"Pardon? NF… AA?"
"No fun at all."
Sweet holy waters. The god of wine wasn't a fierce barbarian. He was an overgrown child whose development had arrested at the age of twelve. Leander shook his head, careful that he held his horns up and out of the way. The only choices he had were to ban Dionysus from the library, and that hardly seemed fair when he was merely irritating and not causing harm to the books; or he could allow the rather flighty god to accompany him. Perhaps if he refused to respond, Dionysus would grow bored and go away.
"I like this cardigan." Dionysus stroked the cabled sleeve, making Leander shy away into a bookshelf. "Sorry. Um, personal space. Got it. You probably have a bunch of sweaters. But I like this one. The green is much better for you than that black one you had on the other day."
Leander increased his pace with a sidelong glance. "I like the black one." Gah! I was supposed to ignore him.
"Too severe for you. Your beautiful russet hair doesn't go well with black. I mean, not that it's bad or anything, if you want to look all stern and badass. But this one's a friendlier cardigan."
"Friendlier." Leander's brain had shorted out on beautiful. Someone found any part of him beautiful?
"Yeah. More can I help you sort of librarian instead of behave or I'll stomp on your head librarian. Cardigan. Cardigan. Cartograph. Carbon footprint. Carte blanche Dubois. "You have a lot of words in here." Dionysus waved expressively at the cases they marched past. "Do you wonder about them? The words. Where they came from?"
Leander pushed open the door into Lord Ganesha's hallway and continued right, wishing his uninvited companion would stop talking but oddly comforted by his presence. At least it kept him from jumping at shadows and imagining things lurking around corners. "Cardigan is from the Welsh, ceredigion, which means Ceredig's Land."
"Oooh, I am impressed." Dionysus skipped around to face him, walking backward again. "But why Ceredig? I mean, who put those sounds together to make that name in the first place? Why those sounds?"
"I don't know, my lord. I suppose he could just as easily have been called Mudflats."
The laugh was unexpected, musical and warm. So warm. Not a sound one often heard in the library corridors. Perhaps he could tolerate this eccentric little god for a bit longer. Conversation had never been natural or comfortable. Conversing with someone who didn't seem at all bothered when he didn't answer and wasn't critical when he did was certainly easier. They'd already reached the stairs, and he hardly recalled taking all the windings and turnings to get there.
Leander gripped the handrail and descended carefully, as he always did. Hooves and stairs were a disastrous combination for the unwary. When his gadfly didn't seem to be following, he turned and gasped in horror. Dionysus had climbed up onto the opposite banister. With the tip of his tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth, he clung to the phoenix finial at the top of the stairs while he placed his buckle-festooned boots sideways on top of the handrail.
"My Lord, you mustn't—"
A wild whoop cut off his admonition as Dionysus pushed off and surfed the handrail down, arms outstretched for balance, wobbling perilously as his velvet coat streamed out behind him. He crouched as he neared the end of the curved rail, eyes narrowed. Leander hurried down after him, certain that he would hit the carved phoenix on the end and take a terrible spill.
At the last moment, Dionysus sprang from the railing to leap over the phoenix's raised wings. It was a beautifully executed tuck and somersault, right up to the moment where he misjudged his landing and fell flat on his face.
"Lord Dionysus?"
Long black hair pooling around his head, it was impossible to tell if he was conscious. Then he held up a hand, his voice muffled against the floor as he said, "I'm all right. I'm good. Dismount needs work."
"My Lord, I can't allow you to be here if you have no respect for the library and its environs."
"Oh, hey, I totally respect this place. I won't hurt the books."
Leander suppressed a sigh and waved at the scratches on the railing.
"Crap. Sorry, sorry." Dionysus bounced up and slipped under Leander's arm to return to the top of the staircase. Face close to the railing, his hands caressing the wood, he began to speak in a crooning murmur that Leander quickly realized was not meant for him. "I'm so sorry. Me and my klutzy feet. Shh, shh, it's okay. There's enough life here to fix this. It's gonna be all right."
