The Invisible Library (The Invisible Library Novel)

by Genevieve Cogman

  “Oh,” Kai said. He bit his lip.

  She was actually far less certain than she was willing to admit about how long it might take for her to access the Library again. It wasn’t something that had happened to her before. She knew the theory, but this was her first case of actual contamination. Thinking about it made her feel ill. She wanted peace and quiet and a chance to actually look at her hand, plus a small library where she could run some tests.

  Unfortunately, what she had here and now was a nervous and highly principled subordinate to reassure. It wasn’t a leader’s place to cast herself trembling on a junior’s shoulder and confess uncertainty. It wasn’t even a leader’s place to suggest that they might be in an indefensible position and should be grateful for any allies that they could get. It was a leader’s job to project a calm mastery of the situation, while also encouraging subordinates to develop decision-making skills. Assuming that they made the right decisions.

  A leader’s job was a crock of shit.

  This was becoming one of Irene’s least favourite missions ever. And that included the one with the evil dwarves under Belgium (what was it about Belgium?) and the one requiring a cartload of carved amber plaques to be shipped across Russia. Or even the one with the cat burglar.

  “Would it help if we could find out more about his family?” she offered. “If we find out that they’re not as bad as he’s painting, we can re-evaluate how much we trust him.”

  Kai shook his head decisively. “That makes no difference. We should reject his offer of help.”

  “That,” Irene said quietly, “is not an option.”

  They looked at each other for a moment. Kai’s lips were drawn together, his eyes darkly furious as he stood there, glaring down at her. In that moment, there was something almost inhuman about him, something fiercer—more elemental, perhaps. For the first time, she thought he might actually disobey her.

  In the end, he was the first to drop his eyes. “As you command,” he said. But I don’t approve of it was unspoken and unnecessary.

  Irene had met other Librarians who tried to manage their subordinates using shallow gender tactics. Bradamant, for one. She hadn’t liked it. She wasn’t going to try to sugar-coat this for Kai by softening now or by fluttering her eyelashes at him. “Did you bring our stuff along when you got me out of the British Library?” she asked.

  “I did,” Kai answered stiffly. “Both your document case and the jar with the . . . the skin.”

  “I’m impressed,” Irene said. “It must have been difficult to handle both them and me.”

  Kai shrugged, but she had the feeling that he was pleased. “I found a larger suitcase in the room, and I managed to get the jar and your document case in it. Do we tell Vale about those?”

  “No,” Irene said quickly. “That he doesn’t need to know. Did anything else happen while you were getting me out of there? People following us, attacks, whatever?”

  “Nothing worth mentioning,” Kai said smugly. “I wrapped your face in your veil and propped you against my shoulder and got my arm round your waist, and sort of steered you, and I kept on telling you how you shouldn’t have had so much gin last night. Nobody looked at us twice.”

  “Very prompt thinking,” Irene said drily. “Well done. Good job. And good selection of a place to hole up.”

  “If I’d known then what I know now . . . ,” Kai muttered, but not quite as sullenly as before.

  “You did the best you could on the information you had,” Irene said. She started peeling off the bandage again.

  “Are you sure it’s safe to do that?” Kai asked. “You don’t want it to get infected.”

  “I just want to see how bad it is . . .” A chunk of bandage fell back to reveal a layer of ointment-soaked dressing. Bits of raw skin showed at the edges, red and oozing. A twinge of pain ran through her hand, and Irene suppressed a wince. “All right,” she said through gritted teeth. “Who saw to this?”

  “I did,” Kai said. “That trap took the skin off your hand as neatly as if—well, as if it was a glove being peeled off.” He went down on one knee and took her hand in his, winding the bandage round it again. “Vale gave me some antiseptics and bandages, and I set some healing spells on it, but try not to use it too much.” His touch was careful and precise, his fingers dry and hot when they brushed her wrist. “Normally I’d say that you can take the bandages off in a couple of days, but I don’t know about chaos contamination.”

