by Casey White
He couldn’t kill them. And he couldn’t make them leave. But by god, he’d make them fight for every inch of ground they took—and he wouldn’t give them anything that counted. He’d hold them, here and now.
Taking a deep breath, he trudged forward past the brick-lined cell toward the door they’d fled through.
Someone pounded a fist on the inside of the makeshift prison. “H-Hey. Is- Is anyone there? Uh. It’s, uh. It’s dark. Could you-”
Owl hit the wall as he walked past, and the knocking stopped. “Settle down for a wait,” he said, swallowing a chuckle. “I hope you enjoy your stay in Alexandria.”
The trapped intruder said something else, but Owl wasn’t listening anymore. He reached for the walls, hands spread wide, and slowly, very slowly, brought them together.
Alexandria creaked, shifting—and started to move. Closer and closer, the walls swept together, turning the room into a hallway, then a crawlspace. The brick cell vanished from sight, somewhere in the middle. Owl winced, but kept going. “You’ll be fine,” he whispered. “You won’t dig yourself out of that. Just sit there and wait for your friends to pull you out of my dream.”
And then the Library was quiet, and there was just a smooth, unmarked wall where the study had been. Owl backed away, breathing a weary sigh.
Lifting his head high, he followed after the two escapees.
- Chapter Thirty-Five -
High over the bookshelves, Owl reclined.
He’d found a decently comfortable seat today, at least, which was probably Alexandria’s doing. The wing he’d taken up roost in was an especially tall study, with cunningly worked shelves looming four stories over the tables and desks below. He’d thanked his lucky stars, nabbed a cushion off one of the chairs at the bottom, and climbed all the way up to perch atop the very highest shelf, leaning against the wall. It wasn’t perfect—if the Booklenders didn’t pass through this wing, he wouldn’t see them—but so far as watchtowers went, this one wasn’t bad.
Time was beginning to blur. The realization had been sobering, when it first passed through his mind. Alex was doing her best for him, marking out the passage of hours in the brightness of the candles around him, but even still...he shook his head. He’d always relied on the central clock in the sitting room to mark out the length of his visits. Now, without it…
It didn’t matter. At this stage, the time he spent inside Alexandria was irrelevant.
He leaned his head back against the brick wall, clasping his hands before him, and sighed. Leon was his last hope. He hadn’t shown up inside Alex again, which...Daniel smiled faintly. That was good. Leon didn’t need to be here for this, for the skirmishes and battles that were starting to stretch out over what had to be weeks. The intruders were incessant. He’d expected them to flee back to the outside world once they’d been pushed back the first time, but they kept regrouping, trying to corner him.
They had to be getting hungry, at least. He doubted very much Alex was feeding them, and while living inside the Library was more like a dream than reality, most people didn’t know that eating was unnecessary. Such habits were hard to break, especially for those who weren’t born to the way things worked among the shelves. And he’d heard them muttering and moaning to each other, the times he’d snuck up on them.
He’d managed to trap one other, aside from the walled-up man he’d left buried in the closed-up wing. Two underlings down. It was a good start, at least.
Just a little longer. The hope burned in his chest, refusing to go out no matter how improbable it was. Just a little longer, and Leon would find help. He’d been looking up mages-for-hire. Somehow, Owl had to believe that he’d gotten a name out. A phone number. He’d find more mages, ones strong enough to help, and he’d come back. He’d-
“Why’s it have to be me?” someone grumbled.
Owl stiffened. A voice—somewhere beneath him. And with Alexandria purged of anyone he’d call an ally, that left the options few and far between as to the speaker.
Slowly, careful to keep anything from dropping, he leaned forward to peer deep into the heart of the study. A figure crept out of the shadows, looking about fearfully. Step by step, they emerged into the candlelight.
Owl lifted himself to a crouch. One of the minions, alone? A smile curled onto his lips. He wouldn’t mind the chance to lock away another of their goons, even if it meant sealing this wing up, too. There were always more wings of the Library to use.
The figure took another step, coming to a stop, and Owl moved.