The wood under Leander's hand began to vibrate in a low, pulsing hum. He jerked away, backing up until he bumped against the opposite banister. A warm glow pulsed under Dionysus's hand, rendering his skin nearly translucent. Leander craned his neck, shoving his glasses up his nose and the hair out of his eyes. Alarms rang in parts of his brain, the sensible parts that said he shouldn't allow this, whatever it was, but his curiosity trampled rather rudely over those parts.
As Dionysus caressed the wood, moving down the banister, the glow hovered a moment before dissipating, leaving behind a perfectly smooth, unblemished surface.
"How…"
"It's one of my things, right?" Dionysus shrugged as he straightened the cuffs of his velvet coat. "I mean, I know everyone thinks party god when they look at me, but I'm really a plant god at my roots. Ha! Roots. I'm punny."
"Ah." Of course. If Leander had stopped to think, he would have made the connection between the wine and the vines, the wild god and the wilds. If he had been any other god, Leander wouldn't have batted an eye at the banister repair, and he realized that perhaps he was being unfair.
Dionysus skipped past him down the stairs, singing something about spiders from Mars.
Or perhaps not.
They passed shelves of folios transcribed from ancient Japanese scrolls and reached the hallway where the ceilings changed from high, coffered stone vaults illuminated with huge chandeliers to where the clearance was just enough for Leander to continue standing straight, as long as he didn't toss his horns. The peony and rose floor tiles gave way to dark, polished marble, and glass cases mounted in dark wood replaced the rows of bookshelves.
"Okay, so can I ask questions? Is that okay? Will you answer them?"
Leander let out a little snort. "Part of my duties is to answer questions, my lord."
"So why's it get so dark in this part? I mean, it's not dark-dark. You can still see stuff, but darker."
"This is the beginning of the Alexandrian Collection. The Collection comprises nearly half of the third floor. Your brother's reading room is at the heart of it."
"Which brother?"
"Lord Hermes." Leander crinkled his forehead but told himself not to judge. Perhaps there had been a family schism since Dionysus didn't know these things. "His quick actions saved a large part of the items of magical and historical significance when the Library of Alexandria burned. Those items are now housed here, but many are damaged or delicate. The lower lighting and the locked cases protect them."
"I think I heard about that. Him and his wingy feet." Dionysus appeared to consider this, head cocked as he examined a case containing an ebony staff carved with fish. "So… didn't all this stuff belong to humans, then? Why didn't he give it back?"
"He did return those items that were entirely human. But the gods decided collectively that most of the magical items were too dangerous in human hands. It was a human sorcerer who sparked that terrible fire, after all."
Dionysus jerked away from the case and jogged to catch up. "And the history stuff?"
"Some of it belonged to the gods. They reclaimed it."
"And the other of it?"
Leander caught himself on the leading edge of a sigh. "I don't question the acquisitions, my lord. I catalog and curate."
"Oh. So how long have you been here?"
"That's not a question about the library."
"Kind of? In a sideways way?" Dionysus did a little turn as he walked and snapped his fingers. "How about this? You can ask me personal questions for every one I ask about you."
"
My Lord…" He had been about to say what a bad idea that was, but he did have something he wanted answered. "Why do you speak of my sister in the past tense?"
All the bounce abruptly left Dionysus's stride. "'Cause she died, big guy."
"Clearly. But I know that you rescued your mother from death. That's in the accounts. Twice-born, you have abilities other gods do not. Where is my sister now?"
"That's not fair," Dionysus said in a small voice. "You didn't answer my question."
Leander let out a little snort, annoyed at himself for allowing the conversation at all. "Several centuries, I've been here. I didn't keep track initially. I can't be more exact."
"Oh."
Leander was regretting his questions. It was like watching a shiny, rainbow-colored balloon deflate, this draining of joy. Dionysus's voice cracked and wavered as he finally answered. "It was just after Ari's fiftieth birthday. She got really sick. Apollo says it was probably cancer. I begged her to let me bring my family. To cure her. She… she didn't want any magic. I stayed with her, but it was so… hard."
