No one is more surprised than me when a glowing cream card appears between us, the line at the top decorated with his name in black cursive writing.
Northcliff Ackland.
The door behind me swings open, and Josef stiffens as he glimpses the inside of the library for the first time in his life. He even leans forward a little, eyes softening slightly with wonder, before he draws back with a guarded expression once more.
Slapping Northcliff roughly on the back, he bows to me again. “Thank you, Librarian.”
I don’t want his thanks. I don’t want him near my Arcanaeum. I don’t want Northcliff there, despite the library’s decision.
Whirling around, I stride back to safety, not even bothering to see if the new patron follows. I hope he doesn’t.
I’m not ready. Especially not for someone who looks so like Edmund. So I pray with every fibre of my being that he stays in the office.
Unfortunately, the second he steps over the threshold, the Arcanaeum knows.
“This way.”
I know I’m snapping, but I’m too raw right now for politeness. The door slams behind him, echoing through the once quiet chamber…which now echoes with a hundred hushed whispers.
So the other patrons know who he is. I’m not surprised. The arcanist community was minuscule, but powerful, when I was alive. It may have grown somewhat in the intervening centuries, but it remains small.
He’s taking too long, I realise, and suspicion narrows my eyes as I turn back to him.
The Ackland boy hasn’t even taken three steps inside. His head is tilted back, and he’s staring open-mouthed at the Botanical Hall like he’s never seen a mezzanine balcony before. Or perhaps it’s simply the stained-glass roof and the plants which trail over every railing that he’s unused to. Either way, there’s something suspiciously like awe overtaking his scowling face.
The Arcanaeum preens. I swear the books in the ancient history section straighten themselves. It gets like this every time there’s a newcomer, but it annoys me that it’s chosen to behave this way forhim.
“I don’t have all day.”
He jerks, his scowl returning, then eats up the distance between us with long strides. Damn him, why does he have to be so tall?
Then again, Edmund was tall as well.
At the reminder, I summon his card into my hand and scratch a line across it.
“Strike one,” I hiss.
He gapes at me. “What for?”
“North!”
I groan as a familiar Minnesotan accent booms through the hall.
“Mr Winthrop!” I growl, whirling to face the glowing ball of sunshine who just. Won’t. Leave. “I swear to magic, I will banish you if you cannot keep your voice down in my Arcanaeum!”
Lambert Winthrop has been like this since he was inducted, bouncing and smiling, like an excitable puppy. He’s also the fourth and final member of the mysterious group of patrons whose touch elicited those strange tingles.
Since he appeared three months ago, I’ve been dodging every single hug he’s directed my way, just in case itwasn’ta figment of my imagination.
There have been twenty-eight hug attempts so far this month.Twenty-eight.
He’s justthattouchy.
“Sorry, boss lady!” The golden-haired god flashes his easy smile my way, but I refuse to soften. “Can I give North the tour? Please? I’ll be quiet!”
Him? Quiet!? Even with a silencing spell, I doubt it’s possible.
“Lambert,” Northcliff murmurs, and I stiffen as I realise I’ve accidentally given him my back—a dangerous vulnerability to expose to any Ackland. “You weren’t kidding.”