He threw himself from the shelf with only a twinge of fear for the height, his eyes glued to that lone man. His fingers clenched, squeezing at the air—and he felt it rise beneath him, burgeoning to fill his jacket and push back against his feet.
Down, down, down. His thoughts narrowed, zeroing in on the intruder as the shelves flew past. His feet slammed down-
-And he lunged forward, hands wide. The air before him thickened, starting to solidify.
The man spun, eyes going round, and cursed. He swiped right back, batting the growing crystals from the air with a puff of wind.
Owl cursed, too. This was the problem. Their comfort level with Alexandria’s magic had been growing day by day, which made his job in containing them harder. And-
Still half-twisted, the man grabbed for something beneath his coat. When he yanked it free, he clutched a gun in his hand.
Biting back a gasp, Owl ducked to the side. The report of the man’s pistol echoed through the Library, distorting to little more than an eerie shriek as it rebounded from window to window.
The ground beneath the man’s feet rippled like a piece of fabric, and he went down hard. Owl darted forward, stretching a hand toward the weapon, and breathed a sigh of relief as it flew away from the intruder.
Thanks, he whispered, dragging a foot against the stone floor. Alexandria hadn’t been able to help him much, and he wasn’t sure why. Something about the fact they’d entered through his mind instead of through her doors, or the fact she couldn’t make them leave? She’d intervene if the threat to his safety became too pointed, but seemed hesitant to help otherwise.
A scrap of paper fluttered down before him. Do no harm, he saw penciled on its surface, and rolled his eyes. “I know,” he muttered. “But they’re totally at peace with it.”
She didn’t respond, which was exactly as he’d expected.
Before the man could run away and render the whole attack useless, Owl surged out again. The intruder flinched, hands up, already backing away.
Stop him here. His eyes narrowed. Crystals sprang from the walls, growing from the floor beneath the outsider. They rose like monoliths, swallowing the man’s feet, his ankles.
Owl grinned, starting to advance. Yes. He’d have a second prisoner, another soldier taken out, never to attack him again. What little composure the man had collected seemed to be vanishing as the crystals spread across his thighs, pinning his arms back. Don’t kill him. Don’t swallow him whole.
Another step, and-
Something grabbed hold of Owl’s ankle. He stumbled, the world spinning again, and went down hard.
The bookshelf. It’d stretched, growing tendrils like roots, and wrapped around his leg tighter and tighter. Owl kicked at them, trying to work his way free. The crystal-trapped intruder? No, he was too occupied. But then-
“G-Go!” he heard a woman cry. “I’ve got him, but I don’t know how long-”
“Just hold!” a man roared.
Owl’s chin lifted. Two figures watched him from the deepest shadows of a nearby hall. Indira—and Rickard, charging out in front of her.
Perfect.
Kicking wasn’t getting him anywhere. Sucking a breath of air in, Owl spread his fingers wide, pushing down hard. Flames gusted from his palms, seething down over the roots and branches binding him down.
They seared away in an instant, just puffs of cinders and smoke. He clenched his teeth, refusing to let the heat off as he stumbled to his f
eet. His arms snapped up, red-orange fires still rolling from his hands.
Rickard skidded to a stop, throwing his arms up protectively. “Indira!” Owl heard him cry. “Would you just-”
“I-I’m trying!” Indira bit her lip, eyes narrowing, but Owl was on his feet now, heat pouring off his form in waves.
Push them back, he whispered to himself. Drive them into the hallway behind. The balconies overhead formed a cap on the room—and the hallway they’d hidden in was their only escape. Tearing his attention off the flames for a scant moment, his gaze flicked to the hall.
The groaning of stone scraping against stone was completely inaudible beneath the roar of the fires, but he saw a wall rise from the ground, blocking them off.
Good. Seal that route. Don’t let them get out. Stiffening his arms, he took a step forward. Another. Rickard skittered back, his face and arms starting to redden. He stretched a hand out, wincing—and Owl gritted his teeth, pouring more heat into the exchange.
