Page 178 of Librarian

“Scan them,” Michael spits the order. “Librarian, if this isn’t some kind of trick, do you not think such a talent might’ve benefited everyone had you chosen to reveal it sooner?”

I meet his stare. “I am here to serve, not subjugate. Besides, my days of being used by the parriarchs are far behind me.”

“Sir, they’re…they’re necromancers.” The agent behind Michael looks up from the grimoires he’s placed on one of the reading desks, face slack with panic.

“Who else?” Michael demands.

“Check them all!” someone yells from above.

“Corrupt bastards.”

The insults keep coming. I let them rage for a few minutes, but eventually I shake my head and make eye contact with Blanche, who shushes them.

“The commanders. If you please.”

Some—those who know their innocence—stride forward with righteousness dripping from their every pore. One or two are shoved to the front. Others try to attack, but they’re outnumbered. If not by their own people, then by the enforcement officers slipping into the Rotunda behind them. I step around the desk, losing the protection that the wood afforded me as I walk the line of arcanists assembled for my perusal.

“Heather Winthrop,” I say, swallowing to try to get past the disgusting taste that emanates from her. “Reginald Talcott…”

By the time I make it to the end of the line, I’ve called out more than half of them.

“So many.” Michael gapes in shock as I return to stand nearer to him.

Yes. It’s bad. Before this year, the last known person to be arrested for necromancy was Pierce’s father. That was decades ago. Now, I’ve uncovered a handful in just one room. All in the upper echelons of a group that was supposed to eradicate them.

It almost makes Isidora’s inflated statistics seem credible, although not in the way she intended. Most of these people are adepts.

I may not like Michael, but his jobsworth tendencies make him a known variable, and the crowd makes him malleable. I need both of those things.

“The aegis was never created to root out necromancy or protect arcanists,” I announce, drawing the eyes of the roomagain. “It was created to appease an agenda that would tear families apart based on antiquated ideals of magical purity. It was varnished with ideals that any sane person would admire, but underneath, it was always about control.” I take a deep breath. “In five hundred years, I have never broken my impartiality, even when threatened.”

I let my gaze rest on Michael as I say it.

“Get on with whatever you have to say,” he grumbles.

My indrawn breath is deep but does little to steady me. “Isidora Carlton was a necromancer. She took up the practice in her second year at UAA, after she’d already been admitted to the Arcanaeum. Mathias Ackland is worse. That’s why he’s been banished for centuries. The two of them have been persecuting liminals for their own benefit, not for the protection of the people here. Now he wants to use you to take the Arcanaeum for himself.”

The room is mute. Many of them must want to contradict me, but no one will dare now that proof of my ability is right there in front of them.

“I am not asking you to fight for the Library. I am not asking you to arrest him. I am merely asking you to go home. To refuse to answer his summons. Spend time with the families you’re so eager to protect and allow the other parriarchs and I to deal with him.”

At that moment, Dakari, Jasper, and North reveal themselves behind me, arms folded over their chests. A wall of strength that I long to retreat closer to.

I deny myself the luxury. Right now, I can’t afford to appear weak.

Wait. Where are Leo and Lambert? Why is Pierce not back yet?

They’re not here.

My stomach, which had begun to relax, ties itself back into knots as my mind conjures a hundred different scenarios, but I can’t let myself falter now.

“Go home,” I repeat, staring down the aegis. “Stand aside and heal. Deal with the traitors I’ve unmasked for you. Focus on uncovering the others who knew about this but chose to turn a blind eye out of greed.”

The reluctance on Michael’s face is plain. Being the dutiful asshole that he is, he says, “It’s our job to fight necromancy.”

“Aye, and it’s a parriarch’s job to put an end to it,” Jasper argues, jerking his thumb at the now-restrained arcanists on the floor. “Interrogate those fuckers. Clean house. Leave Mathias to us.”

“In all my years, I have never once asked my patrons for anything,” I say softly. “And I will return to work, serving arcandom, for as long as I exist. But now I’m begging you; please, go home in peace. The Arcanaeum is not a battleground, and I will not let Mathias Ackland, or anyone else, turn it into one.”