by Casey White
Another moment, and something in his mind seemed to crack. His back arched, a wordless cry on his lips as that other presence surged in through the gap. He grabbed for his defenses throwing them into the telepath’s way, but-
“Got it,” Tonya hissed as the pressure in Daniel’s skull equalized. “F-For now. I’m in. Quickly.”
Daniel twitched, trapped in place beneath her hand. Vertigo swept through him. Vertigo, and the feeling that he wasn’t alone, there in his own skin. Someone was there with him, peering over his shoulder. Watching his thoughts flit past.
Bodies moved around him. Cracking one watering eye, he saw Indira hurry past, a gaggle of minions on her heels.
“You’re sure this will work?” he heard her murmur.
Rickard laughed. “No, of course not. But-”
“I can’t hold this path open forever,” Tonya spat. “Find your destination, guildmaster.”
“Apologies,” Indira said. “How should I-”
The telepath sighed. “Take my hand.”
The room went quiet, then—until, a few minutes later, Daniel heard people start settling to the floor. The feeling of wrongness in his thoughts intensified, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
Someone walked through his vision. Rickard. He settled to a chair opposite Daniel, a pleased smile on his face. Over his shoulder, Olivia just stared, desolate, with a man keeping watch nearby.
“There,” Rickard said with a sigh. “I know this is uncomfortable. I do apologize for that, Librarian.”
Daniel shook his head. Tonya’s fingers squeezed his skull. “Hold still.”
“I’m afraid this is somewhat of a bad first impression,” Rickard said. The man was digging through his coat pockets, Daniel realized—and pulling out a tiny notepad. “I do so hate to appear like...well.” He sniffed, making a face. “Like the rest of them. Ours is a group of learning, after all.”
“Right,” Daniel whispered. “Learning. This is so educational.”
“You use sarcasm, but it’s the truth, I’m afraid,” Rickard said. “I do so regret that we have had to use such methods to secure your aid, but our goals are noble.”
Daniel’s eyes flicked to Olivia, then back to Rickard. “And that’s why you shot me,” he said. “That’s why you beat my friends, and tied me to a chair, and started rummaging through my mind.”
They were in his thoughts. His gut churned. Trying to get to Alexandria? Could they do that? If they could...he was in more trouble than he’d thought.
Rickard sighed. “I would much prefer for our relationship to be civil, even despite your rejection of our offer. I do understand, of course. Few would choose to go meekly into their enemy’s arms. I am not offended, merely…disappointed.” He smiled faintly. “I wish things could have been different. And I am prepared to reward cooperation.”
“I’m not going to turn her over to you,” Daniel said. “I’ve only got one job. Sorry.”
“Her?” Rickard said, his brows furrowing. He glanced to Olivia. “But...I do not-”
“Not me, you ass,” Olivia spat. “Alexandria.”
Rickard’s eyes widened. “Oh! Yes. Yes, of course. That does make sense. So...you personify her, then?” He pulled a pen from his pocket as well, starting to scrawl in his notebook.
Daniel’s heart fell. He’d already given Rickard new information. He just needed to keep his damn mouth shut, until he knew what was safe to say and what wasn’t.
Finishing his line with a flourish, Rickard looked back to him. “See?” he said, smiling. “That wasn’t so hard, Librarian. This does not have to be unpleasant. We can simply...talk.”
Right. They could talk, when someone’s fingers were buried in his hair and he could still feel them poking around in his thoughts. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Not really interested in wasting my time here.”
“Waste?” Rickard laughed, shaking his head. “No, no. We can learn so much from you, Librarian, and I am confident that you can find purpose among our numbers. Not waste. Never waste.”
“R-Right,” Daniel said, swallowing a snort. “I’m...I’m sure things will be great.” He grimaced, flinching away as the ache in his skull hammered again. What were they doing? “But. R-Really. I can’t...I don’t know what you expect to learn from this. I’m just-”
“Come, now,” Rickard said. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows off his knees, still clutching his notebook. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m not kidding. What the hell do you expect me to tell you?”
