by Casey White
Still, part of him screamed, revolting at the sight of the books going up in an inferno.
“To ash,” he whispered, his eyes tightening. “Until there’s nothing left, Alex. They can’t be allowed to find anything.”
The fires rippled higher, roaring across the sitting room, and a wave of heat slapped his face like a physical blow. Daniel winced, drawing back, but didn’t let up. The seconds slipped by, until at last-
“That’s enough,” he said, releasing his hands. His fingers spread wide again, this time tamping down to the ground. Cool and dark. Quiet. Still. Be at rest.
The flames danced lower, dimming. Closer and closer to the ground, they sank, until finally, the embers went out.
Daniel exhaled. The bookshelves were gone, as was the table. Not even a scorch mark marred the stone behind it, the carpet as plush and pristine as ever. The stink of smoke filled his senses, but even that was starting to fade. By the time anyone else entered the sitting room, all of the evidence would be gone.
“Almost all of it,” he muttered, turning his eyes to the unnaturally-large room. His hand thrust out, his fingers hooking into the air. Quick and tight, he yanked his arm back, pulling hard.
Alexandria groaned around him, shuddering—but the wall moved with him, sinking in. He clenched his teeth, holding the familiar image of the sitting room in his mind. A little more. Closer. A little—there.
The wall creaked to a stop. The last tendrils of smoke fell from the air. Daniel stood, breathing deeply, and tried to get his eyes to focus long enough to assess his work.
The sitting room was...mostly normal. Close enough. It was one of the few rooms that stayed mostly-static, so he wanted to assuage the suspicions of anyone that passed through. Nothing to see here. Keep moving. Your magic books aren’t here. Then again, unless Indira had brought along any of his past guests, it was probably a moot point.
He shook his head. “Can’t be too careful,” he whispered. “That’s how we wound up in this mess in the first place, right?”
The ground beneath his feet rumbled faintly, but not unhappily. Daniel chuckled. “Glad you agree.” He gave the room a final look, already feeling himself slide backward.
Front door, locked. Entryway door, sealed. His quarters, hidden. Leon’s notes, destroyed.
Assuming Alex had done as he asked and plucked his office out of existence, he was as secure as he could hope for.
“Okay,” Daniel whispered. He turned on his heel, more slowly, and looked toward the final door that waited for him—the door into Alexandria. “You’re going to have to let them in, aren’t you? If they’re inserting themselves straight into my thoughts.”
The lights dimmed again, almost sadly. Daniel smiled. “I know. It’s not your fault. Look. If they’re going to come in, can you…” He nodded toward the last remaining door. “Stick ‘em out there? I’ll keep them away from your heart for…” He hesitated.
He wasn’t getting out of this mess anytime soon. And the longer Rickard had him, the longer their goons had to try and subdue him inside Alexandria. “For as long as I can,” he finished, his voice quiet. “This might drag on for a while. But I’m not going to give you up to them. So...work with me. Just a little.”
He glanced around the sitting room, waiting for her reply, but Alexandria was quiet. Finally, a noise broke the silence of the moment—the steady rattling of the door. The final one, the one he faced now.
The doorway leading out into the wings.
That...seemed like as much of an answer as he was likely to get. Daniel grinned, hitching his coat higher, and reached for his mask. It hung right where it’d always waited, faithful as ever. He closed his eyes as he pressed it over his face, doing up the straps by the muscle memory of long years.
It was useless. They knew his face. They knew his name. He wasn’t protecting any sort of secret, anymore.
But if they wanted a fight with the Librarian, he’d at least look the part.
Raising his head, Owl pulled his hood into place—and strode forward, grabbing hold of the door.
It flew open at his touch with the perfect sort of drama Alex loved so damn much. Owl chuckled under his breath, lifting his head a bit higher.
He’d known he wouldn’t have long to prepare himself. But as the archway around him turned to row after row of ancient, carved bookshelves, he knew he’d get no time at all.
Not when he could already hear the shrill hissing of hushed voices echoing around the wing.
They were here. And judging from the noise, they’d brought friends.