He can't be playacting, can he? No, the sorrow seemed quite real. Could the gods truly care beyond their own selfish designs? Certainly, he knew Lord Hades cared deeply about everything, but he was an unusually serious god. Lady Athena had cared for Leander, he couldn't deny that, but it had been in a clinical, mentoring sort of way. Dionysus, after all these centuries, sounded truly heartbroken.
"But you could have fetched her as you did your mother." Leander said it more gently this time. What right did he have to be angry, after all? He had withdrawn from the world and never asked about the sister who had loved him as a child.
Dionysus shook his head. "She refused. I went to the Elysian Fields for her. But she wouldn't come with me. It was just like when she was dying. 'Dio, I'm human and I can't be anything else,' she said. I tried again a few years later, but she was gone."
"Gone?"
"The shades don't stay in the Underworld. Not forever. They… Uncle Hades says they stay as long as they need to. Then they move on. Even he doesn't know where. She went… on. Just like Meggie."
This was new information. No writings he had studied had ever discussed such things. But perhaps it wasn't something the gods wanted widely known. He turned it over in his mind for several corridor turnings before he recalled the now-subdued god at his side. What did one say to losing a beloved almost-spouse because she refused immortality? And it sounded as if his murdered Maenad had refused him as well. "I'm, ah, very sorry."
"Yeah. Me too." Dionysus glanced up at him without raising his head. "Thanks for not being all pissed off that I couldn't save your sister."
"It's difficult for me. Anger. And you did your best. You… at least allowed her to have a good life. And children. Away from our father." In the spirit of fairness, Leander added, "Your question, my lord."
"Thanks, but I'm kinda tired of this game. Are we there yet?"
"A few more turns." I can't feel sorry for him. It was his own fault, starting in on questions. He's done nothing but cause trouble since he arrived. Leander stopped at a supply niche for a dustpan, brush, and bin, which Dionysus took without a word when he handed them out. Then why do I have this odd desire to cheer him up? Especially me. I wouldn't have any notion where to start.
Dio stood frozen, clutching the dustpan to his chest. Someone had cleaned up the blood, but the terrible iron and fog-gray miasma of the murder lingered.
"My Lord? Are you all right?" Leander's soft voice cut through his terrible paralysis.
"I'm—" He shook his head, trying to clear it, but Meggie's death persisted in staring up at him, surrounding him. "Someone was very angry."
"You were, as I recall." Leander set the bin beside a shattered case and began gingerly to collect the larger bits of glass.
"Yes. But no." He stepped away, closer to his minotaur guide, where the oppressive thunderstorm of leftover emotion eased. "Someone besides me. It's quick and sharp. Panic and rage."
Leander took the dustpan from him gently, moving slowly, as if Dio might suddenly attack him. Well, who could blame him there? "Do you feel echoes? As Lord Hades does?"
"Some. Not quite like him." Dio knelt at Leander's hooves and began to pick up the glass from the floor. "I guess I'm feeling the murderer. Those last moments. They stood right here. There's a feeling of hell, yeah, and then it's covered over by this shocked anger."
"Hmm. So the killer found what they came for, perhaps, and your Meghan interrupted them when they believed they should have been alone."
"We keep saying they. Do you think it was more than one person?"
"Careful of your fingers, my lord." Leander shrugged as he brushed the smaller pieces of glass from the empty case. "I suppose it's possible. Do you have the impression of more than one? Male or female?"
"I don't get, like, metadata or whatever. Just leftovers. The way feelings sound, smell, and taste." He managed to stab his thumb with one piece of glass as he picked up another, and he sat back on his heels to suck on the little gash. "Anger makes… noise in the air a long time after the anger-ee leaves. This doesn't sound loud enough for more than one person, but I can't really tell."
"Ah." Leander looked down and heaved one of those wind-through-the-grass sighs. "You've cut yourself, my lord. Do you need assistance?"
Dio glanced up and realized he still had most of his thumb stuck in his mouth. Great. The librarian already thinks you're an overgrown toddler. Doing great showing him you're not. He fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief. "Ah. No. No big deal."
"Perhaps you could, ah, check the rest of the cases along this hallway, my lord. To be certain we haven't missed any that were broken."