Rickard’s lips curled down. A deep crease settled into his forehead. “Really, now, there are limits. I saw that magic you used, before. I’m not blind.”
“Magic?” Daniel whispered. An image flashed through his mind—silvery blue rivulets of water, spraying forth to create a wall between James and their pursuers.
“Indeed,” Rickard said, nodding. “I’m not an idiot. Your lovely guildmaster told us quite the stories about the Library you play host to. It sounds like a marvelous creation.”
First the magic, now this? “I don’t care,” Daniel said thickly. Another bang in his skull, like someone was hammering on it. “I don’t see how any of this is relevant.”
“Well, it’s impossible, isn’t it?” Rickard said, chortling to himself—as though this was all a big joke. “That’s simply not how foci work. I’ve seen demis whose power can be used in different ways. I’ve seen people get quite creative, in fact. But this?” He gave his head a decisive shake. “To go from an internal creation, an illusion like your Alexandria, to an external creation such as that wall? There’s no way for me to interpret that except as two completely separate abilities, Librarian.” His eyes gleamed. “And that, I must admit, is quite impossible. Unless it is different. Unless you are somehow outside the rules.”
Daniel’s mind raced. “Okay,” he said, trying to remember back. Damn it, he’d read that The Basics book—but it was so long ago, distant enough that it felt like a different lifetime. He could remember something like that, though. Each of these mages being tied to a single magical source, and each source giving them a single ability. “I-I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not-”
“More than that, though,” Rickard said, waving a hand as though he hadn’t even heard Daniel. “The disparity between your magic and our foci is striking enough. But then, I saw that magic, and I’ve never seen its like.” A smile spread across his face, his eyes softening. “Such beauty. The light of it. The grace.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“We have stories, Librarian,” Rickard said, rolling his eyes. “Legends passed down through the years, of the old magic. Of ley lines, coursing in rivers and fountains beneath the surface of our Earth. Great oceans of it. I believe I saw a glimmer of it, on that battlefield.” His gaze settled onto Daniel’s. “Does that sound...familiar to you?”
Rivers, and fountains, and oceans. A shiver ran down Daniel’s spine.
Water. Rickard was talking about these ley lines as though they were water—and almost unbidden, an image swam up before his eyes, of a woman’s statue, straddling the teardrop-point of a well. He could still remember how deep it was, as though it’d go on forever. He could remember the spiderweb veins and arteries of silver-blue liquid, seeping from her statue deeper into the Library.
He was familiar with this ‘water’.
Daniel hardened his expression, though, refusing to let even an ounce of recognition show on his face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know anything about that.”
“Yes, yes,” Rickard said, shrugging him off. “I’m quite sure of that, Librarian.” He made a face. “There must be something else I can call you. All this Librarian, Librarian business. It’s far too stuffy.”
“Owl.”
Rickard wrinkled his nose. “That isn’t much better, I fear. Surely there must be something. You have a name, do you not?”
Daniel shook his head, as best he could with Tonya’s nails jabbed into his scalp.
“Not for you.”
He watched, mute, as Rickard sat back again. “Now, really,” Rickard said, more softly. “I think you’ll find that the two of us will be stuck together for quite some time. It will be to everyone’s benefit for us to dispense of this stubbornness.”
Rickard paused, waiting, as though he expected Daniel to capitulate and hand his name over just like that. When he didn’t, Rickard sighed, glancing to Tonya.
That brand tore through his mind again. He yelped, cringing away, but she didn’t let him go.
“It’s all here,” Tonya said through gritted teeth. “I just have to- dig a little. Daniel. He’s- He’s Daniel. And-”
“That’s enough, that’s enough,” Rickard said, right back to waving his hand. “Don’t push yourself, Tonya. Your work will be difficult enough. No need to rush.”
Daniel slumped lower as the pain receded. In an instant, he’d lost even the scrap of secrecy he had. Gone, in the snapping of a telepath’s fingers.
