“I’m—I’m glad you’re okay,” Rami said quietly. He took his time drawing a feather. It made a complicated pattern through the air in what Hero assumed would be a means to travel back to the Library. “I heard part of what you said. To Probity.”
“Did you? How distracting.” Hero shifted Brevity in his arms and stepped closer under Rami’s arm without quite looking him in the eyes. “Of course I’m fine. Always fine.”
Rami was terrible at telling lies, but not at reading them. Hero could feel the weight of his concerned frown as feathers and the frost-clean smell of Rami’s angelic magic kicked up through the dust. His voice was soft and lost in Hero’s hair. “I’m glad. I was afraid this—this was going to change things.”
It already has, Hero wanted to say, but the Dust Wing folded in on itself and the sweep of Rami’s sheltering magic stole the air from his lungs.
37
HERO
I still feel the place in my chest where my story should be.
—My book. I meant my book. Where my book should be. That’s what I meant.
Where is a goddamn eraser for this log?
Apprentice Librarian Hero, 2020 CE
HERO KNEW HOW STORIES began. Once upon a time. After hundreds of Dust Wing books passed through him, he even understood how stories end. Happily ever after. Except when not. Nothing had prepared him for the agony of the middle. The hollow pocket against his heart where his book should be was a great, aching question mark. It was an end; it was a beginning; it was wrong and completely foreign terrain.
If this was what it was like living outside a story, Hero thought maybe death had been kinder. He had these thoughts as Rami swam them in and out of the dark, tripping across nowheres and in-betweens until the familiar glass zoo of Walter’s transport office took shape around them. He walked down familiar hallways and thought of endings and beginnings and the terrifying watercolor of unknowns that spanned the two. He thought of Rami and Claire and Brevity, and the fragile way they kept going on after the end. And then he said the exact opposite of what he was thinking.
“Well, this is familiar,” Hero pronounced as he followed Ramiel through the doors of the Arcane Wing. Rami strode to the nearest couch and laid Claire down with a painstaking gentleness.
An elbow shifted into his ribs. “I’m awake this time.” Brevity’s words were a slurry of exhaustion. She’d started to stir not long after they’d reappeared in the transport office. She looked pale and grumpy. “Put me down, please.”
“My pleasure.” Hero picked the armchair and carefully extracted himself until Brevity was in a somewhat comfortable sitting position. “It’s my personal policy not to coddle suicidal idiots.”
“I would say everyone present falls under that classification,” Rami said with a level look in Hero’s direction.
“I saved your life.” Hero had begun making tea without realizing it. He stopped, glared into the teapot in his hands, and chose a relaxing chamomile. Claire would hate it when she woke up. When.
The water had heated to a near simmer by the time Brevity heaved herself up on her elbows, as if taking stock. “We should be in the Unwritten Wing.”
“I didn’t think it prudent to bring you in proximity to the books until I knew you were all stable,” Rami said evasively. “How’s your arm?”
“You mean before you knew if I had developed a taste for story flesh or not,” Brevity said, and deflated back into the armchair. She stuffed her arm under a throw pillow before adding, a bit sullenly, “I haven’t, by the way.”
“As the sole remaining representative of the Library who has not gone under an existential transformation—”
“I didn’t transform!” Hero squawked.
“—or existential crisis heretofore unknown by our understanding of the universe,” Rami continued smoothly, “I feel comfortable ordering all of you to sit down and stay down until I can at least create a concise record of this disaster.”
“Not as if anyone can read your chicken scratch,” Claire mumbled into the couch cushions. She slit her eyes open and grimaced at the light. As if in response, the lamps of the Arcane Wing dimmed a notch. She squinted with a sour expression. “What are you lot staring at?”
“Boss! Oh—oh gods. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Tears started to well at Brevity’s eyes before the look suddenly dried up into stricken. Her shoulders started to creep up toward her ears. “Claire—”
“You have nothing to apologize for, so don’t you dare.” The harsh edges fell away from Claire’s tone. She made an aborted attempt to sit up before consigning herself to the couch. “You were doing what you thought was best. That’s what a librarian does.”
“I lied to you. I tricked you,” Brevity insisted.
“And I allowed a damsel to come to harm, entered the Library, and promptly terrorized the damsel suite without asking.” Claire’s mouth twisted and for the first time she looked down at her unstained hands. Not a trace of the ink remained. She rubbed her thumb against her forefinger. “That wasn’t right. I’m sorry. We were both operating under stressful concerns.”
Moisture returned to Brevity’s eyes, so Hero hurried along to a different point of relevance. “All the same, making an enemy of the Muses Corps would be a bother.”
Brevity took the distraction. “Probity . . . ?”
“Left. Along with Gaiety.” Hero hesitated, sending a questioning look to Rami. There was a lot to disclose, now or later. He sighed when the angel shook his head grimly.
Brevity’s face crumpled. She mulled this over with a distant sorrow. “She won’t go back to the muses, not with Gaiety. I can’t see them tolerating something like that. Verve and Gaiety were so loyal to
