matters most.

I can’t fault him for it, really.

Still, I thought our friendship was worth more than this.

And then there’s Pierce, who’s begun to take a disturbing amount of interest in the Arcanaeum. He’s in here most days now, even though Jasper is gone, and he’s behaving…normally.

Studying, taking notes, and not threatening me in any way.

I’m not going to be lulled into a false sense of security. The final magiball game of the term is this evening, and Jasper and the others will be arriving to watch it soon enough, which is why I’m keeping a thorough eye on the Carlton heir as he peruses the books in the Ruinous Hall. My hands might be occupied repairing a creased spine—courtesy of a now-banished patron—but my mind is one hundred percent attuned to his apparently innocent afternoon browsing.

Unfortunately, that means I’m completely unprepared for the cough from behind me.

Whirling, my arm passes through the grey-haired gentleman trying to get my attention, causing him to grimace.

“Apologies,” I murmur. “How can I help you Mr…?”

Wait…

I have no idea who this patron is, and that’s concerning. I can’t even spare the cognisance to figure it out because Pierce is moving over to the window, using the pale afternoon light to decipher something in the book he’s holding.

Aside from myself and the newcomer, he’s the only person here.

“If this is a bad time, I can return later,” he says, noticing my distraction.

He’s just reading, I tell myself, forcing my attention to the newcomer.

Gunmetal grey eyes—the hallmark of the Carlton family—stare genially at me, surrounded by laugh lines.

“Forgive me,” I begin again. “How may I assist you?”

“I have a book I’d like to donate to the collection. One I think you might find quite interesting.”

He’s dressed in an odd hodgepodge of clothes that don’t quite match. A worn leather jacket over a deep green kurta, colourful wooden prayer beads around his neck, and hiking boots that are covered in dried mud and dust. He has a backpack covered in tourist patches strung over one shoulder, rings on almost every finger, and in his hand is… Well, it’s not a book, not really. It’s more a badly bound collection of field papers, and one falls out as I take it from him, only to be carried back into place by the Arcanaeum.

“ Healing The Magical Well ,” I read the title aloud.

“I’d be happy to take a look at the patient myself,” the unknown Carlton suggests. “But a little birdie told me you’re rightly protective of him and quite skilled in restoration yourself.”

That calm smile… I’ve seen it before.

“Benjamin Carlton.” The name comes to me at the same time I spot it on the poorly printed document in my hands.

“Benny, please.” He removes the faded woollen hat from his head and gives me a little bow. “I’m surprised you remembered me. It’s been some time since my school days.”

It really has. Two decades, at least. He was a magister hopeful back then, specialising in the school of restoration.

Of course, that doesn’t make him trustworthy. Healers can be just as corrupt as anyone else.

I look over my shoulder at Pierce, relaxing when I find he’s still there, perched on the window seat now, intently focused on his book. It’s an older manuscript with faded lettering, and I make a mental note to see if anything more can be done to restore it later.

“Ah, is my grandson giving you trouble?”

Benjamin is Pierce’s grandfather? That explains the eyes, but not the clothes. Pierce is always dressed like a modern-day royal, suits and shirts. In contrast, the man before me looks like a backpacker who stole clothes from laundrettes along the road.

“He is insufferable,” I answer honestly. “And I cannot believe that this ”—I wave the badly bound text in front of him—“isn’t one of his mother’s schemes.”

Benjamin holds up both hands. “On my honour, I’m as much an enemy of Isidora Carlton as you are.”

It’s not difficult to believe, given the striking differences between them, but still, I hesitate.

“Thank you for your contribution,” I finally say.

The Arcanaeum’s magic rushes through the pages, conjuring a protective cover, and adding a little flare to the paper until it’s properly bound with the title stamped carefully on the cover. Benny’s eyes linger on the new text, a sad smile springing to his lips.

“My pleasure, Librarian.”

His grey gaze touches on something behind me, before hastily returning to my face.

Confusion and dread mingle together as I turn, searching for the window seat, searching for Pierce.

Only to reel back as I realise he’s gone.

The tingle is the second hallowing sign that something is up. It spreads down my skirts from my lower back like my legs are on fire. The sensation is closer to pain than ever before.