One hand down at his side, Owl snapped his fingers. Once. Twice. Again. The air thrummed in response—as did the Library itself. The ground pulsed beneath his feet. The candles on the walls danced, surging in spatters of light with every crack and pop.
“Okay, you bastards,” he whispered, lifting his chin and casting a glare around the shelves. “Where the hell are you hiding?”
Step by step, casting spirals of dust in his wake, Owl strode into the Library.
- Chapter Thirty-Four -
Owl hurried on, following the threadbare whispers that echoed around the high ceiling. They were here.
Time to get to work.
With one hand, though, he traced a circle in the air at his side, over and over again. The low rumbling of stone and wood shifting rose louder, wiping away the voices for a brief moment.
And when he glanced back toward where the sitting room had been mere seconds before, he saw only smooth stone blocks, no sign of a hallway.
Good. He smiled, nodding once. If they’re stubborn, and they know enough, they might be able to force their way in even still. But...that’ll slow them down. Most of them.
Indira knew about the sitting room. She’d probably told Rickard. But...it would help.
“We’re going in circles!”
The hissed cry brought Owl to a dead stop, frozen in place like a statue. His eyes flicked to the shelves around him, searching for its source, but found only polished wood and craggy, unfinished rock.
But he could still hear them, arguing away in whispers too low for him to hear. Slowly, every step measured and careful, Owl inched forward.
In happier days, this would have been exactly how he snuck up on Leon, ready to scare his friend into a scream. He smiled bitterly. Now, his mission was more grim.
The stone underfoot turned to carpet, a long, elegant rug of red velvet. Owl smiled beneath his mask, moving more easily. Thanks. It traced a path along a tall, sweeping bookshelf that bisected the wing neatly. And ahead…
Ahead lay a gap in the shelves. Owl pressed himself against the neatly arranged books, peering around the edge. The floor swayed beneath him. He gritted his teeth against it.
Two men crouched next to each other, their heads swiveling back and forth. “Well, what do you want me to do about it?” he heard one of them whisper.
“I-I don’t know. But this place is creepy. Let’s find the guy and get out of here. Fast.”
Owl’s eyes stayed glued to them. He raised a hand, fingers clenched.
They’d charged in here, hellbent on beating him into submission. On taking Alexandria and using her how they pleased. And now that they were here, in his domain, no one could fault him for wiping them from existence.
“No,” a woman sighed. “Good try, kid, but it doesn’t work like that.”
Owl spun, eyes going wide. The study behind him was empty—as he’d expected.
“They’re still guests,” he heard her say, her voice softer. “Even if they’re unwelcome ones. They’re still owed…” She chuckled. “Our hospitality, I suppose. See to them, will you?”
A hand dropped to his shoulder, just the faintest hint of pressure—and then it was gone.
Owl stared out into the wings, unable to move. His chest rose and fell, but his mind raced.
Because he knew that voice, somewhere in the deepest, darkest crevices of his memories. But...it was impossible. It couldn’t possibly-<
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“Come on!” he heard one of the invading pair hiss, and he spun back around.
“Damn it,” he whispered, his eyes prickling. He’d...He’d figure it out...after. Once this was all done. Collecting himself, he lunged out from behind cover toward-
Toward the two figures who were now hurrying down the hall. He gritted his teeth, holding an image in his mind. Bars, rising from the floor. Pinning them in.
The ground beneath the intruders rippled, wobbling ominously. One stumbled, casting a wide-eyed stare down at it. “W-What the-”
“It’s him!” the second cried, grabbing hold of his friend and hauling hard.
Bars shot up, but the pair stumbled away. The cool, smooth metal met only empty air. Owl cursed under his breath, lurching forward awkwardly. With his leg heavy and stuff underneath him, he’d never catch them if they ran.
His eyes snapped to the one lagging behind. “You,” he breathed. “I can at least get one of you.”
Quick as could be, Owl brought his hands up again, thumb and forefingers pinched. Fixing his gaze to the empty air before them, he squeezed, ripping his hands apart.
