Page 107 of Spellwright

“Careful,” she whispered.

“Always,” he murmured against her hair, then stepped back, as if the thing he had to be most careful around was her.

“I—” she began.

“Not to worry,” he said, misunderstanding her concern. “We’ve fooled the librarian for now.”

“But not for long.” She peered around the edge of the bookshelf, cringing at the way their mirrored figures leaned with feigned interest toward Jasper, their necks stretching a bit too long. Turning back to Penbrook, she bumped him down the aisle a few more steps. “Let’s leave the book here and be done with it.”

He looked at the shelf disapprovingly. “This isn’t where I found it.”

“The grimoire can move itself wherever it likes.” It was all Fia could do to keep her voice down. “It doesn’t matter where you place it, so long as it’s within the archives. So long as it’s returned.”

Without further argument Penbrook pulled the warded bag from his pocket and released The Book of Ribs on the shelf. The grimoire let out a shuddering breath, one that lacked that awful scent of rot. Perhaps the little clover on her wrist had offered them luck in this small way.

And she couldn’t help wishing it might guide them again. “There’s got to be a spell somewhere in this room that could break your curse. A book you didn’t consider before.”

He crooked a small conspiratorial smile. “And you’d have me steal it under the librarian’s nose?” Just like she was, he ignored the impossibility of the task, dreaming of a different ending.

For him.

And maybe for them.

“I’d steal it for you,” she said, not wanting to be careful anymore.

Penbrook tipped back against the bookshelves, and even wearing his mask, she could see the sleepy amusement in his eyes, and a glint of wonder too.

“I wouldn’t ask it of you.”

Fia bit her lip, feeling the seconds ticking past with no way to pause them. “You wouldn’t have to ask.”

CHAPTER 34

Around the corner, Jasper’s voice droned on, and for a moment Fia let herself believe she could find just the right book, just the right spell. There was nothing more wonderful than hope, and it felt like she’d sighted a shooting star that was whispering yes, yes, yes to her most heart-held wish. Penbrook had thought that diviner had sent him to Fia, so who was to say this wasn’t their fate? That she couldn’t shape their ending however happily she wanted?

She reached past Penbrook, fingers dancing over the nearest spines.

All at once, the many grimoires started rustling. Just a quiet shifting at first, and Fia worried she’d drawn their attention. And stirred their magic.

She hesitated, and the books only became more agitated, thrumming against one another. A few thick tomes threw themselves violently from the shelves, landing on the marble floor in an echoing clatter—like they wanted their distress to be known.

“Shhh,” Fia pleaded, not understanding the reason for their upset, only for another dusty volume to lurch dramatically to the ground. Penbrook turned to her with a dismal look as the butterflies in her hair trembled their papery wings.

At the same time, Waxworth swept into the room, emitting a throaty caw of alarm. Perhaps drawn by the tumultuous grimoires, the rook would surely spot Fia and Penbrook near the telltale Book of Ribs and alert Jasper. The Cloaks, already gathered for the masque, would cart the pair off to the Azantian Hold for the original theft—the deadly sleeping curse never broken. Penbrook must have had the same fear. As Fia hurriedly stumbled out of the shelves beside him and into the main chamber, he smeared their mirrored images like brushing a hand across a still-wet canvas.

Up ahead, Jasper yanked off his mask. If he noticed the illusions dissolving or Fia and Penbrook standing several feet back from where they’d been moments before, he gave no indication, his eyes trained upward on the rook wheeling round and round the circular room.

“What has him so agitated?” Andromeda asked nervously.

In answer, a scream echoed up the staircase, swiftly followed by a frightened cry.

Summoned to duty, the pair of enormous gargoyles crashed into the archives, their clawed feet cracking against the marble floor as they loped forward on all fours. They approached like a threat, mouths twisted, teeth long and pointed, heavy heads swinging sharply to the side. Their cold, blank eyes found Fia and Penbrook.

Before either of them could even think of moving, the first of the gargoyles broke away, bearing down on Penbrook. Its scaled arm lashed out, claws seizing him by the collar. Penbrook groaned as he was dragged to the ground, probably more upset about any damage that would come to his coat than his own body. The other gargoyle charged for Fia with ridiculous speed, snatching her toward its chest and immediately hurtling back toward the door to the hall. She kicked her feet uselessly, hands falling on stone as another cry wound its way up from below, filling Fia with dread.

As soon as the gargoyle crossed the threshold, it unceremoniously released her. She landed with a thud and a grunt beside Penbrook, lifting her head as Jasper raced from the archives with Andromeda in his arms. Shrieking, Waxworth slipped out just before the massive doors slammed closed, a booming locking mechanism sliding into place.

“Let nothing, let no one, inside,” Jasper ordered with a shaky breath.