Page 173 of Librarian

Once it’s done, and the lich is dead, I have a break planned for Kyrith and me in Tromsø. I already made her settle for a desperate first fuck over an uncomfortable balcony. I do not intend to disappoint her with anything less than themost romantic declaration of love money can buy beneath the northern lights.

“Get on with it.”

I whirl, grimoire rising with me as I face the door. It lowers a second later as I groan.

“What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t think we’d let you go alone, did you?” Leo shoves his head inside, his hair sodden and dripping with rain. “Plus, this is technically my fecking house. You tripped the alarm, eejit.”

“You don’t have to be rude,” Lambert comments, though I can’t see him. “Come on, leave him to it. He might have performance anxiety.”

My jaw clenches. “You were supposed to?—”

“Don’tinsult my intelligence any more than you already have. You’re a good liar, but did you really think the rest of us wouldn’t notice Kyrie duplicating a grimoire? Or two of the most critical pieces of the plan being glossed over like that? Now, my brother and I volunteered to protect your arse—and the dagger—but I didn’t think we’d be standing out here in the pissing rain for half an hour while you did your hair. It’s one fecking spell. Get on with it.”

I want to throttle him. Ialmostwant to hug him.

What is the world coming to that I’m grateful they’re nearby as I prepare to perform dark magic?

Leo’s probably only doing this because he’s still trying to worm his way into Kyrith’s good books. No one wants to leave the dagger unprotected. Or maybe his superiority complex just can’t trust anyone else to get the job done. Whatever.

“Stay out there,” I warn.

Leo rolls his eyes at me. “We’re not here to watch. Just hurry up.”

“Good luck, dude! We got your back!” Lambert sticks his head in just long enough to give me a mortifying thumbs up. “Everyone else is protecting the boss, so don’t worry about her either.”

Leo drags him away, slamming the door back in place. It’s a flimsy kind of deniability, but if they never saw me practising necromancy, they’ll be able to say as much if asked.

I turn back to the gem, putting my grimoire back down and picking up the dagger. It’s flimsy in my grasp. The pieces are mostly held together by Kyrith’s scraps.

If it breaks midway through the spell…no. She’s reinforced it so thoroughly that the blade is practically mummified.

No part of me wants to cast the spell that killed her afterwards, even if I am directing that magic at Mathias. I didn’t even really want it in my grimoire, but it’s strong magic. Master level spellwork. All the reinforced parchment in the world wouldn’t hold out under that.

It’s not fast, either. When Mathias cast it on Kyrith, after he broke into the Arcanaeum, he chanted the incantation over and over for a good few minutes. It doesn’t take a genius to realise that the more power being stolen, the longer it takes.

I have to hope the others can keep him contained, and that Kyrith can keep me hidden while I cast it.

But that part comes after, when I’m back in the Arcanaeum with the others. First, I need to destroy the gem in front of me.

Gingerly setting the dagger on my lap, I hold my hand over the shining ruby. “An mekith imediom, myrtel ottarn myrtel…”

The glassy surface heats beneath my palm. The scent of magic and rot fills my nostrils and?—

There’s a commotion outside. Damn it. Why can’t they go two minutes without mucking about?

I can’t lose focus. Someone yells something.

“Pierce!”

The scarlet surface of the gem starts to crack. Good. Once it’s broken, I can switch spells. I’ll need the dagger to channel his soul?—

A heavy hand lands on my shoulder. Before I can utter another word, I’m ripped away from the phylactery.

The thick dusty carpet breaks my fall, but my magic recoils at the interruption, stinging my palms. Muscle memory has me scrambling for my grimoire before I even learn the identity of my attacker.

When I catch sight of him, all of the warmth flees my body.