Page 39 of Liminal

“Fuck! Jesus! Cut it out!” I snap, cradling my stinging ear. “If you need a mental health day fucking take one.”

There’s a confused pause where the book just hovers there, as if the Librarian is struggling to figure out what that even means, before it drops back to the top of a nearby pile with a dull thud.

That ostentatious, starlit sky greets us as we finally reach the top of the stairs, and I grimace as I catch sight of a familiar figure in an armchair.

So instead of an angry Kyrith, it appears I get to face a furious Galileo.

The heir of house Ó Rinn is cradling the book in his lap with long, reverent fingers, looking a little lost as he stares down at the pages. His pupils aren’t moving, so I don’t think he’s actually reading whatever’s written there, and at our arrival, he snaps it closed.

“I have nothing further to say to either of you.”

“Layyyoooo.” Lambert drags out his name with obtuse familiarity. “Come on, you can’t say that to me. Who’s going to keep you company at the next?—”

“I am not interested in hearing it, Lambert. You know what your stupidity almost cost me. One would think you would be less inclined to forgiveness, given that your tutoring sessions are now almost certainly also a thing of the past.”

Shit. Lambert’s falling grades. Not only have I fucked up my own chances—and Eddy’s—I’ve screwed over my only fucking friend in this stupid magical world. Tearing shame rips at my chest, stealing any apology I could make.

Lambert’s only dream is to play magiball. He was improving under Kyrith’s tutelage, and without that…

Lambert’s jaw snaps closed, locking with tension for a brief moment before he can plaster his easy-going face back on. “Kyrith’s not like that. She let us all back in, right? She’ll forgive me. I’ll bring her books.”

Leo pins him with a look, then nods his head towards a small pile on the table. “I already tried that. She won’t take them, won’t even show herself.”

“Well, Idolook prettier than you,” Lambert cajoles. “Plus, you do have a habit of scaring off beautiful girls.”

I wonder why, I think dryly. He’s well on his way to freezing us to death with his frosty glare alone. I might not be Cassanova, but even I know women always want the funny ones, like Lambert, not the quiet, menacing nerd in the corner.

“I don’t think that’s going to cut it this time,” Galileo grumbles. “Or have you not noticed the furniture is three shades darker than it was yesterday? The curtains are black. Even the stained glass is grey. We did more than anger her. She was hurt.” He pauses, giving us both a look. “Her…affliction worsened.”

Three books zoom off the shelves and hang heavily in the air around him, looming with silent menace.

In answer, Galileo raises both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I apologise again, Librarian. It was never my intention to cause you harm.”

My mouth drops open, and my throat tightens.

He hurt her? She’s a ghost. How does that even happen?

No one was supposed to get hurt. It was only a book. Josef would probably consider it a bonus, but not me. I didn’t comehere to trade one woman’s pain for another. Perhaps Ishould’vebrought one of those books with me, but I have no idea if any of them are worth anything or even any good. I’m not a reader. I’m barely an arcanist. I’d rather be gaming or playing normal inept football.

“Kyrith?” Lambert asks, looking around. “Hey, are you okay, boss lady? Can we do anything to help?”

He looks so lost, but he’s too good of a person to level the blame at my feet, or Leo’s. He probably should.

Kyrith…doesn’t answer him.

Twelve

Kyrith

They come back.

Day after day, they return. Taunting me with their presence. Attending Hopkinson’s lectures like they’re truly just students here to learn and not thieves searching for the next opportunity to strike. A small army of books has piled up on the desk, and to my shame, the Arcanaeum reaches for them constantly. The pages on the shelves itch with the desire to claim them for its own.

The collection of offerings appears to be split evenly between tatty magiball magazines and beautiful first edition manuscripts. I want to read the spines. Add them to the catalogue cards.

But I won’t.

Instead, I hide away in my tower, avoiding all inquiries. Though the patrons grumble a little at first, they soon adapt to my absence. It’s humbling, the reminder of how unnecessary I really am. If I die—a second time—the library will continue without me.