Stones groaned, deafening. The man out front swore loudly, the words swallowed up by the Library, and leaped over a rapidly-rising, knee-height brick wall.
His friend was just a hair slower—and by the time his feet left the ground, he was left to smack hopelessly into the now waist-high barrier.
Owl didn’t put the opportunity to waste. Before the intruder could react, he flicked his finger into an untidy box. The brick wall exploded from either side, careening around the still-prone man with a mind of its own.
And then there was just a brick cube, smack dab in the middle of the shelves, and a distant figure fleeing deeper into the wings.
Someone pounded on the inside of the cube. “Hey!” Owl heard the intruder cry. “Hey- Paul! Come back!”
“Stop yelling,” Owl snapped. “Sit there and think about what you’ve done.”
He stalked forward, his eyes glued to the man bolting deeper into Alexandria, pausing only long enough to kick the newly-created wall.
“Please!” the person inside screamed. “Y-You can’t do this! Let me-”
A flicker of light, of motion—that was all. Owl whirled, bringing his hands up.
The blast of magic that slammed into him was ill-formed, little more than a fuzzy ball of white light. He shrugged it off, sidestepping. The windows alongside him glimmered with dancing reflections.
His new captive’s friend. He stood in the arch of a doorway, his face beet red. He swung his hands in circles, as though mimicking the wizards he’d seen in movies. And...Owl groaned. Absurd though it was, light was starting to flicker around his hands again.
“Stop that,” he snapped, clenching one hand. The stone beneath the man’s feet warped, grabbing at his ankles.
The intruder only skittered back with a startled cry, throwing his hands toward Owl. Another burst of light sailed for Owl’s head. It crackled, curling in on itself with violent energy, a different beast from the fuzzy, incoherent mess of moments before.
This time, Owl was ready, and the glowing orb smacked harmlessly into a plane of solidified light, dissipating like smoke. But...he eyed the wisps as it faded, frowning. It was hard to tell, through the filter of magic, but the impact of it had been stronger against his shield.
His opponent was learning. Just like Leon’s first foray into magic, part of the trick to magic inside Alexandria was belief. You had to know that your spells would work, that you wouldn’t just stand there like an idiot waving your arms around. The first time was hard. After that, though? When you’d seen what you could do with your own eyes?
This intruder was still a novice—but Owl needed to end this before he could become more than that.
Owl advanced. His numb leg dragged awkwardly behind him, but his eyes fixed on the lonely figure. One hand raised, he twisted it in a circle, jabbing his fingers at the man. Water poured from his gloved palm, flying through the air to crash down to the stone.
White sheets of fog poured from the ground where it touched. Frost glistened from the water’s surface, climbing the walls. The man’s eyes widened. Quick as could be, he grabbed the shelf alongside him, hauling himself off the ground.
“Come on,” Owl muttered, stalking closer. With his other hand, he thrust a finger toward the plush rugs lining the wings. They shredded, coming apart like tissue paper, and reformed into red-gold ropes.
Caught halfway up a bookshelf, the intruder had nowhere to run. The ropes lashed around him, twining tighter and tighter. He fell with a cry that turned to a groan as he slammed into the water-covered ground. It lapped at him eagerly, freezing to his clothing before he could pull away.
“Okay,” Owl said, grinning in victory. Again, he traced a square in the air, holding that same image of a brick-lined cell in his mind. “I’ll just have you-”
Something flashed by his hood, close enough to rip the fabric. He twisted, more out of shock than anything, and bit back a yelp as hot fires tore across his arm.
Knives. He caught sight of them as they flew past into the study ahead—and then froze, hovering in midair. They flipped back around, their tips pointing ominously back at him.
Shit. Owl threw himself to the side as they burst back into motion, ducking behind a bookshelf. They hit the wood with an almighty thunk,wobbling gently. Even as he watched, they quivered, as though an invisible hand was trying to yank them free.
Owl looked to the far side of the wing, eyes widening. A man stood there, his posture decidedly more comfortable than the two men he’d fought thus far. His hand was out, fingers curled. With a creak of splintering wood, the two knives ripped free, sailing back toward him.