"Got it. Sure thing." Dio scrambled up with a little salute. Translation: go away, boy, you're bothering me. But he was used to that. Leander wasn't even family, and Dio hadn't given him a lot of reason to like him yet. Yeah. He just kept screwing up, so he couldn't find an ounce of mad for the brush-off.
Whistling to himself, he wandered off through the dark cavern of wonders. All the scrolls and parchments were boring, the tablets only slightly less so. Some of the weapons under glass were probably cool, but not really his thing. A set of pipes caught his eye, but it wasn't labeled, so he didn't know who they belonged to or why they were in the Special Collection.
Why did I come here today? Oh, yeah. Apology. And then got distracted. Leander was distracting, no arguments there. The broad shoulders and strong arms he hid under crisp white dress shirts and cardigans. The animal grace in his movements. Those glorious, furry, muscular legs. Really, how was he supposed to concentrate around that? Not that Leander was interested. Maybe he wasn't interested in anyone. Otherwise, it would be tough living alone in a library for centuries, wouldn't it? What would he do if he got horny?
You did not just go there, brain. Horny. Stop it.
Though the horns were gorgeous too. Dio halted just before the end of the hallway. An archway to the left led out into a more brightly lit space, and he wandered that way, drawn by the bright colors of the books. The reds and oranges called out to him, and he found he'd pulled a book down before he could think about it. The pages were covered in beautiful Persian miniatures, heroes on horseback and beautiful young women by streams, tigers and palaces, processions and court scenes. He leafed through carefully, wondering how old the book was. While he'd never been a big fan of printed books, he recognized that there were worse things, more wasteful things to do to dead trees. Lumberyards made him shudder.
He jerked his head up when an odd rumble vibrated under his feet. With the book clutched to his chest, he hurried toward the sound and laughed when he found the source. He should've recognized that particular rumble. At the end of the Persian Manuscript Hall, at the next right turn, one of the moving bookshelves was just rising up through the floor. What had Set called them? Rotating shelves? Elevator shelves? Damn it, he couldn't remember now. Dump-Dio-on-his-ass shelves is what they were.
/> "Hold on now. What the heck?" He placed the book of miniatures down on a non-moving shelf and hurried over for a closer look. Right. He hadn't been imagining. When the bookshelf stopped rising, the third shelf from the bottom was empty. There were shelves in the library with a few books on them, or half a shelf full, but this shelf had nothing on it. Nothing.
Half-formed thoughts jostling for attention, he turned and pelted back the way he'd come. "Leander! Leander!"
Hoofbeats trotted to meet him, Leander skidding to a stop as they rounded the corner at the same moment. A large hand reached out to steady Dio, Leander's trembling telegraphing through that brief contact. "My Lord? What is it? Not another—"
Dio patted his broad, heaving chest, once again proving he had no concept of personal space. "No, no, no! Oh, crud, I didn't mean to scare you. It's just a thing. To show you. This thing I found. That's not a body. But still not right. I think." He snagged Leander's hand and pulled the resisting librarian along to the shelf, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other until the shelf cycled around again.
"What on earth?" Leander shoved his glasses up his nose and squinted at the empty shelf as if he could make the books reappear. "A whole shelf of Romanian folktales? Why would someone take those?"
"They wanna start a werewolf farm?" Dio cleared his throat when Leander shot him a not-amused look. "Maybe someone, um, checked them out? Can you do that here?"
"Certainly gods and their assistants borrow materials, but I would recall such a large selection leaving the library and with whom."
"Would someone have taken them without telling you?"
Leander blew out a breath that stirred the fall of shaggy hair over his eyes. "It is possible, of course. The library is considered a neutral zone though. A place for all to share in the accumulated knowledge. If such a theft were discovered, it might start a war between deities. Though perhaps…"
He trotted around the moving shelf that had begun to sink back into the floor again. When a small, displeased rumble reached him, Dio poked his head around the shelf and found Leander glowering at an untidy stack of books on the floor. "Not taken, my lord, but moved. Why would someone do such a thing?"
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