  “I can check that easily enough,” Irene said confidently. “This room has enough books in it for me to try asserting basic resonance.”

  Kai glanced around at the heavily shelved walls. “You don’t need to be in a real library for that?”

  Irene shrugged, then grimaced in pain as the movement twisted her hand in Kai’s hold. “Sorry,” she said, as he gave her a disapproving look. “Not exactly. I’d need to be in a real library to open a passage, but a single room of books is enough for me to reaffirm my links. Of course, it has to be a lot of books . . .” She smiled for a moment, remembering the smell of old celluloid and dustless air. “Actually, any significant store of knowledge or fiction can be made to function. I did it in a film storage section once, an archive of old television programmes. Not a single book in sight, all film reels and computer data, but the similarity in purpose and function was enough.”

  “Go on.” Kai leaned forward eagerly. “Do it.”

  “All right.” Irene was nervous, now that it actually came down to it. She’d spoken glibly enough about contamination, and while she knew the theory on the subject—it’ll wear off; just be sensible and avoid further exposure and stay away from the Library until you’re clear—she’d never actually experienced it herself. “You may want to stand away from the walls.”

  “I’m nowhere near the walls,” Kai pointed out.

  “Oh. Right.” Irene swallowed. “Okay.”

  She took a deep breath, wetted her dry lips, and invoked the Library by her name and by her rank as Librarian, speaking the words in the Language that described it. Unlike nouns or other parts of speech, words that described the Library or the Language themselves were among the few parts of the Language that never changed.

  The bandages covering her hand burst into flame. The shelves on the walls shuddered and groaned, wrenching from side to side and creaking like living trees in a winter storm, and books tumbled to crash on the floor. Tossed-aside newspapers and piles of notes rustled and moved, crawling along the floor in fractions of an inch, writhing away from her like crushed moths. The fountain pen on the desk jolted and rolled across the open notebook where it had been balanced, trailing ink behind it in a dark wet line.

  “What the devil!” Vale burst in, carrying an enamelled tea-tray. “What do you think you’re doing—”

  “Excuse me,” Kai snapped, grabbing the blue-and-white milk jug off the tray. He caught Irene’s wrist in his other hand and shoved her blazing bandaged hand into the jug, flames and all.

  There was a hiss and a gout of steam, and her hand went out.

  “Thank you,” Irene said, trying to get her breathing stable again. Her hand ached as if it had been stung by wasps all over and then left to get sunburned. “I’m so sorry about the milk, but I take my tea black anyway . . .” She was conscious that she was babbling, but she had to say something to try to explain things, and besides, her hand hurt.

  “My books!” Vale exclaimed in horror, looking around the room. “My notes! My—my—” He stood there, tea-tray shaking in his hands, glaring down at her in fury. “Miss Winters, kindly explain yourself!”

  Irene considered a number of things. She considered fainting. She considered claiming that it was a magical attack. She considered just giving up on Vale and walking out of the door. She also, with a pang of regret, considered how she’d feel if it had been her books all over the floor. Finally she said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Val
e. I was trying something and it went wrong.”

  Vale set down his tray on the nearest bit of uncluttered table with an audible thump and tinkle. “Something. Went. Wrong,” he said coldly.

  “Yes,” Irene said. She pulled her hand out of the jug. It dripped milk. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  Vale tapped his fingers against the surface of the tray. “May I ask if something is going to go ‘wrong’ again in the near future?”

  “I think it very unlikely,” Irene said hopefully. “I’m terribly sorry. Could I have some clean bandages, please?” Vale stared at her.

  “I’ve never seen her do it before,” Kai put in. “It was an accident.”

  “Simply an accident,” Irene agreed. “I truly am extremely sorry.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Vale spat out. “Very well. Bandages.” He slammed the door behind him as he left the room.

  “What does that mean?” Kai demanded. “The books! The papers!”

  “It means I’m contaminated after all,” Irene said quickly and quietly. “We can’t get into the Library until I’m clear. And I can’t use the Language reliably.”

