Chapter 7
Seven
Galileo
The Arcanaeum doesn’t open on Sunday morning.
That gives us time to plan and sleep, not that I manage much of the latter with worry for Kyrith gnawing at my gut. Throwing myself into work is the only thing that keeps me sane.
The others barely tolerate me. The tension between the five of us is suffocating. I’m almost grateful to be inside my grandfather’s manor simply because it’s the first time since I woke up that no one’s trying to murder me with their eyes.
Worse, Lambert still won’t even look at me.
Now it’s Monday.
Isidora put out a statement that the Library has been under maintenance for the weekend but will be open as normal today.
I have to persuade the old man to agree to the plan before then, but he hasn’t looked up from his damned paper since I got here.
He has his chair pulled right up to the fire, and he’s wrapped in a half-dozen layers under his tweed jacket, even though his gloomy house is sweltering like always.
What little white hair remains on his balding head catches the glow from the wisplight that hovers on his shoulder so he can read better.
“Grandfather.” I shove back my sleeves and resist the urge to take off my coat. Soon I’ll be back in Orkney freezing my balls off. “This is important.”
“Bleeding horse lost again,” he grumbles under his breath, ignoring me. “Why do I even bother?”
“Parriarch,” I grind out. “Rector Talcott is dead. The Arcanaeum has been taken over by the Carltons and the Acklands.”
That gets his attention, enough that he looks at me, anyway. I waste no time ripping the hem of my shirt up. “And the Librarian nullified my ensorcellment.”
His eyes stare through over-large glasses, squinting like he can make the grey lines of a spent ensorcellment appear if he looks hard enough. He won’t find it. Even the pink mark that was there initially has faded.
His grimoire—a book so large it no longer has a spine to hold it together—floats open, pages expanding.
“Virecot.”
“Really? A truth spell?” I suck the insides of my cheeks as my hands fist. A fecking truth spell. I’m his stars-damned grandson and he doesn’t trust me.
“Tell me everything again.” Artemius has never apologised in his miserable life, and even now his tone is uncompromising.
“Abe Talcott is dead. Mathias Ackland and Isidora Carlton have invaded the Arcanaeum, and the Librarian created the runeforms necessary to lift my curse. I’m cured. Now I need you to help me stop a lich from—”
He heaves himself out of his chair, releasing the spell and picking the paper back up. “Nonsense. There are no liches. If the ensorcellment can be lifted—”
“Shut up and listen to me.”
He freezes, a flash of anger crossing his features. The pages of his grimoire, which never closed, flicker in warning. “You don’t speak to me like that, boy.”
“I haven’t been a boy for years,” I retort, releasing my shirt. “And if you can’t spare three minutes to listen to the very real threats facing our family, you don’t deserve to be the parriarch.”
I have never, in my life, dared to be as blunt with him as I am now. Part of me is holding my breath, waiting for the belting that would’ve been instant if I were ten years younger. Fortunately, it never comes.
I must’ve caught him off guard.
Time to press my advantage while I have it.
“The other heirs and I are working to fix this mess. Your job—your one fecking job—is to tell anyone who bothers to ask that I’m bed-bound from a mysterious magical malady after crawling home in the middle of the night.
” I slam a handful of Kyrith’s letters onto the table before him.
“Start distributing these to every single one of Donal’s descendants.
I’ll work on the degenerated second runeforms as soon as we save the Library. ”
“You think you can just order me—”
“If you don’t do this, you’re condemning the whole family,” I say. “You’ve lectured me about duty since before I could walk. Now it’s time for you to do yours.”
My grandfather pins me with the shrewd gaze that once meant I was due a thrashing, and my hand drops to my grimoire without thought, drawing a huffed laugh from him.
“You lost your ensorcellment and found your backbone at the same time, I see.”
“I lost a lot more than that.” Too much.
“Good. You need to be a soulless bastard to survive as parriarch.” He folds his paper in half, then again, dropping it on the side table without fanfare. “You want this shite done? Fine.”
Stars in the fecking sky, why is he always so bleeding difficult?
“Thank you,” I grate out.
“But I’m only doing it because I respect the Librarian. When this latest shitshow is over, I’m retiring.”
“Whatever.”
He threatens to quit every time something doesn’t go his way. I’m not surprised he’s doing it now. The truth is, he’d rather die than give up his position.
