“I accept the responsibility of protecting the Clach na Fìrinn and promise to restore the Order to its fullness. In doing so, I show myself worthy of the magick of Clach na Fìrinn.” The Gaelic words felt strong on my tongue but also, right, somehow, like a song I’d known once and forgotten. “It is with these words I complete the Order of Caledonia as the final protector of the Clach na Fìrinn. I accept the power bestowed upon me.”
The thistle smoke curled around me, and for a moment, I could have sworn I saw shapes in it—women’s faces, watching, waiting. Wrights who had come before.Bookkeepers who had served with honor, before my ancestor had shattered everything.
Or perhaps I was just overly tired.
But I could have sworn I even saw my gran’s face, smiling down at me. My throat tightened, and I swallowed past the lump that formed, the enormity of what I was accepting settling over my shoulders like a heavy cloak.
Then the smoke cleared, and that sense of rightness enveloped me again.I have more purpose than I ever thought possible.The weapons room was where Sophie had chosen her blade, but Hilda instead led us to the library. Of course. A Bookkeeper wouldn’t choose her object among weapons. She’d choose it among words.
“Between this space and the archives, I could live here,” I said, gesturing to the gorgeous library with rolling ladders, a mural on the ceiling, and chairs that invited you to sink and escape the world for a while.
“It’s one of my favorite rooms as well,” Hilda agreed, her eyes bright. “Now, Agnes. We need you to choose a weapon of significance for you. Something that represents your role. Sophie has her dirk. Lia has her kitchen knife. What speaks to you?”
I already knew the answer. It had come to me instantly when they’d mentioned my need for a symbol to represent my powers.
And what weapon was mightier than the pen?
I reached into my bag and pulled out Gran’s fountain pen. It was old—art deco, with a deep green barrel and gold accents—and Gran had used it for everything important.
She’d given it to me before she’d entered the hospital.
“This,” I said, holding it out. “This was my grandmother’s.”
Hilda nodded approvingly and produced a small pot of oil. “Cardamom. For love and clarity of thought.”
“Why love?” I arched an eyebrow at her, thinking about Graham and the curse that clung to my bloodline.
“Love is the universal thread that binds all things,” Hilda said, and there was something knowing in her eyes. “There is more than just romantic love, my dear.”
I dipped my finger in the oil and carefully coated the pen’s nib, the part that touched paper, that made the words real.
“Now,” Archie said, “you speak your acceptance.”
I held the pen in both hands and took a breath.
“I, Agnes Wright, have chosen my instrument. With pure heart, I accept the honor and duties of the Bookkeeper of Caledonia.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the pen began to glow.
It was almost ethereal, really, like starlight captured in glass or like moonlight on water. The green barrel seemed to deepen, and the gold accents shimmered with something that wasn’t quite reflection.
A cooling sensation washed through me, starting at my fingertips and spreading up my arms, through my chest, into my heart. It felt like stepping out of a sauna into a misty morning.
“There you are,”Quilliam said softly.“Welcome back, Bookkeeper.”
I looked down at the pen in my hands. The glow wasfading now, settling into the metal and stone like it had always been there.
A fissure of excitement worked its way through me. Did this mean I had power now? Would I actually be able to effect real change?
“So now I have to pass challenges?” I asked, looking up. I’d watched the other members of the Order do this, so I knew what was required of me.
“Now you face your challenges, though I’m not sure what that will be for a Bookkeeper,” Lachlan said.
Hilda and Sophie exchanged looks.
“Truth,” Hilda said finally. “I’m betting it has something to do with truth. The Bookkeeper is the witness to all oaths, the keeper of all records, you ken?”