They knew who he was. And now, even if he by some miracle managed to get away...his life as Dan had just been exposed. Could he even go back, if they knew?
“Well,” he heard Rickard say. “Daniel. I was hoping you’d tell me about-”
Tonya gasped, twitching. Her hand jerked against his head.
In the same moment, he heard the others moving, too. Indira, and the others. They were stirring with muted groans, stumbling to their feet.
Rickard spun to face them, his eyes lighting up. “Well? Could you see inside? Tell me about it.”
Indira shook her head, raising a hand to stop him. “We...We were stopped. The doors wouldn’t open.” She glanced to Daniel, expressionless. “The lights inside were dark.”
“Closed,” he rasped, breathing deeply again. “She doesn’t like random visitors. You...You know that.”
“I see,” Rickard mused. “So...this Library will not open unless her Librarian is present.” He pursed his lips, staring at Daniel, then sighed. “I was hoping to avoid this problem. I suspect that our, ah, negotiations will be more difficult, in your domain.”
It was Daniel’s turn to grin, starting to laugh hollowly. “You’re just worried I’m going to kick your ass. Listen to that worry.”
“Nevertheless,” Rickard said, crossing the room again. “Janik! We have need of your services again. And fetch Darin, please?”
Someone called back, their voice muffled—and then the dark-haired man from before emerged. He glanced at Daniel, then back to Rickard. “What do you need?”
“It looks like we need our Librarian friend inside his Library before the doors will unlock,” Rickard said. “Darin should be able to dream-walk us in—so long as Daniel is dreaming.” He nodded once, meaningfully. “If you would?”
“Oh,” the man said, and started fumbling with the pockets on his coat. He had lots of them, Daniel saw. Each of them seemed full to bursting, and he saw what looked like tiny plastic-capped tubes poking from more than a few. “Uh...yeah. I can do that.”
He advanced on Daniel, plucking one loose. Red-black liquid splashed within it.
“He has to be dreaming,” Rickard said from behind the man. “He does not have to be in full control of himself.” A low chuckle rippled across the room. “In fact, if he is not, that would-”
“Got it,” Janik said. A second vial joined the first, and he glanced to Tonya. “Hold him?”
A hand grasped his jaw, another settling in his hair again. Daniel squirmed, but there was no way to resist.
With the vials being liquid-filled, he expected Janik to try and feed them to him—but instead, the mage popped the tops loose, letting a drop of each fall to Daniel’s forehead.
Mulberries—and woodsmoke. Daniel’s eyes unfocused, his shoulders tightening.
“He’s on his way,” Janik said, turning away. Even as he moved, he blurred, his outline dispersing into the haze. “As soon as…”
His words faded, too, as Daniel fell. This time, though, he knew where he was going—Alexandria. He was going home.
And this time, he wouldn’t lose so easily.
- Chapter Thirty-Three -
Daniel’s eyes snapped open.
Just as quickly, he twisted, scrabbling to get upright. The ties about his wrists were gone. The chair was gone. Even the people were gone, leaving him alone amidst the bookshelves of Alexandria.
This time, he wasn’t surprised by the transition back to the Library. Rickard and the others hadn’t been shy about their goals here—they wanted in. If they needed Daniel to be inside Alexandria for them to enter, well, it looked like that was a risk they were willing to take.
Breathing hard, he pulled himself upright. His head pounded, aching, and the ground beneath him seemed to move with every uncertain step he took.
“That man,” he whispered. “Janik.” He’d dripped something onto Daniel, like he was a damn alchemist. Poison? Drugs, almost certainly, but...He took a deep breath, biting his lip, and waited for his vision to stop spinning. It didn’t.
“So they gave me a handicap.” Daniel pressed a hand to his face, trying to rub the tired away. “Okay. Okay, then…”
Get going, his mind screamed. They wouldn’t have sent you back if they didn’t have plans. Get control of the situation. Now.
Daniel lurched upright again, spinning in a circle. High, vaulted stone ceilings rose overhead, a grim canopy above a balcony looming over his head. A hallway stretched down the middle of the room, leading into another wing.
