I rub my thumb across the large gem in the hilt as I glideacross the space and back again, thinking. The jewel is the only part of the blade that’s cold, slick, and oily beneath my touch.
“Kyrith?”
Eddy’s voice breaks my contemplation, and I whirl to face her. Magic, I was so caught in my thoughts that I didn’t even notice her open the trapdoor.
“Fuck these stairs,” she groans, pressing her hand to her side as she reaches the final step.
“This place is still technically off limits,” I remind her, replacing the blade on the altar and casting a hasty shield spell over it followed by one for invisibility. “There are artefacts down here that could hurt you if you’re not careful.” I pause. “How did you even get down here, anyway?”
I could’ve sworn I locked the trapdoor, but the heirs have me distracted. Lesson learned.
“The Arcanaeum opened the trap door for me because weird shit is happening upstairs, and North is… Well, he’s in a mood.” Her tone turns apologetic at the end, like she’s somehow to blame for her brother.
Weird shit…? I shoot a questioning thought at the Library, which gives a little sigh, directing my attention to Conjurer’s Hall. Someone is wandering through the stacks up there, testing out books that won’t leave the shelves because they don’t have a library card.
“Oh. Never mind, it’s a visitor.”
“Visitor?”
I’m not sure I have the energy to explain the oddities of the Arcanaeum right now, so I simply wave the subject away. “I’ll deal with it. Go to bed.”
It’s late.
“But what about North?”
“What about him?”
She gives me a meaningful look, and I sink a little lower in my bones. “You really think that anything I say will help?”
Her shrug isn’t reassuring. “It can’t hurt.” She takes a last look around at the shelves, her face lit in shades of melancholy purple by the flames in the braziers. Her next words are thick with weariness. “I just… He won’t listen to me, and he’s wearing himself out trying spells he’s not ready for because he thinks it’s the best way to protect us.”
Oh. “I see.”
To someone like North, realising the scale of the danger we’re in—that his twin is in—must’ve hit a nerve. No doubt, having Mathias swoop in and take over the house didn’t help those feelings of powerlessness either.
He’s gone from being under Josef’s thumb to something worse.
“I’ll talk to him,” I promise. “If only to stop him before he hurts himself.”
Unfortunately, I can only see this ending one way—with us doing what we usually do. Arguing.
Twenty-Seven
Kyrith
After ushering Eddy up to bed, I set out to deal with the visitor meandering through the Library. I appear right behind her, remaining as a ghost in case she isn’t friendly.
Every now and again, someone wanders into the Arcanaeum by accident. I’ve never quite figured out how. Thankfully, this woman seems to be a normal inept. Over the years I’ve had to evict all manner of creatures. Demons with horns, blood witches, lycans, even the occasional pair of fae princes. Thankfully, these instances are few and far between and almost exclusively during closing hours.
This lady needs patching up, given the deep gash on her upper arm. That’s also normal.
It also adds more credence to my hypothesis that the Arcanaeum only allows in those who need our aid.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Can I help you?”
She whirls, long hair whipping around as she clutches thenearest shelf for support. Her face drains of colour, and she lets out a little shriek, stumbling backwards.
“Ghost!”