Magic. And...Owl swallowed, staring at the figure. This didn’t feel like Alexandria’s magic. This was something else—this man was too comfortable, too poised. There was none of the hesitation of his last opponent. He’d only used those knives, but...he’d used them with such confidence.
Mage. The word echoed through Owl’s skull like a warning bell. That was the true danger of allowing mages into Alexandria, wasn’t it? Sure, they might find information that they shouldn’t, and the risk was always there of them finding the Librarian’s identity.
But more than that, they had magic. They could use it, they were comfortable with it. And even if their magic didn’t follow them into Alexandria, they’d already trained themselves to use it. They had faith. They believed.
Cries still filtered out from the man frozen to the ground, rising off the brick walls of the cell he’d made, but Owl’s gaze was glued to that mage. That demi. The whole building around them shook with Alexandria’s anger.
Fine, then. Owl gritted his teeth, ignoring the rush of pain from his leg and his arm, and lashed his arm across his front. The amassed waters surged, rising from the stone floor to spray at the mage.
Who broke into a run, still perfectly casual, and darted behind a bookshelf. At the last, his hand swung out. The knives twitched at the motion, flying out again. This time, though, they split apart, arcing through the air in a pair of wild curves.
Owl lurched, snapping his hand up. A wall of stone rose from the ground, and he let himself tumble forward. The knives sang past, right over his head.
“H-Hey!” the frozen man cried. He was starting to wrench himself free, a plume of fire coursing down from his hand. Owl’s stomach tightened at the sight. “We’re not supposed to-”
The demi leaned out from behind his bookshelf cover, eyes narrowed. The whistling shriek of the knives accelerated again.
Enough, Owl willed. He flipped himself over, grimacing, in time to see the silvery darts shoot toward his chest.
A smile flickered at the corners of his lips—and his mind latched onto the image of them flying through the air, graceful and swift.
The knives froze, a few feet away, then shimmered. White shapes burst from their metal confines, flapping madly. In a
heartbeat, the knives were gone, leaving only a pair of birds that vanished into the rafters.
Grabbing hold of his stonework shelter, Owl hoisted himself aloft, turning back to face the mage. The man was scowling, his face red and his eyebrows drawn together. Owl grinned, fighting to catch his breath. “Not so good without your weapons, are you?” he whispered under his breath.
The demi took a step to the side, though, his face distorting further, and raised his hand again. Books flew from their shelves, tumbling around him.
“Like hell,” Owl spat. He brought his hands together, twisting the heels of both palms into each other.
Across the wing, the bookshelves on either side of the demi shuddered—then slammed together. Screams split the quiet.
Not too hard, Owl whispered silently. Don’t kill him. I don’t want to kill him. Just...hold him, right there. His head spun. He lurched forward, bracing his elbows off the stone, and cursed under his breath. He’d been keeping it together so well. If he could just hold on a little longer.
“M-Move!” he heard someone else cry—and looked back to the once-frozen man in time to see a cloud of icicles shoot toward his face.
It was too easy to drop to the ground, giving in to his exhaustion, and let the blades of ice shoot by overhead. He forced himself back to his feet, though, collecting his strength for another push.
When he steadied himself, facing back toward the two intruders, he saw the bookshelves creaking apart. The man in the hallway skipped back behind a wall, dripping with bits of ice and rime. His friend stumbled away from the bookshelves, limping badly.
“Not so fast,” Owl hissed, bring his hands up again, and-
The demi didn’t even turn. He just flicked his fingers. Owl’s hood twisted, moving of its own accord, and yanked forward hard enough to drag his whole head down.
He yelped, wrenching it free with both hands. But by the time he lifted his head, panting behind his mask, the two were gone. Distantly, the thud of running footsteps grew quieter.
Owl stood heavily, leaning on the stone half-wall, and straightened his hood. The world shifted around him, but he gritted his teeth. He was the Librarian. He’d do his duty, a bit of vertigo or no.