“Alex,” Daniel snapped. “Sitting room. Now.” Everything that mattered was there. Everything. The front door, and his quarters, and the passageway down into the restricted section...he smiled wistfully, casting a glance to the shelves. “Will you destroy my office until I need it again?”
A candle mounted to the wall nearby crackled, sending a spray of blue sparks into the air. Daniel nodded. “T-Thanks.”
Stone rumbled against stone, and he turned. An archway was creaking open before his eyes, swallowing bookshelves into the gap like Alexandria herself was ravenously devouring them. The sitting room door waited inside.
“Thanks,” Daniel said, stumbling forward. With every step he took, his vision blurred, his sense of balance right on the verge of giving out.
How long would this last? That might be the wrong question—would this wear off at all? Time operated differently inside the Library. It was entirely possible that whatever drug that bastard had introduced into his system would linger, hanging around longer than Daniel would actually be asleep.
And, of course, even if he’d regained a semblance of independence inside Alexandria, nothing changed the fact he was still a prisoner outside. They could submerse him in a vat of the stuff, and there’d be nothing he could do about it.
Shaking his head, Daniel hurried forward as best he could. The door creaked open, and-
He stopped, staring at the sitting room—which was in exactly the same condition as they’d left it. The wall had been shoved out, making room for Leon’s oversized table. The books of demis waited on their shelf behind it.
“Shit,” Daniel mumbled, glancing around. Where should he start? Visitors might show up at any minute.
First things first. He twisted, pointing at the door to the entryway, and narrowed his eyes. The wood in the frame came alive, writhing and seething over until it melded with the wood of the door. The stone around it grew, locking it firmly in place.
“That should do it,” he said. His gaze lingered on the sealed doorway a moment longer, and he chewed his lip. Would it? The last thing he needed was a mess of intruders piling through the front doors and taking over the heart of Alexandria.
“You locked the doors when they showed up the last time,” he said softly. “When I wasn’t here. Thanks.”
He reached a hand out, resting it against the wall of the sitting room. “Keep that up. Don’t let them in—this way, anyway.” Maybe it’d be enough, and he could hold the front against them.
Then again, if they really did have someone who could read minds, and they could let people into Daniel’s dreams, he couldn’t count on the front gates to keep them out.
But he’d done all he could on that front. He spun, facing the owl-emblazoned door to his quarters. “Make that go away,” he mumbled, holding two fingers out before him. Back and forth he scrubbed, sweeping the tips of his fingers over the doorway as though erasing it. “I’m not sleeping. I don’t need to research anything. You…” His brow furrowed.
He could remember...something. Another door being here, once. A different one, alongside his. Black, marked with...he exhaled. Black feathers. A crow. Right.
Reluctantly, the air between him and the doorway blurred, fogging over. Blank whiteness wiped the door from sight—and when it faded back out in wispy clumps, the door to his quarters was gone.
“Okay,” Daniel said, twisting again. Vertigo swept in again, protesting the motion, and he grabbed at the wall for stability. “This room. Let’s fix this.”
His hands came up, fingers spread like he was conducting an invisible, silent band.
The books had to go. The books, and the table, and the papers there. His fingers flicked to the side, swirling, and the papers flew from the table’s surface. The map ripped from the wall, coiling up. The mass of paper seethed, wrapping about itself tighter and tighter—until he flipped his wrist up, snapping his fingers, and it burst into flames.
Faster. They could be here any second. He flicked his wrist, and the burning orb slammed backward into the bookshelf. Sparks flew with the impact, coloring the air red. He clenched both fists together, seizing that moment of heat, and ripped his hands apart.
The fires exploded to life, spreading across the bookshelf with the mage-texts on it with impossible, unearthly speed. Daniel watched the shelves go up in sheets of red, a sad smile on his face.
It wasn’t lost. None of the information here could be lost so easily. When he was ready, when he went back downstairs into that forgotten library, the texts would be waiting for him, safe and sound.