  Kai stared at her. “You’re being awfully calm about this.”

  “Having your hand catch fire puts things into perspective . . . ,” Irene said. Any words would do, anything that kept her from panicking. She couldn’t afford to panic. She was contaminated with chaos, sick with the stuff, and she could only hope that she was right, that it would go away in time. But now she had to hold together and be in charge. “I find that it distracts me.”

  Kai just looked at her for a few seconds longer, then turned to glare at the door. “I don’t believe Vale swallowed that.”

  “I’d say it’s fairly conclusive proof that he needs our help badly,” Irene said.

  Vale stalked back in with a basin of water and some bandages. “Far be it from me to criticize,” he said, “but setting the afflicted body part on fire is not a usual form of treatment for an injured hand. Though I hear that milk is high in calcium.”

  Kai gave Vale one of his affronted looks. “Are you challenging Miss Winters’s actions, sir?”

  “Oh no, no,” Vale said. “I will go so far as to spend the next half hour or so picking up the books which are for some reason all over my floor, and let you tend to her hand. Unless the lady herself has something to contribute.”

  “Actually,” Irene said, “I do. But I can do it while Kai’s seeing to my hand, if you don’t mind.” Fortunately, staring at her hand gave her an excuse not to look at Vale. She knew that she must be blushing. Of all the stupid, ridiculous things to happen. This was not calculated to impress him at all.

  Kai snorted, then sat down next to her and began to remove the soaked bandages. “Please do go ahead,” he said. “What do you have in mind?” Besides your inability to contact the Library came through the words quite clearly.

  “I think we are all agreed that the Liechtenstein Embassy is involved in—ow, careful—this,” Irene said, clenching her free hand.

  “Sorry,” Kai said, more as a pro forma than in genuine apology. “Hold still.”

  “I would agree,” Vale said. He picked a couple of the books off the floor and dusted their covers tenderly. “Especially given that Lord Silver placed a very high bid by proxy for that book when it was being auctioned. Quite interesting, don’t you think?”

  Irene nodded. That was extremely interesting. “Then I suggest we attend the embassy ball tonight,” she said firmly.

  “What?” Kai said in horror. “Mingle with the . . . that is, are you serious? Do you realize the danger we’d be putting ourselves in?”

  “Mr. Strongrock overstates the situation,” Vale observed, “but it isn’t possible in any case. I agree that it is worth investigating, but unfortunately we won’t be able to get in. The affair is strictly invitation only, and even if I can enter the place disguised, I am not sure that either of you would be able to do so.”

  “I agree that the Fae are probably behind it,” Kai put in, “but there has to be a better way of investigating them. As this one isn’t going to work.”

  “No,” Irene said. “It will work. Because I have an invitation.”

  “Excellent!” Vale exclaimed.

  “And,” she added, “I’ll need a new dress.”

  “And a new hand?” Kai asked through gritted teeth.

  Irene managed to catch his eye. “Trust me,” she said.

  “Oh, I do,” Kai said. “I just happen to think that this is one of the most reckless, hare-brained, soul-endangering plans I have heard of since—” He broke off. “Never mind. I’m under your orders. But that invitation had better be for three people.”

  “It’ll do,” Irene said serenely, and tried to stay calm and composed, and everything that she didn’t feel.

  CHAPTER 10

  Irene stood back and watched Kai at the buffet. There was something fascinating about the pure, focused dedication that he gave the caviar: it seemed to somehow elevate the little black grains into something holy, even divine. The curve of his wrist as he scooped it onto a triangle of toast was the last word in elegant efficiency. Of course, there were other reasons to watch. Thanks to Vale’s tailoring recommendations, Irene was decorously gowned in a nice dark green, but Kai . . . well.

  Kai managed to wear evening dress with a personal style that made Irene work very hard on repressing jealousy—and on stifling a half-formed wish that she’d accepted his offer last night. It was not her business that Kai had such an air of inherent power, or the elegance of a nobleman combined with a somehow touching air of raffishness . . .

