Page 96 of Florescentia

“Well, it only seems right to preserve your career.” I rolled my eyes. “I wouldn’t want to further burden your workload. I may ask Maxim—”

“He took the day,” Calum said, “which is why I’m in early. He asked me to cover him.”

“Oh.” It seemed I didn’t have any other excuses to deny the help. “All right then, maybe you can do a title pull for me. Keep you busy.”

“Anything beats the desk work,” he said with a wink.

My arms were becoming sore from the books piled higher and higher. The main Treasury floor lacked tables because of the bats and for ease of cleaning, so patrons had to hold everything if they wanted a book.

The book pile weighed my arms again as Calum added a few more.

“Do you want me to hold that?”

“No,” I said quickly, my fingers breezing over the spines, looking for absolutely anything that might be in the realm of where my answers lay.

“You may want to narrow your search,” he said. “General ancient Astrium seems to be a broad topic.”

I handed him the pile of books so I could stretch my arms. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for, if I am to be honest.” I ground my teeth, staring at the wall of books as if the volume I sought would jump out at me like a magical spell.

“Well, is it instructional? Cultural?” He stared along with me. “Ritual?”

I chewed the inside of my lip, unsure if I should tell him anything at all. Maxim already thought I was mad. But he wouldn’t dare say it out loud, even if he had helped me dispose of my husband’s remains correctly.

“In the hymns, there are references to rituals that people no longer possess the ability to perform,” I explained. “I am interested in more accounts of those, not in verse or poem or other vague reference.”

“There are some. They aren’t easy to understand.” He began to walk along the wall. “Context is lost for many of them. Whether by war or by ignorance, sometimes both, it’s hard to know exactly how,” he said, placing the pile on the ground before pulling something else off the wall.

“But they say how?” I prodded, staring at the book in his hand.

He shrugged, opening the book. “It’s like recipes, but either they’re a bunch of magical nonsense, or we simply do not have the skills to perform them.”

“What about summoning?” I asked. “Like speaking to the dead?”

After the question had left my throat, an inkling of a dreadful, unrepeatable thought . . .

What if I didn’t want to bring him back anymore?

I loved him, I did, but I had not cried in a while. Would he feel betrayed if I didn’t try? Even if what I was trying to do was unnatural, why did it feel wrong to not want to try anymore?

My conscience was cleared when I remembered that what had happened to Dorian wasn’t natural at all; it was a consequence of my own mistake. So I had a duty to try.

He flipped through the pages, then turned the book toward me. “Sentience of the Soul,” he said, reading the title, “but see? We are missing parts of it. There’s the name of the departed, personal item, the intention, and the infamous incantation—but it says you need a tome.”

“A tome?”

“It’s a folktale,” he laughed, “a sentient book that guides you. Technically, it’s a creature that’s shaped like a book, because that is the only way it can be made sense of by the human mind.” He tapped his temple. “Maybe you should read more mythology. It’s quite interesting.”

A tome . . .

The grimoire.

“What does it say?” I grabbed the book, looking at the list.

Names. Belongings. Intention. Florescentia.

“Do you want me to add it to the ledger?” he asked.

“No,” I said, and handed it back to him, “I have another errand to run, I just remembered.” I laughed, tapping my head as I backed away. “Thank you for your help!” I called as I rushed to the exit.