Page 11 of Librarian

Five

Jasper

Fort McKinley has never been so busy.

At least not in my lifetime.

My parents are back home with my sister, making food for everyone in Ma’s hastily repaired kitchen.

Waking my aunt turned into rousing the entire clan once we explained what was going on.

Now Halinor sits in an armchair before the great hearth in the main keep, wearing a fluffy maroon dressing gown. Her eyes trace the dying flames as the urgent yelling of arcanists drifts through the open window on my left. Cars are arriving in the lower bailey every few minutes, their lights flashing in the glass. Wards are being raised in the pissing rain, despite the early hour.

Clan McKinley is readying for war, which means everyone who lives outside the Fortress is coming home, seeking safety in numbers.

Lambert watches it all with uncharacteristic stillness from his position by the glass, his face stony. My aunt’s silence mustbe contagious, because he hasn’t spoken since it became clear we weren’t getting back into the Arcanaeum.

Every so often, he glances at the arcanist on the sofa behind me, fists clenching before he forces himself to look away, taking deep breaths.

Galileo is ghost pale, his hair limp and slicked to his face with sweat. His neck is stuck at an awkward angle thanks to the unceremonious way he was dumped. His shirt is gone, but no one has got him a blanket, so the firelight battles with the flashing red glow of the runeform covering his chest.

The curse is about to trigger. The second it fades to a shimmery grey scar, he’ll have lost whatever it decides he’ll miss most. He could have seconds or hours left.

I’m sitting on the floor with my back to him. I cannae fucking look at him. My fingers flick through the pages of the book that arrived alongside his living corpse. This is the first tome to leave the Arcanaeum in centuries, and it’s a familiar one.

Healing the Magical Wellby Benjamin Carlton. No doubt, Kyrith hoped I’d use it to help the cunt.

I’d rather wax my eyeballs.

He’s the reason we’re in this mess.

I’ll send the letters that litter the floor on to the rest of the Ó Rinns, because that’s what she would’ve wanted…but Leo? He can fucking suffer.

My pocket dings, followed swiftly by Lambert’s and North’s. Abandoning the book, I pull out my phone and grimace at the name on the screen.

Dakari:

Where are you?

I swipe open the group chat, only to freeze as a selfie follows it.

Eddy is posing with her fingers in a peace sign in the passenger seat of a Maserati that almost certainlydoesnaebelong to either of them. She’s managed to catch the Talcott heir frowning at the wheel, and behind her—asleep and drooling on the back window—is Anthea Carlton. Both of the girls look dishevelled, but unharmed.

North:

r u ok?

Lambert:

Why didn’t you return my call? ??

North:

wtf happened?

North asked the question before I could, and I catch his eye across the room. He’s relegated himself to the corner, beside the ugly, thrifted porcelain vase that doubles as an umbrella stand. His jaw works as he glances around like one of us might have a clue why his twin is in a car with Anthea and using Dakari’s phone.

Dakari: