I’m not sure if that gets through to him, or if he’s simply too tired to argue, but he shoves to his feet and trudges down the stairs without a fight.
“I just can’t stop hearing her scream,” he whispers so softly I almost don’t catch it.
The worst part is, neither can I.
Three
Kyrith
It's been five hundred years since I felt the glide of sheets across my body, and I doubt they were ever this soft. The only reason I recognise them at all is because someone tucks them under my arm as I start to come back around.
I flinch, and my companion freezes.
“Kyrith? You awake this time? Or are you gonna ghost out on me again?”
Eddy’s tone is soft with caution as I battle the clinging vestiges of sleep.
If I didn’t die, then I refuse to be idle.
“Why is everything so difficult?” I ask, grunting as I give up the fight against my eyelids. “How do you do this?”
Even talking feels like a huge effort.
“It might have something to do with not eating for a long time,” she suggests, wryly. “Give me a second.”
Her weight leaves the mattress, and I feel her footsteps skip across the floor, heading for the stairs.
“Oi!” she hollers, weight hitting the rail as she leans over toproject her voice down the stairwell. “She’s awake. Someone check if the doors are working now, and grab us some food.”
“Pizza,” I say. “Pizza and sex and travel.”
Except, I’m not certain I’m in any condition to experience any of those things. The mind is willing, the body… Ugh, not so much.
Magic, I might be delirious.
“Let’s just start with something light and easy to digest,” Eddy corrects. “And work out whether birth control works on ghosts before you start putting your vagina through her paces.”
Multiple chairs scrape across the floor downstairs, making the wood protest. At the same time my eyes scrunch up in tiredness. Somehow the two sensations both end up battling for dominance, clashing until I can’t distinguish one from the other.
“Doors work!” North yells back, and I hear his voice echoing up the stairwell and simultaneously as if I were in the room below with them.
Too much. Overwhelm threatens again. This time, the Arcanaeum sends a wave of apology at me before it doessomething, then the awareness of the building fades. It’s still there, but muted, giving me the space to process the dryness of my mouth and the relief that comes with my yawn.
I can touch things. I tangle my hands in the covers just to prove it’s possible and then hiss as I accidentally draw the quilt away from my feet, exposing them to cold air.
“I haven’t missed that,” I grumble, shivering as I retreat back into the warm haven of my blankets.
That’s a lie, but it feels good to grouch about something as benign as chilly toes.
My eyes finally flicker open as Eddy reclaims her spot on my bed. I wasn’t imagining it earlier; she is brighter than before. It’s like I’ve been looking at her through dirty glass,and now someone has cleaned up the image, throwing the golden brown of her eyes and the dark brunette of her short hair into sharp relief.
Even the room is more vivid than I remember.
I had no idea being dead affected my eyesight so badly.
Above us, the mechanism of the clock tower ticks merrily away, and the Library itself seems supremely…smug. Footsteps charge up the stairs, the beams vibrating under the weight of a crowd.
I raise my hands into my field of view, expecting them to be blue and riddled with black cracks. Calloused pink palms tremble before me. The only blue in sight is the delicate tracery of my veins and the cerulean sleeves of my decidedly modern flannel pyjamas.
