by S. W. Clarke
She raised her fingers as though to pinch the air between us. “The art itself is pure. It’s the lips—and by extension, the mind—presenting the problem. This was the early understanding with which it was pioneered.”
“Pioneered by whom, Professor?”
Her eyes widened. Now I’d caught her in tight spot: she’d neglected to tell me about the history of the art, which was a fairly crucial bit of information for any professor to impart on, say, day one.
Her lips pursed. Then, “Her name was Raven Murkwood.”
Raven Murkwood. The same name I’d heard invoked in William Rathmore’s home that night back in the fall. The witch who’d written The Witching World.
I hadn’t expected Ora Frostwish to name her so easily.
“Oh, her.” I nodded. “I found her book in the Room of the Ancients during my first year. Fascinating witch. Lived in the sixteenth century, right?”
“Fifteen forty-nine to sixteen-oh-four,” she said in a clipped voice. “The greatest witch of the past millennia. She lived during the magical renaissance, of great discovery, before the formalists. Before witches were hunted. It was a better time.”
And yet that wasn’t how she and William Rathmore had discussed Murkwood in secret. They’d talked of her as if she were still alive.
I tilted my head as though silently counting. “If Raven Murkwood only lived fifty-five years, then how did she die, Professor?”
Frostwish’s lips moved, the words registering in my brain in the same moment she paralyzed me.
And just like every other time, this felt equally unnerving. I would never get used to being hexed by her.
“You think she was corrupted by the art, don’t you? That it killed her before her time.” She approached me slowly, eyes on mine. “No, fire witch. The art was pure, and it still is. It was humanity that was not. After all she contributed to the magical world, she was killed during the Battle of the Ages, may she rest in peace.”
I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. But my brain could still process at the same speed, and I could still keep my eyes on Frostwish.
She was agitated, upset. But more than that, she was wistful.
She was a fae who wished she’d been born in another age—namely, five hundred years ago. The modern world didn’t suit her, and it was obvious she revered a long-dead witch.
Raven Murkwood, the pioneer of the art of hexing.
As I stared into Ora Frostwish’s eyes, I wondered how much the “pure art” had afflicted her. How much it had addled her brain.
One thing had become clear over the past school year: she carried darkness in her, wore it over her like an invisible cloak. I trusted her less now than ever, and I knew I needed someone besides Ora Frostwish to help me with hexes.
I needed Liara Youngblood.
Chapter Eighteen
On Monday morning I came upon Liara Youngblood at eight-thirty, precisely where she always was at that time: in the dining hall. Over the years, I’d also observed that she always ate a bowl of muesli with blueberries on top and drank a mug of coffee with cream.
This morning, at least, she was alone.
Maybe Aidan was right. Maybe she had grown.
I set down my own bowl and mug across from her, took a seat. “Morning, Youngblood.”
That black hair, a silken waterfall over her shoulders, practically reflected my own shadow back at me. Her dark eyes lifted, a small line marring the flawless creamy space between her eyebrows. “Morning.”
Common decency wasn’t beyond her now. At least, not when it came to me.
She nodded at my bowl of muesli with blueberries on top and my mug of coffee with cream. “Good pick.”
A smile touched my lips. “Seems to work for you.”
She didn’t return the smile. “You want something. It’s written all over you.”
She wasn’t wrong. “We’re both chasers, both guardians. Maybe I want to spend time with you. Get to know you.”
She plunged her spoon into the bowl until it clinked on the bottom. “Maybe, but you don’t.”
“We’ll have to work together, you and me. Practicing for rescues.”
She nodded. “We will. But that isn’t why you’re here.” She was too goddamn perceptive for me to to avoid the truth. Not if I was going to receive her help.
So I opted for truth.
I spread my hands. “Do you still hate me?”
Her eyes narrowed, wings trembling like an overstimulated cat’s tail. “What’s this the preamble to?”
I took a deep breath. Before I could begin—
“I don’t hate you, by the way,” she said. “If that makes this any easier.”
It did, actually.
I glanced around us. We were unobserved by the other students. “I need to break into the Kowloon Library.”
She set her spoon down. Leaned closer. “You know I grew up in Singapore, don’t you?”
“I’ve heard as much.”
“It has one of the oldest collections of magical texts in the world.”
I nodded. “So I’m told. I hear the restricted room is even better.”
One elbow found the table’s edge as she leaned even closer. “And do you know how strong the protective enchantments are around that room?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Stronger than Umbra’s enchantment around this academy.”
“So…is there a way into the restricted room?”
She nodded once. “Yes. But only one way.”
“And what’s that?”
Her eyes glinted like onyx. “A fae has to escort you.”
Liara had agreed to help me. She didn’t ask why; she just asked when.
And when I’d said right away, she had nodded. “Fine. We’ll go and be back before class.”
This was too easy.
When she grabbed her satchel, slung it over one shoulder, and stood up with her bowl and mug, I stood with her. “You think we can be back before class.”
“Did I stutter?” She brought the dishes to the discard tray, and I grabbed my bag and followed.
“Anyway,” she went on, “we have to be quick. Guardians can’t leave the grounds for long.”
She had a point. “Do you have a phone?” I asked.
She reached into her pocket and fished out an iPhone in one gesture. “Will this do?”
“If I can borrow it while we’re in the restricted room, then sure.”
“I don’t want witch fingerprints on it.” She turned toward the doors, left me standing there with own my bowl and mug still in hand. “What do you need it for, anyway?”
I set them on the tray, went after her. As we came into the sunlight, I said, “To take pictures of a book.”
“Fine. I’ll do it myself.”
Well, if she was going to be so amenable… “I’d like to bring my friend.”
“Only you can come.” She didn’t look in my direction. “Those are the rules.”
“How about me and one cat?”
Now her eyes did flash at me as we walked. “Absolutely not.”
So it would just be me and Liara. And she was headed toward the leyline that we would use to get to the library.
This fae was all business. And way too eager to help me.
As we walked, I looked over at her. “Why are you doing this for me?”
“It should be obvious.”
“It isn’t.”
She gave a sharp exhale through her nose. “I owe you. I don’t feel comfortable with outstanding debts. It’s a fae cultural thing.”
I paused. Outstanding debts? Then, “You mean what happened in the labyrinth?”
“Yes, in the labyrinth. Even though I know it was you who angered the boggans, I still wouldn’t have made it through without your cat.”
We passed the amphitheater at the center of the academy grounds, headed down the path toward the forest.
“You don’t owe me,” I said. “I don’t consider you indebted
.”
She swiped that aside with one hand. “Please. You know as well as I do that debts aren’t about the person to whom they’re owed.”
I did know.
It was about the unevenness you felt someone had done you a favor, the lack of equal footing. It was all in the head, but it was as real as anything. Especially if that favor meant becoming a guardian.
I set my satchel strap over my opposite shoulder so it sat crossbody. “So you aren’t going to ask why I want this.”
“I’ll admit I’m curious, but you can keep your secrets. I’m just here to repay the debt.”
But I sensed it was more than that. Was it possible Liara was actually warming to me?
As we passed toward the leyline, I considered telling her some portion of the truth, maybe all of it. Aidan was right: she was, after all, a guardian.
But she also hated witches, and probably everything we stood for. Hexes were sure to be problematic.
So I kept my mouth shut.
We came in silence to the leyline, and she raised a hand. Glanced back at me. “Be ready. We’re going to come out on a busy street near the library.”
I nodded.
Liara Youngblood proceeded to cut the veil in a way I’d never seen done. She drew her finger through the air in a simple, effortless motion, and at the same time she passed through the opening she’d made.
It wasn’t cut and then go.
It was cut and go at the same time.
Parting the veil wasn’t simple or easy. Even as a third-year, I still had to place all my focus on the act, and I certainly couldn’t move any other body parts as I did it.
From the other side, she glanced back at me; greenery and the sounds of a well-used street offered themselves from behind her. Her wings were already hidden from view. “Well?”
I came through, stepping onto a sidewalk. The faint smell of ocean touched my nose, and a humid breeze caught my hair. It was nighttime here, the street lit and down its length by headlights and buildings. Far off, what looked like a six-story mall towered over the road.
“The restricted room will close soon,” Liara said. “We have to be quick.” Within minutes, she’d led me to a grand building with huge pillars as a facade.
I stopped on the stairs. “This is the National Museum of Singapore.”
Liara tracked back, took hold of my arm and led me forward. “I don’t have time to explain the magical world to you right now. You need to trust that I know my home.”
Together, we passed under the arches, through the grand, double-front doors of the building, and into a large lobby. An information desk was occupied by a smiling woman who greeted us with a brochure in hand.
“Bathroom,” Liara explained to her, veering us right as soon as we’d come in.
We passed down a side hallway toward what was, in fact, the women’s bathroom. Just as we reached the door, she turned to me. “What you need to know now is that there isn’t a bathroom behind this door.”
My eyes flicked to the ladies’ sign, back to her. “Would you bet money on that?”
“Depends on what you believe.” She glared at me, lips pressing together. “Do you believe it’s a ladies’ room, or the entrance to the Kowloon Library?”
I knew immediately what she was really asking: Are you a human, or are you a witch?
This was seeing the academy itself. This was the fae market. This was the inn in Abridge.
My chest tightened. That glare was a throwback; it was the same look she’d given me every time we met eyes during our first two years. Then, lifting my chin, “I believe there’s a library.”
“Then I wouldn’t bet money, because you’d be right.”
I nodded. “Let’s go.”
Liara pulled on the handle, stepped through the door without holding it open for me. It closed behind her, which left me to open it myself.
I set my fingers to the brass handle. Not a bathroom. Not a bathroom. And when I pulled it open, a fluorescent brightness nearly blinded me.
Chapter Nineteen
It wasn’t a bathroom.
