The violent impulse that bloomed in his head surprised even Hero himself. It was a cold kind of rage, the kind that must have been simmering under pressure for some time, but he hadn’t seen it form. His hands were full of an unconscious librarian, or he might have done something worse than snarl, “Who cares about the ink?! How is Claire?”
“Oh.” Probity startled, appearing earnest as she blinked at Hero, then glanced briefly at Claire. “I think the band should slow down any damage the ink was causing?”
The muscles in Ramiel’s shoulders bunched, causing the feathers sticking out from beneath the coat epaulets to twitch. With some great effort, he lowered the sword again and sheathed it. Hero saw him glance cautiously at the pool of ink. The surface was deceptively still and patient just a few feet away. “Can we move them?”
Probity shrugged. “Sure. This one will be out for a while. Brevity probably passed out from the shock. She should be fine when she wakes up.” She betrayed her concern with the way she chewed on her bottom lip as she studied Brevity. But then she shrugged Claire out of her lap and might have damn well let her fall had Rami not jumped in to take her.
Rami adjusted Claire into a bridal carry with significantly more care and respect. Black fingertips brushed against Ramiel’s coat and Hero flinched instinctively, but the ink didn’t jump or spread. Probity had been accurate in her clinical assessment, at least that far.
Probity came over to Hero’s side and fussed briefly over Brevity. The snarling defensive impulse was still jumping underneath Hero’s skin, so he was very glad when Ramiel checked Claire’s pulse and met his gaze with a silent nod.
Hero wasted no time rising to his feet with Brevity in his arms and executing a graceful turn that might have accidentally whacked Probity in the face with his elbow. The raven was still cussing up a storm over their heads and seemed to follow them down the aisle to the Arcane Wing doors.
Hero led the way, a little relieved to have Probity at his back in order to cool his strange rage. It felt like a silent agreement that they should get Claire and Brevity back to the Unwritten Wing, where they could rest in safety and as far away from the black pool as possible.
The pool wasn’t just black. It was a reservoir of unwritten ink, if Probity was right. The strange wonder of that warred with the gnawing fear of what had just happened—had almost happened. Hero navigated the hallways in a daze as he tried to make that align in his head. And it occurred to Hero that not once, throughout the entire ordeal, had Probity referred to Claire by her name.
* * *
NEWS TRAVELED FAST AMONG the damsels. It traveled even faster when related by Rosia, who had not drowned but instead burst into the damsel suite sobbing about ghosts. Half the Library—at least, half of the characters that were up and walking around—was assembled in the lobby when they arrived. The damsels took charge immediately, ensconcing Claire and Brevity in the suite itself and kicking Probity, Ramiel, and Hero out with the efficiency of hardened combat medics.
Damsels were really astonishingly, aggressively pushy, in Hero’s opinion.
Still, it allowed him a moment to reassemble himself. He accepted a cup of tea from a helpful damsel—young boy, monk’s robes, probably some failed author’s idea of a mystical sidekick, poor kid—and sank back in his chair. Brooding didn’t come naturally to him, but thankfully Probity had disappeared into the stacks and left him with only Rami for company, grand king of the brooders. They swam in the relative silence for the length of half a cup of tea.
It was a disappointment but not a surprise when Ramiel’s cup landed heavily on the table with a click. “We have a problem.” He met Hero’s gaze with earnest not-quite-silver eyes.
Hero was distantly aware that there was some technical difference between an angel and a Watcher, but whatever it was, it was lost on him. Ramiel might not have had the Heavenly refinement and light of angels in books, but there was no mistaking what he was. Being near Ramiel was like trying to stand next to the sun. Immortal creatures like angels had their own gravity, and Hero constantly felt the subtle tug around Ramiel. Hero’s usual nature was about as biddable as a cat with a migraine, and the feeling of an eternal slow draw irritated and got under his skin. This only served to make Hero even less prone to charity than usual.
“My word, is that the stunning conclusion you’ve come to?” Hero let his voice drip with mockery. It was easier to pick a target—any target—than to try to figure out what the existence of ink and Claire’s unknown condition meant to himself or the future of his book. He rolled the teacup in his palms. “Heaven truly lost a master strategist when you fell.”
“I was a soldier,” Ramiel said simply. He didn’t rise to the bait; he never did. He had an infuriating habit of looking at Hero, obviously finding him wanting, and gliding past as if he and he alone had some greater purpose. As if an insult from Hero was not even worth his concern.
Hero’s insults were worth a king’s ransom, damn it. It was perhaps the only value he could rely on these days.
Whatever Ramiel had been, he was an assistant now, just like Hero. That made them vaguely equals, he reminded himself. Allies, even. That moment with Rami backing him up with Probity had been nice. Had potential. Somewhere in the back of Hero’s mind was a distant plan starting to shuffle into view, but it veered too close to thinking about things he didn’t want to consider right now. He set it aside in