All he had to do was drive them back, then wall them off. If he could take out the both of them, he’d cripple the Bookbinder’s leadership.
He couldn’t lose here. And he wouldn’t.
“Indira!” Rickard snapped again. His voice was starting to go hoarse, losing what little cheer it’d had before. “Whatever you’re going to do, just-”
Indira snarled, her face contorting. Her hand jerked across, then plummeted.
The stone floor beneath Owl wobbled ominously—then gave way, collapsing to slop. He plunged in, shock momentarily overcoming his own determination. Mud splashed up to his chest. His neck. The tug against his feet increased, with no signs of it letting up anytime soon. He grabbed for the stony lip of the well, fighting to keep from going under.
This. He...He remembered this. A man, swallowed up by Alexandria, buried in the earth.
Only this time, he couldn’t leave.
Rickard’s cries rang in his ears, unintelligible behind Indira’s. A complaint, no doubt. The Bookbinder didn’t seem to want him dead, and even the Librarian couldn’t breathe through mud and rock.
But...this was Alexandria, not some prehistoric tar pit.
Owl made up his mind in an instant. Before he could change it, he let go. Indira’s yells turned to a wordless shriek.
The mud closed over his head before he heard anything else.
Keep your cool. Owl sublimated his fear, fighting against the parts of him that had just gone into full protest. He was the Librarian, and this was the Library. He didn’t have to sleep. He didn’t have to eat.
So why did he need to breathe?
The world went dark. He peered out through the lenses of his mask, desperately clinging to the idea that it was more than just a hunk of clay strapped to his face. It would hold. It would keep the mud out. It would.
Kicking out hard, he swam. It’s not mud. It’s water. It’s air. I’m floating, sailing through Alexandria, the emptiness around her. The pressure against him loosened, and he smiled tightly. It was still dark. But...Rickard and Indira had been a dozen or two feet in front of him. Just...about…
His lungs burned. They were not being logical about this—but he was close enough. Swinging himself back to vertical, Owl balled up his fist. One hand brushed against the stone above him, like ice holding a diver underwater.
He punched. Cracks spread through the barrier. Again. Light gleamed through the crevice. A third, and-
The stone gave way with a crunch, and light poured back into his world. Owl was in motion before the first rocky fragment hit the ground, launching himself through the gap.
He could see Rickard and Indira, huddled together—and the crater he must’ve vanished through, a few steps beyond. As he watched, they twisted, stiffening at the sight of him behind them.
Don’t let up. Mud dripped off his form, but he stumbled forward, wiping his mask clean enough to see. The pair turned, eyes going wide. He only had a second.
He lifted a foot, stomping it into the ground hard. The air around them crackled, seething with energy. He heard someone yelp, and then the unwitting man he’d first spotted bolted away down another path. The bait, Owl thought with a wry smile. Of course, he could see that now.
Lightning crackled from inside the storm gathering before Indira and Rickard. They stumbled backward, momentarily baffled as mists churned, spreading by the second. An angry black ball of clouds collected at the storm’s heart.
“Just stun her,” Owl whispered under his breath—and snapped his fingers. A bolt of lightning lanced from the thickest part of the storm.
Indira screamed, staggering away as it struck her. Her arms shook.
Rickard grabbed hold of her shoulders, one hand out before him. The air around it shimmered, glowing red-hot. Owl gaped, momentarily dumbstruck. He’s collecting the heat. The energy. He’s diverting it.
Owl leapt back just in time, shielding his face. Rickard hurled the ball of condensed heat to the ground at Owl’s feet with a snarl. A burst of light filled the study, the air crackling with heat and the uncanny tang of ozone.
And there, spreading from the point of impact, the stones glowed cherry-red. It advanced on him, smoking and burning with little pops of soot.
“No,” Owl gasped, grabbing for the heat with one hand. The stone beneath him cooled, settling into tiny swirls and ridges. He sent the contained energy deeper into the ground, coiling back toward the pair.
