Page 48 of Liminal

Hasn’t provided a room for him. What?

I hit the building with a curious frown, and in answer, I feel my own door pop open.

“No.” I cut the library off with careful calmness.

I won’t be offering up my Sanctuary to him, even if I would love the sight of him in my bed. Naked.

In answer, the building pouts. The shelves literally sag in disappointment as Jasper’s cot grows taller, morphing into a comfortably sized wooden bunk bed. A wardrobe appears in the corner, the doors popping open to display a rail full to bursting with men’s clothing.

“Thank you, Librarian.”

“The building cannot provide food.” I pass my hand through the flame of the oil lamp by the bedside, silently wishing this was easier. “I will have someone arrange to collect some for you.”

Lambert owes me a favour, though making North do it would be more satisfying.

“While you are here under the rules of Sanctuary, your care is my responsibility,” I say finally. “If you need anything, call out for me. I will hear you.”

Something in me wants to linger, to grasp this opportunity for company with both lonely hands and hold on for dear life, but they’ve just been through an ordeal. My hovering won’t help them.

“I’ll be back to continue healing him in a little while.”

But it’s opening time, and as I predicted, there’s an aggravated presence waiting for me by the front desk.

Time to face the Carltons.

Fourteen

Kyrith

There are two men and a woman waiting at the desk below, but the illusion that glides towards them isn’t me. It’s a perfect copy, minus the streaks of black lightning up one arm.

Why didn’t I think of this before?I ask myself, smirking from my hiding spot on the Gallery above.

The first rule of negotiations? Never let your enemy see your weakness.

The three arcanists before the desk are certainly projecting strength. Immaculate, slick blond hair, tailored black suits, and even the heavy, gold statement jewellery around the neck of the woman at their head is all part of the perfect display of wealth and power.

We may no longer wear robes, but it’s not hard to see the same money that once clothed Rector Carlton at work here.

“Yes?” I ask, making the illusion speak.

“The ancestral seat of House Carlton was broken into last night,” the woman in front, Anthea Carlton, begins. “By two fugitives that the Arcanaeum has granted Sanctuary to.”

The illusion’s head cocks to one side, and from above, I watch as the early-bird patrons begin to drift towards the Rotunda like the gossips they are. I assume they all want to know what the Carlton heir needs from me, given that she graduated a while ago.

“Even if that were the case, I fail to see how your presence here is warranted. Unless you’re here to threaten the Arcanaeum or myself in the hopes I might revoke that Sanctuary? That would put you on tenuous ground, given that under the laws?—”

“We know the laws,” she interrupts, her severe blonde ponytail swaying as she shifts her weight and crosses her arms. “But the circumstances are different.”

“Why? Because this time it isn’t your house that I’m extending Sanctuary to?” I ask. “If I remember, the Carltons had no complaints when I granted your great-grandfather and his son Sanctuary from his abusive wife. I spent eight months undoing the ensorcellments she’d put on them. The Arcanaeum protects those in need, as it has always done.”

“It protects criminals.”

My nostrils flare, though no breath emerges. “Do tell me, how is a man who’s been a prisoner of your house for years a criminal? I’m sure clan McKinley would be very interested to hear that tale.”

I’m too far away to read her properly, but even from here I can make out the aggressive stiffening of her shoulders and the way her companions look around warily.

“And as for your other intruder, it would appear to me that he was merely an arcanist seeking to rescue his dear friend. Unless anything else was taken from House Carlton…”