Chapter 18
Eighteen
Dakari
Kyrith falls back into the armchair on the other side of my table with a long sigh, eyeing the four arcanists in the centre of the solarium with barely concealed weariness. I’ve chosen a spot in the corner, which gives me a view of everyone and the exit at all times.
They’ve paired up, Lambert insisting on a rematch with Pierce, while Jasper and North are on the far side of the room. It took an hour for them to reach this point, which was mostly full of childish taunting.
Adding Pierce to the mix has just made an already-tense situation worse. There are too many grudges in this room, and I can’t help glancing at Leo, sharing a table with Eddy a few feet away.
“You okay?” I ask Kyrith, lowering the book the Arcanaeum supplied me when it became clear I wasn’t taking part in this particular practical.
I’ve read more in the last few months than I think I have in my entire life, and that’s entirely thanks to the Library. It somehow knew I’d like black comedy when I’d never even tried it before, and I’m grateful for it.
“Yes. Of course.” She smooths down her skirts, then sighs as the building summons a whole stack of papers in front of her.
I flick the chair in reprimand. She needs a second to breathe, not more work.
In answer, the words on my page scramble.
Petulant thing.
“I meant to ask you for a favour,” Kyrith continues, summoning a book between us and propping open a second on top of it, effectively hiding her work from me. “I need you to find a book.”
I raise a brow. “As a collector or…?”
She sighs. “No. This isn’t for the Library. This is for me. I need you to find my grimoire.”
Her grimoire? I cock my head.
“I last saw it at this address, but that was centuries ago.” She slides a small square of paper across to me, and I frown. The neat typeface is the same as every other time the Arcanaeum has sent me off on a job, but that’s not what caught my eye.
“Your last name is Childerhouse?”
“I was named for the orphanage where I was left as a child,” she explains matter-of-factly.
Not a hint of emotion colours the words. No clue as to how she felt about her abandonment or her childhood. I get it. Not everyone likes to talk about the past, myself included.
Acknowledging that with a grunt, I turn back to the address. “I don’t think this street exists anymore, but it’s a start.”
Kyrith’s shoulders slump, but she says nothing as I pocket the tiny square of paper. Her attention falls back to the pile in front of her, and she frowns, summoning a pen into one hand before aggressively scratching out a whole line.
On the page of my book, a dark splodge appears.
Wait…
My eyes drift over the page. What I thought was gibberish is…
A relationship contract?
I watch as Kyrith ticks a box, and the box is checked a second later on my own page.
It’s a mirroring spell, but I didn’t cast it, and now I’m spying on Kyrith as she has a silent argument with the Arcanaeum over potential living arrangements. Every time she checks ‘living separately’, the ink disappears, then reappears in the box beside ‘living together.’
Finally, she scribbles, ‘where will I put them all?’ in the margin. In answer, a stick figure diagram replaces her neat cursive. From what I can tell, it seems to show seven people in one bed…not sleeping.
“Absolutely not!” she hisses, then looks up to find me staring at her and clears her throat. “Don’t mind me.”
I smother my grin with my hand as I drop my gaze back to the book.
It’s surprisingly entertaining watching her silently argue with the building about everything from contraceptives to date night scheduling.
Leaning back in my armchair, I shamelessly spy on her as she works through a table of sexual boundaries, then scribbles out grounds for termination.
It’s strange having something as personal as this committed to paper in such efficient terms. But it’s not necessarily a bad idea, I suppose…
A lot of people get into relationships with unspoken expectations that eventually aren’t met. Add in the complexity of Lambert’s idea—six men with one woman—and Kyrith’s no-nonsense demeanour, and I can see why she’s drawn to this.
It’s also evidence. No one can cry favouritism if there’s a document literally stating that all relationships terminate the moment anyone accuses her of being less than impartial.
While that’s not ideal, Kyrith is more connected to her job than most. In a few decades, we’ll all be dead, and she’ll still be the Librarian. Who knows how a relationship now might affect her then.
So, while it might not be the most romantic thing, I can’t say I don’t understand where she’s coming from.
My grin escapes as she ticks ‘sexual’ under ‘relationship type’ so hard that she breaks the surface of the paper.
Baby girl has some serious tension to work out after five hundred years of ghostly celibacy.
The way she melted into that kiss we shared has me desperate to help her work it out of her system.
She rode my thigh like she would’ve asked me to make her come then and there, and I was three seconds away from giving in and obliging her.
I’ve dreamed of kissing my ‘boss’ for a long time, but she never seemed like she was interested.
When she stepped through that door into Amsterdam’s red-light district to seek out some random fuck, I almost let loose my anger in a way I haven’t done since I was a kid.
Only the knowledge that bringing down the Arcanaeum would destroy her stayed my hand.
I will never say it out loud, but the jealous beast inside me cheered when she didn’t make it more than a couple of steps before the Library sucked her back inside. She deserves to leave this place; deserves to live the life she was denied, but still… I don’t want anyone’s hands on her but mine.
Yet, here I am, considering sharing her with the other heirs. With Galileo ó Rinn, who’s also shooting curious looks in her direction.
Wait… I eye the book on his lap sceptically.
The Library isn’t messing with both of us, is it?
His page turns without him touching it. Mine does the same. Without meaning to, I glance down, only to look up sharply in search of Kyrith’s reaction.
Her cheeks are tomato red, and she slams a book on top of the paper as soon as she catches me looking. Before I can say anything, a bang from the middle of the room interrupts us.
North has landed flat on his ass in the middle of the room, a giant icicle pinning him to the ground. With a huff, Kyrith gets to her feet.
“Hey,” I mutter under my breath. “Arcanaeum? You got a pen and another copy of that contract?”
The book in front of me snaps shut, and three sheets of paper unfold atop the cover. I skim the first page, double-checking what she’s said about exclusivity, protection, and habitation, scribble out the ‘Sexual Conduct’ table, then add my own line at the top.
‘Baby girl, my only kink is eating you out until your cum is dripping down my chin, and my only limit is the number of times I can satisfy us both before one of us passes out.’
I skim the termination conditions, glancing back at Leo as I do so.
He’s still reading—probably dreaming up extra clauses and paying closer attention to the list on page two than I did.
Not that it matters. Being into ropes and chains doesn’t guarantee our girl will wake up in the morning without regrets.
So, with a swagger I hope Kyrith won’t crush beneath her heel, I sign the final page and hand the whole thing to her with a casual flourish on her return.
Her huge eyes widen at the first line, then narrow again as she collapses to perch on the edge of her seat, pinning me to the spot with a glare. I lean back, raising one brow.
The ball is in her court.
Kyrith wants to make everything neat and tidy with this contract, but she’s forgetting something.
Sex, romance, and life are messy by nature. Consent isn’t a onetime thing to be ticked off a list. It’s an ongoing process. So, while her piece of paper might help her guess at what she can expect and whether she’ll have chemistry with us, it can’t guarantee that she won’t change her mind.
That’s what communication is for.
I’m so caught up in thoughts of us that I almost miss the moment she reaches my little addendum, and heat suffuses her expression.
“Any time, baby girl,” I promise. “I don’t care if the others sign it or not. You’ve missed out, and I’m happy to help you rectify that.”
A single tangerine rose appears in my lap, identical to the ones outside. I smirk and hand it to her. Her cheeks flush all over again.
I think the Arcanaeum might be just as invested in our Librarian’s sex life as I am.