Thank magic, because I don’t have time to deal with that shite.
I don’t even bother to go outside before casting the transport spell.
The bracing wind that hits me on my return to Orkney is a relief after the stifling heat of ó Rinn manor.
“Done?” North asks, leaning against the wall of Fort McKinley.
“Done,” I confirm, then pause. His clipped tone didn’t invite questions, but we’ve got to work together for this. “Is everyone…”
“Ready to go. Well, except Eddy. Even she had to admit that going into battle without her grimoire was a dumb move.”
His relief is palpable. I get that. Eddy has been through enough already.
I trail behind him as he leads us in the opposite direction to the castle. The McKinleys have retreated behind their wards. It would undermine all of their protections if we were to open a door to the Arcanaeum straight from their stronghold.
Our destination is a small brick-built substation just down the road. The others are waiting for us by the green metal door. Instinctively, I search for Lambert, but the tags painted all over the building must be fascinating, because he’s too busy studying them to meet my eyes.
I’ve got to fix this.
He’s not going to listen to a word I have to say until we rescue Kyrith. Fair. But afterwards I need to explain…to apologise properly.
Everything I did, I did to save them both.
To save my family. Yeah, I went too far.
I betrayed them and everything I cared about for nothing.
I’m a hardheaded eejit for not seeing it sooner, but it’s amazing the clarity that more than two hours of sleep and a broken ensorcellment can bring.
I banjaxed everything, ignored all their good advice, and trampled their hearts in my attempt to avoid what happened with my parents.
If I could go back and make myself stop, I would.
I have to believe they can forgive me. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn that trust back.
“Onvosobli,” Dakari says, and the invisibility spell wraps around both of us.
“Anditi tebli solinci,” I add, casting as well.
The two of us will stay out of sight while the other three pretend to go to class. It’ll take some heavy magic. The lich will see through anything less.
Even our best might not be good enough, but if we can keep out of his way, we can focus on finding Kyrith.
“Ad Arcanaeum,” Jasper says, knocking brusquely.
I hold my breath, half expecting the incantation to fail again.
It doesn’t. The door swings wide, opening into the foyer, and my heart sinks through the soles of my feet as we step through.
There’s no colour. Just a dozen plain black doors in the now monochrome entry room, each opening every few seconds to admit another patron. It’s packed. The reason for that becomes painfully clear a few steps into what was Botanical Hall.
No stained-glass windows.
No hanging plants.
No books flying between shelves.
The floor is that bland grey linoleum that belongs in high schools and hospitals, and the shelves are…
uniform, perfectly straight and devoid of the scrolling carved details I’m used to.
I never realised just how unique each one of their predecessors were, but it’s painfully obvious now.
The balcony above is no longer made of wood, but chrome and glass.
Every shuffling step forward strengthens the empty ache of loss swelling behind my sternum.
Gone is the old-world beauty, replaced with modern utilitarian efficiency. Even the chandeliers dripping with wisplights have been turned into ugly, fluorescent bars hanging from the white drop ceiling.
The doors are missing.
There used to be random doors everywhere.
Tiny ones squirrelled away on the shelves.
Huge ones that blocked entire aisles. Weirdly shaped ones that didn’t really fit anywhere.
Some weren’t even attached to the walls; they simply popped up in the middle of a corridor and forced patrons to walk around them, then disappeared by the next morning.
Now the only doors that remain are the ones in the foyer.
The lack of other entry points funnels everyone into a dumbfounded crowd that bumbles along what was once Botanical Hall, moving towards the Rotunda.
All of them are wearing expressions of stunned disbelief.
We were relying on having hundreds of escape routes if things went wrong. This is an absolute disaster.
North, Jasper, and Lambert are all looking around with the same cold horror on their faces. It’s like the Arcanaeum has had its soul torn out. Like you’ve come home and found someone else already living in your gaff, with all your stuff out on the street.
Like the death of a friend.
And I…I did this. I handed myself to Mathias in my desperation, and it led to this.
Feck. This is all my fault.
The realisation is crushing.
Even if Kyrie lives, she’ll never, ever forgive me for this. I wouldn’t deserve it if she did. My eyes burn, and the building blurs for a second before I can blink the tears away.
“This is preposterous!” Hopkinson’s voice rises over the din, hot with indignation. “I had an agreement with the Librarian. This is where my classes are held three times a week. I demand to speak with her.”