Up. He coaxed it on, intensifying the heat. Rickard had an arm around Indira, then, dragging the hapless woman on. Owl clenched his jaw, swaying himself. He was...so tired. More tired than he’d been since Olivia, since the dreamers erupted in protest. Tired of pain, and fighting, and hiding amid the books, wondering where the next enemy was going to come from.
Now, with the enemy leaders right in his sights, no way in hell was he going to let them run away so easily.
The heat rose, shooting skyward—and the stones behind Rickard and Indira heaved, bulging outward. Superheated stone sprayed out, spreading into a wall of lava behind them. The air in the study thickened by the second, filling with smoke and steam.
Rickard spun back around, fury in his eyes. “Enough,” he hissed. “If you will not submit, then-”
His words vanished into a muted grunt as he clenched a fist. Chunks of the lava ripped free, hurtling back at Owl.
Behind his mask, he smiled, the weariness sinking deeper. Back and forth they went. They could trade blows all night. All week. They’d just spray magic at each other, reshaping each other’s attacks into something new, and it’d never end.
I’m sorry, he whispered. He didn’t shy away from the lava, didn’t flee. It struck his form, each ball hitting like a hammer, and cooled instantly. The red-hot slop turned to angry black obsidian, layering over his chest, his arms, his legs. Rickard’s eyes widened again, shock spreading across his face like wildfire.
Coated in his new, stony ‘armor’, Owl lurched forward, not bothering to craft a new attack. I know you don’t want to hurt anyone. I know that this place is supposed to be safe for everyone. But...they’ll kill me. They’ll use you.
Rickard’s arms were back around Indira, and he dragged her on with new urgency. Owl stumbled after him, not exactly ‘fast’ but picking up speed.
This won’t stop. None of this will stop until they’re gone—and I can’t stop them without killing them. He raised a blackened, stone-covered fist, closing the gap between the two and him. I don’t want to. But I don’t know another way.
Forgive me.
Alexandria seemed to shudder, the lights dimming—but she didn’t stop him, either. Owl gritted his teeth, breaking into an awkward, pained run. Each step sent shudders through the Library. His footsteps resounded through the wing like thunderclaps.
For the first time, fear appeared in Rickard’s eyes.
And then it vanished, replaced by surprise. He sagged, carrying Indira to the ground along with him.
“W-What?” Owl spluttered. The heaviness hit
him a heartbeat after. It was completely different from his own exhaustion, his world-weariness. There was no fighting it. All he could do was pitch forward, eyelids drooping, and let gravity take over.
He never felt the ground.
- Chapter Thirty-Six -
Daniel’s eyes snapped open.
He was back in that office chair, his hands pinned back, his head hanging forward until his chin rested against his chest. All around him were crumpled, twitching figures just starting to rise—Indira and Rickard at their center, but surrounded by figures he vaguely remembered from inside the Library.
A hand was clenched around the back of his head, but as he twitched, starting to come awake, it loosened. “Oh,” he heard someone say. The sound was still foggy, buried beneath layers of haze and disorientation. “Sir. I, uh-”
“No, no,” someone else said. A man, his voice weathered and stern. “Don’t trouble yourself. Rest.”
“Y-Yes, sir,” the first man said. Footsteps. He was moving away.
Daniel raised his head, blinking at the sudden return of light. It was dark inside Alexandria—not that it wasn’t dark in the makeshift office, but even still, it left him reeling. The front door was open, with someone standing silhouetted against the light. They strode in, with other figures filtering through in their wake.
Rickard swayed, stumbling to his feet. “M-Madis. I didn’t- I wasn’t informed you were coming. I would’ve-”
“Yes, I know,” the first man said. Madis, if Rickard was to be believed. His face was weathered and rough, sunk through with lines, but he had a full head of silvered blond hair slicked back. He looked down the length of his nose at Rickard, his lips curling unhappily. “I had to make the trip after I heard about your troubles, did I not?”
Rickard shrank back, licking his lips. “W-Well. I-”
“I’m disappointed.” Madis didn’t yell, but Rickard’s eyes went wide all the same. Madis shifted, lifting his chin. “This is quite the mess you’ve made. When I assigned you a crew-”