“Good evening!” a voice called from somewhere across the room. As my eyes adjusted, I made out the pale orange wings first. And attached to them, hair so orange and so well-groomed the man’s head might have been a fruit if he didn’t have eyes and a mouth.
He waved at me from behind his desk like he would to a child. “Oh, a non-fae. It’s been some time.”
Liara, who already stood at the desk, glanced back at me. “She’s harmless. A friend from school.”
As the room came into relief, so did stacks of books on carts and bookcases lined with them, filling four of four walls. On the far wall, a massive, etched wooden door sat firmly shut.
It was a circulation room, with two major differences:
The lightning was white-bright, like we had just entered heaven.
Some of the books were flying.
“Watch your head now,” the orange-hair fae called out to me.
Before I could react, a book clipped me on the side of the head as it came up from behind. The obstacle—my head, that is—set it off course, and it veered, pages flapping, until it redirected course and made for a chute on the far side of the room.
When it dropped inside, it disappeared entirely.
Other books moved around the room in the same way, some flying to shelves, some lifting off them and disappearing down the same chute.
I set a hand to my stinging scalp. “Apparently the books aren’t harmless.”
The orange-haired fae exchanged a glance with Liara. Then, to me, “A newer mage, are you?”
Liara gave me a severe look, the meaning of which was obvious at once: stick to being harmless.
“Yes,” I said with a laugh. “Just found out I was a mage recently, and Liara took me under her wing at school. Go House Gaia.”
“Gaia. Isn’t that sweet. Come stand over here, child, so you don’t get concussed.”
I did so—carefully. When I arrived in front of the desk, the fae clasped his hands atop it, faced Liara. “And I take it you’d like to bring her in as your guest.”
Liara nodded.
“You do realize the library closes in thirty minutes.”
“I realize. We’ll be quick.”
“So be it.” With a twirl of his fingers, an equally orange quill lifted from an inkwell and dropped to a notepad. It began scribbling in large cursive; I assumed it was Faerish.
Liara’s hands found the edge of the desk. “And I have one other request.”
The librarian’s eyebrows rose. “Yes?”
“We’d like to enter the restricted room with the section on witches.”
There are multiple restricted rooms?
He smiled, wings trembling with affront. “Oh no no no. Absolutely not. All the books are in Faerish, anyway.”
“I’d just like to give her a peek.” Liara tilted her head. “Please. My mother always spoke so highly of you, Mr. Rosewort, and how open-minded you were to humans.”
I’d never heard Liara say the word please. I’d never heard that tone in her voice.
I couldn’t see her face, but it must have been equally plaintive. Because Mr. Rosewort’s features softened, and he sighed. “Just a peek?”
“I swear it.”
“Very well. Not like the girl could accomplish much in a room full of ancient Faerish tomes.” He nodded to me. “What is your name, earth mage?”
My name. What was my name?
“Terra...Loam.”
He eyed me a moment, and then raised his quill and set it to paper. “You earth mages and your odd naming conventions.” He ripped the paper from the sheet. “Take care you carry this note with you into the room, lest the earth mage be booked in.”
Booked in.
After taking a book to the head, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what that phrase meant.
“Of course.” Liara put out her hand, and Mr. Rosewort set the note in her palm.
&nbs
p; I hovered at the desk. “Do I get a note, too?”
Liara hissed out a breath in my direction.
Mr. Rosewort’s eyes flicked to me, the softness tightening. “Remember, Ms. Loam, this is a fae library, and you may only enter as Ms. Youngblood’s guest. She carries the single note, so please do stick close to her.”
We passed toward the large wooden door, and as we went through, Liara whispered to me, “Terra Loam?”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“Barely.”
As the door closed behind us, I stopped. Stared.
Above me, a whirlwind of books rose high toward a five-story ceiling. Some flew off to different directions, and some entered, but always the vortex remained. And around it spread a library three times the size of the one at the academy. So many stories up, so many books. So many beautiful gilded railings.
So many wings.
At tables around us, fae heads lifted from their study. Perfectly shaped eyes watched us.
If I’d have known I was entering a room full of former Miss Universes, I would have put on my clean uniform.
In this room, a natural light shone. The sunset beamed through a glass ceiling spanning the whole of the place, casting beautiful shades of orange and red over everyone and everything.
Liara stood with me. For once, she didn’t seem impatient. Maybe she knew I needed this moment. “It’s the oldest library in the world,” she said.
“How can that be? Singapore wasn’t a city-state until…”
“You’re thinking in human terms. Think in fae terms.”
My attention sharpened on her. “Eva once told me about a portal between the fae world and this one. Are you saying it was originally on this island?”
“As far as we know.” Liara nodded me forward. “It was easier when humans weren’t so plentiful here.”
She threaded us past watching fae, right beneath the vortex of books.
I couldn’t help but look up. When we were directly under it, I could see straight up through to the orange sky.
“How do the books move?” I asked her.
She kept walking ahead of me. “How do you think they move?”