Goldie’s lips pursed. Anyone wearing Louboutins to a Trust meeting wasn’t there for the land. “And on that note, I’ll take my leave,” she said breezily.
Jonah managed a strained smile, though the lines at his eyes didn’t soften. “While you’re down there, see if you can dig up anything about staving off ritual death and dismemberment. We might need it before the week’s out.”
Goldie’s bangles jingled as she swept a mock bow. “If I find a how-to manual, I’ll bring back extra copies.”
The further she and Nell moved into City Hall, the stranger the atmosphere became. The building seemed to vibrate with its own anxieties: corridors bent at odd angles, as though trying to avoid each other; light fixtures flickered in competing rhythms.
A clerk rushed past, balancing a stack of files that squeaked as though they disapproved of their contents. Nearby, a door slammed, then immediately opened again of its own accord, sulking loudly on its hinges.
They’d barely made it to the first stairwell when Nell stopped short. She winced, one hand going to her temple as her eyes flared Dyad-white.
Goldie halted, bangles clinking in alarm. “What—Nell? Hey.”
Nell grimaced and waved a hand. “It’s nothing. Just Sig. He’s doing his Harbinger voice at me.” She exhaled and rolled her eyes skyward.“Beloved, there is fraying in the threads. Where are you?”
Goldie’s stomach dipped. “Shit. Are we Dooming right now? Do I need to go grab ritual chalk?”
Nell shook her head, her eyes dimming back to their normal green. “No, no. He’s just being overprotective. I told him I was here with you and… ” She sighed. “I never should’ve taught him how to check the news on his phone. Now he doesliteraldoomscrolling. It’s exhausting.”
The archive doors loomed ahead, carved oak inlaid with copper sigils that shimmered faintly at Goldie’s approach. She raised her wrist, the bracelet glowing in recognition, and the heavy doors swung inward on a gust of cool, parchment-scented air.
The shouts of the protestors, the smoke, the whole Beltane circus, all suddenly flew straight out of her head at the sight that awaited her.
Stacks upon stacks unfurled before her: rows of file folders labeled in precise copperplate, scrolls bound in red twine, leather-bound ledgers glowing faintly with embedded ward-ink. A crystal chandelier hummed overhead, its light refracting across stained-glass windows painted with civic crests.
“Oh,” Goldie breathed.
It was, without question, the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Or it would have been, if not for the little man sitting at the intake desk. He was squat and round, with a gleaming pate and spectacles that magnified his eyes to unsettling size. A half-eaten sandwich sat beside a stack of stamped forms. Unlike everyone else in City Hall, he didn’t look harried. He looked perfectly, smugly, at home.
Goldie sidled up, putting on her best sparkle: the smile that saidI’m your favorite person and you just don’t know it yet.
She gave a little wave, flashing her bracelet as though it were stage lighting. “Hi! I’m the Herald of the Solstice Flame, and I’d like to access the archives, please.”
“And I’m here for moral support,” Nell added brightly from behind her. Her eyes flickered Dyad-white again, and she winced, muttering under her breath. “No, Sig, I’m not in danger, I’m literally in a hallway. No, I don’t need to flee the building. Sweetheart, will you just?—”
The little man grunted, unimpressed. “Fine. Both of you can enter.” He jabbed a thumb at Nell. “But she stays in the reading room.”
He rifled through a drawer, producing a sheaf of cream-colored forms edged in protective sigils that faintly hummed as he laid them out. “Sign and seal. Access privileges are logged. Loss of materials will result in fines, expulsion, and a hex of mild inconvenience.”
Goldie bent cheerfully to the task, the bracelet on her wrist glowing brighter as she signed. The man scanned it with a brass-and-crystal reader that gave a satisfied ding, though he looked almost disappointed it had worked.
Goldie’s smile widened. “Guess it’s official.” She tapped Nell on the shoulder, who was still frowning faintly at some inaudible commentary from Sig. “Come on, sweetness.”
Together they passed the bridge-troll bureaucrat and stepped into the heart of the archives, where the air smelled of ink, dust, and the faintest tang of magic, as though secrets themselves were waiting to be discovered.
She drifted past the rows of shelving like she was walking through a dream. Vellum scrolls bound with golden thread glowed faintly under their wards. File folders stamped with sigils that pulsed like slow heartbeats. Ledgers taller than she leanedagainst the walls, their spines carved with dates and lunar phases.
“Mmm,” she whispered, fingers gliding over the ward-inked spines. “Bureaucracy has never looked so damn sexy.”
Behind her, Nell had claimed a seat in the reading room, chin propped on one hand while she argued under her breath with Sig. “I’m fine. No, I don’t need to leave. No, I don’t need Goldie to hex anyone. Gods above, if you read me one more headline from theBellwether Bulletin?—”
Goldie suppressed a grin and pressed deeper into the stacks. She scanned the copper plates, zeroing in on the section she wanted: Green Holdings, zoning and boundary maps, Beltane access permits. Perfect.
Except… the files weren’t there.
She frowned, crouched, and checked the lower shelves. Nothing. Tried the cross-referenced drawers for duplicates. Nothing. Even the catalog orb above the aisle blinked at her apologetically when she tapped it, its glowing words spelling:Record unavailable. Status: In circulation.
Goldie pursed her lips, then marched back to the desk. “Hi. Small problem. The Green Holdings files? Related to Beltane? Not in their spot.”
