In the bubble’s mirror surface, Rami approached. He had a worried look, but then, Rami usually defaulted to some somber version of concerned. The angel reached out in the mirror, and Hero almost flinched until no pressure came on his own shoulder and he realized it was only mirror-Ramiel’s action, not his angel’s.
His angel, Hero quickly decided, was a problematic thought he would stow away for later.
The Ramiel in the mirror gestured, saying words to the other that Hero couldn’t hear. A worried look, soft edged and fleeting, passed between the two before they looked back, over their shoulders, into the distance of the reflection. Hero saw nothing at first.
“Someone’s coming,” Rami said, and Hero squinted. A speck in the mirror, which Hero had first mistaken for a flaw in the surface, was growing larger. It elongated into a slight figure, and Hero couldn’t keep his lip from curling as he caught sight of a pastel froth of lace and a fluff of bangs.
“Probity,” Rami rumbled. He’d repositioned himself at Hero’s side. “I take it from your presence that your business in Hell is finished.”
Probity clasped her hands in front of her skirts, wide eyes looking soft and full. “Not at all. I just popped back to report on the Library’s cooperation. How strange a coincidence to find you here.”
“When we left I don’t believe the tenor of conversation was cooperation, specifically,” Hero said.
“Thankfully, Brevity sees sense much more easily than you books do.” Probity’s cheerful voice tugged with an undertone of tension. Her amicable smile tightened, just at the edges. “I’ve known Brevity my entire life. She understands the importance of what I’m trying to do. She’s been nothing but helpful. And why wouldn’t she? We both have the best interests and well-being of all books at heart. Even yours.”
“Even me?” Hero pressed a hand to his chest. “What radical ideas you have.”
“I’m a muse. You’re a book. Do you even know how special that is?” Probity’s clasped hands flinched as if she’d suffered a stab of emotion. “We love all books and do not judge between the written and unwritten. Everything we do is for you.” Probity spoke as if the reminder was aimed inward rather than at Hero. She tilted her head, and her brow furrowed with pity. “How is it, Hero? Do you still feel your story?”
A sourness welled up in Hero’s throat, but Rami answered instead. “He’s well. We are fine.” There was a gritty grind under those words, more of an unvarnished edge than Rami usually had. Hero looked from muse to angel, but Rami’s frown gave nothing away. “We are actually on a quest for the Library. We were hoping the muses could provide answers about the forgotten librarian and the makeup of books.”
Probity paused, and her face softened. “The makeup of books? You don’t know what books are made of?”
She paused, and Hero grudgingly shook his head.
The sorrow that flickered across Probity’s face seemed genuine. “Oh, sweet creature. To not know yourself.” Then a glint in her eye turned harder, angry. “It’s wrong. It’s more than wrong. The selfish librarian has done more harm than even I could have anticipated.”
“Claire has given everything for the Library.” Hero’s voice was sharp. It was a surprise to feel Rami bristle beside him too. But then his brain caught up with his mouth, and a little guiltily he added, “As has Librarian Brevity.”
“Not everything. She could never give enough to make up for what she has done. Humans can’t understand the real meaning of sacrifice.” Probity no longer looked at Hero like a pitiful rescue. Her mouth thinned into a fine line, as if she was steeling herself. “Even a broken book is still loyal to the woman instead of the true librarian,” she said. “She’s not worthy of your devotion, little book. I wonder if you would be so fond of your human librarians and authors if you knew how many books just like you they’ve turned to dust. They’re a parasite on the Library.”
“Watch your tone,” Rami said, low as a threat.
“I mean no disrespect, Master Watcher.” Probity held up a placating hand, but the new tension in her shoulders wasn’t reassuring. “I do respect the work you do, securing and passing judgment on muddled mortal souls; it really is a wonder.”
“I’m no judge,” Rami objected, and Probity tilted her head.
“Well, you should be.”
“Yes, humans are terrible. Not like you muses,” Hero said archly. “Tell me again, where were you on the day a demon came to burn us all? The only muse I recall seeing on the battlefield was Brevity.”
Probity flinched. “The Library fights its own battles,” she said before adding, a little softer, “I would have come if Brevity had called me.”
“So help now,” Rami said. “What do you know that we don’t? What do you know about the ink? Why did it remain when the books were burned?”
Probity didn’t answer for a moment. She took a step forward, closer to what seemed to be the film of water separating them. “You really don’t know, do you?” Her voice was wondering. “But how could the human not know? Not recognize . . .”
She trailed off, and the silence tripped past Hero’s last remaining bit of patience. “Not know what? If you will not help us, then why should the Library ‘cooperate’ with you?”
Probity tucked her arms around herself until her hands disappeared in the volume of soft knit. She chewed on her bottom lip, and the prospect of something sadder that Hero couldn’t guess. “I’m trying to save you, little book. Whether you believe me or not. That ink represents the best opportunity to save stories that I’ve seen in all my many years. It deserves to be used, not locked up in a dusty vault. That ink is the heart of a story. Every
