Page 34 of Liminal

Stupid, stupid, stupid. It’s happened all over again. Just like with Edmund. When will I learn that no arcanist alive wants to know me for me. I’m just a pawn to them.

Glaring down at Galileo and Lambert, I realise I hate them more than I hate North. At least he never tried to hide his motivations. These two aren’t going anywhere, but there’s no time to deal with them.

I disappear, keeping the magic pinning them in place in a secure grip as I sink into the building, spreading my essence through the Arcanaeum and reforming.

He’s so far down already. Almost within sight of the altar. A thought from me, and the stairs before him disappear entirely.

I can almost hear his heartbeat pick up as his foot hovers over empty air before he snatches it back.

“Omubolosi.”

His body is petrified, literally unable to move, but the golden fire in his eyes turns molten with rage. Unfortunately, he can still speak.

“Let me go!”

I don’t oblige. With a flick of my fingers, I drag his worthless body through the air and back up the way we came. When we return to the Rotunda, the decorations are gone. The Arcanaeum bristles, its anger and mine so thoroughly entangled I can’t separate them. I don’t care to.

The other two are already on the floor of the Rotunda when I reach them, still pressed over in that mockery of a bow. I hate that even like this, I can appreciate how beautiful they are. I hatemyself for the slither of guilt creeping through me, and the tiny part of me whispering that perhaps I should show mercy.

That stupid, naïve little part is shut down under the reminder that it was all false. There was no friendship. Just a lie that my pathetic, desperate, lonely mind latched onto.

I slam North down beside them, then ease up until the three of them are able to lift their heads.

“Why were you trying to get into the Vault?” I demand.

The trapdoor slams shut behind my desk as I say the name, and the rug unfurls back over the top of it.

“We need—” But Lambert cuts off as North shoots a quelling glare at him.

“None of your fucking business. You caught us. Now let us go.”

I pin him with a glare and reach deep into my arsenal of spells. “Virecot.”

Galileo grunts. “Don’t say a?—”

“Solinci.” The silencing spell hits him hard, and he gags noiselessly.

For most other arcanists, holding three spells like this would be next to impossible. I see that knowledge flicker in the Ó Rinn’s cool eyes as he swallows past the pain of being magically gagged.

They’re all so used to seeing the meek, useless Librarian who uses her power to summon books and rarely interacts with patrons except to give out strikes or banishments. This new side of me must be a shock.

Good.

“Why did you break into the Vault?” I demand answers from the stubborn Ackland with my gaze, but half of my attention is elsewhere. The Arcanaeum is checking for missing books. For any sign that he stepped off the staircase to take something.

Nothing.

North opens his mouth, and I can tell he wants to tell me to go to hell.

“I need to get Magister Mathias Ackland’s grimoire for Josef.”

The silence in the room is thunderous, and my jaw drops open. Incredulity breaks my focus, and the last spell I cast unravels before I can catch it.

“You idiot,” Galileo hisses. “It’s a truth spell. Don’t say anything.”

I throw my head back and release a shocked cackle of a laugh, even as my mind breaks in relief.

“Your attempts to please your necromancer father are in vain,” I tell North, smirking. “That book isn’t here. It’s never been part of the collection.”