  That made her think. When she’d first seen him he’d been in a leather jacket and jeans, with a young ruffian attitude to match. But once they’d established themselves here in this alternate, he’d shifted his style and his language as effectively as any spy (and that wasn’t a comforting thought), easing into a more cheerful politeness that had certainly mollified her. At the ball, he’d adjusted himself again without a moment’s hesitation. She took a sip from her glass of wine, held in her left hand. Dry white, appropriate to the largely fish buffet.

  She still trusted him. That enthusiasm—that vigorous, cheerful offering of himself last night—and even his unwillingness to accept what he thought was a dangerous course of action, both rang true to her. Whoever he was, whatever he was, he was sincere and he was on her side.

  He couldn’t be a fully fledged Librarian. He wouldn’t have been so willing to share a bed with her if he’d needed to hide the requisite Library brand. That was one thing that make-up wouldn’t cover, as Irene knew from personal experience. And she didn’t think he was a creature of chaos. His distrust of all things Fae seemed very real. A nature spirit, perhaps? But from what she’d read, non-human spirits didn’t actually like taking human form that much. And then again, there was one significant alternative. She stared at the back of Kai’s head and thought about everything she knew about dragons, and wished she knew more.

  There were dragons, after all, who looked like—well—dragons. And then dragons could take a partly human form. She’d met one of those and sensed a pride so sublimely unaware of itself that it was somehow graceful. There had been the sense of a being apart, and definitely not human. She didn’t get that from Kai, except he did have the dignity. And Kai looked human. Impossibly handsome, but entirely human. Yet she’d been told that dragons could take that shape as well, if they wanted. Irene felt a rising sense of outrage at the thought that Coppelia must have known—if this was true. So why hadn’t she said—and why had Bradamant wanted him?

  “My little mouse, I believe,” a voice said from behind her. “How good of you to come.”

  Irene had enough of a grip on herself not to spill her wine. Just about. And she hadn’t been so engrossed in her student that she’d forgotten to watch the crowd. She just hadn’t seen him coming
. She turned and dropped into a curtsey, flicking a brief glance up at his face before lowering her eyes. “Lord Silver.” She had no idea whether he deserved the title, but it’d probably please him. He was as formally dressed as Kai, with some unspecified military order on his chest, and his pale hair was draped loosely over his shoulders. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”

  “You do pick the most interesting people to accompany you,” he said. His tone was amused rather than dangerous. “But I appreciate it. I’d have invited Leeds myself if I’d thought of it.”

  “I didn’t realize you were on those sorts of terms with him, sir,” Irene said.

  “I’m not.” His lips curved in a private smile. “Very definitely not.”

  Irene straightened out of her curtsey. “The ball seems very successful,” she said neutrally.

  Silver glanced across the room with a smile of casual ownership. He scooped up a plate from the buffet, casually loaded it with a handful of crab pâté puffs, and offered it to her. “I should hope so,” he said. “I’ve invited all the best people. Lords, ladies, authors, ambassadors, debauchers, grave-robbers, perverts, sorcerers, courtesans, deranged scientists, and doll-makers. And a few innocent socialites, of course, but generally I receive polite notes of refusal from their parents—or invitations to be horsewhipped.”

  “Invitations?” Irene said.

  “Notes offering to horsewhip me in front of my club if I even approach their daughters . . .”

  Irene swallowed nervously. Was it a joke? Should she so much as touch the crab pâté puffs? “Some people might call that a threat, sir.”

  “A threat?” He looked at her, genuine puzzlement in his eyes. “Why on earth would you think that?”

  She couldn’t quite bring herself to look him in the eyes while replying. If that was an example of Fae tastes, then she wasn’t going to push it any further. “They must be people of very limited scope, sir. Clearly.”

  He patted her shoulder fondly. His gloves were white kid, soft against her skin, and she could feel the heat of his flesh through them. It was more of a casual flash of power, as a shark might show its fin, than a deliberate attempt to englamour and seduce her, but she could feel it all the same.