Pierce’s invisibility spell drops, his huge form looming over me, and he’s got the good sense to remove his transgressing hand from where it rests casually at the small of my back. His other is resting on his grimoire, which floats beside him in the air.

I can’t even look at him. My eyes catch Benny’s, expecting some kind of triumphant grin.

The sympathy I find instead is somehow worse.

“One day, Librarian, I hope you understand why we did this.” He ushers his grandson to his side with a quick tilt of his head. “Needless to say, it’s nothing personal.”

It’s pretty obvious why they did this. The fact that he’s so calm and detached about it all just makes it worse. I raise one trembling finger, summoning their library cards.

Nothing. Personal.

“No need.” Benny lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender even as his grandson grips his shoulder. “We’ll be going, and I doubt you’ll see me again until you ask us to return.”

This one, I realise, knows too much. More than I do. It changes the feeling of outrage into one of fear.

“Explain!” I demand.

But Pierce is already muttering another transport spell. I grab for the Arcanaeum, trying to stop them, but the flash of light is already over.

“Why would you let them leave!?” I demand of the walls, my hands spread wide in exasperation. “He knew something. He hurt me. Why would you just…?”

No answers. There never are.

Why would it let him sneak up on me like that? Invisibility spells can’t fool the Arcanaeum. It knows where all patrons are at all times. It chose to conceal him from me.

A glance at my skirts reveals that they’re shattered. The impact of Pierce’s touch on my spine has created a cobweb of glowing black lines which claw all the way down around my hips to my toes.

Almost every single part of me is affected. Only my face remains.

The noise of someone approaching startles me, and I dart into a bookcase before they can find me.

“Boss?” Lambert calls.

He’s clutching that stupid jacket to his side again, walking in with an easy swagger, like he isn’t expected to play a huge game in just a few hours. Does he even get nervous?

“She’s not here,” North points out, half a step behind him.

Lambert turns in a slow circle, still searching. “But I heard her. She seemed…”

“Just leave the jacket, and let’s go already. My head is killing me, and I want to grab some drugs before the game starts.”

“I wanted to see her,” Lambert protests. “Besides, she probably has some potion or something for that.”

“I owe her enough already,” North mutters. “C’mon, let’s find Eddy. She wanted to show you her decorations, right?”

Lambert tosses a look around the Ruinous Hall for the last time, then gently places the jacket over the back of one of the study chairs. “Hey, Arcanaeum, can you make sure the boss lady gets that? Let her know I’ll be back for my victory hug later!”

The traitorous building gives a happy flutter, the festive bells hanging on the nearest bookshelf jingling with painful merriment, and Lambert grins.

“Don’t you think you should stop flirting with her?” North grumbles as he drags Lambert away. “She’s dead.”

“She’s still the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” Lambert says with easy insouciance. “Plus, she’s still got feelings and shit.”

“Yeah, cranky ones.” North eyes the books warily, like he expects to be attacked with books for his bitterness, but I don’t have it in me to scold him.

Nor do I have the strength to pick up the jacket and pretend everything is okay. The Arcanaeum lifts the garment towards me as soon as they’re gone, but I wave it off.

“Just…leave me alone,” I tell it. “I know you want me gone, but…can I have that, at least?”

It’s a rhetorical question, and I don’t wait for it to sag in false sorrow before I dissipate. I can’t even go to my clock tower, because Eddy is there getting ready for the game.

Which only leaves…

My crystal corpse is a mess. Chips of stone jutting out from jagged cracks. I almost wish Pierce had caught my face, because then the only immaculate part of me wouldn’t be screaming like she can feel the cracks.

I trace a finger over the first one. The one on my hand where I tried to grab Dakari. The fissures are deep and edged with violence.

They’re all like that. A grab. A brush. An accidental strike. Not one touch has been out of love or even friendship. I stare at the cracks in my skirts, feeling emptier than ever.

My conversation with Benny Carlton plays on repeat. He and Pierce purposefully tricked me, and the Arcanaeum—which could’ve warned me—chose not to.

In death, I’m as much of an object to be manipulated as I was in life.

I think… I think I’ve finally had enough.