Page 61 of Liminal

So no, I won’t stop Hopkinson’s lecture, but I don’t have to sit through it either. The world may not owe me comfort, but I will take it where I can.

With that thought firmly in my mind, armouring me against the guilt that accompanies letting Hopkinson down, I flee back to my tower and search for the most risqué inept romance novel I can find to take my mind off things.

Eighteen

Galileo

The Librarian left. Interesting.

I’m not the only one who noticed, but I’m certain the rest of the class has put it down to her being required elsewhere. It’s only from weeks of studying her that I managed to read the disquiet in her expression. She tugs on her sleeves when she’s anxious, and when Magister Mathias Ackland’s portrait flashed up on the projector, she curled them over her tiny fists.

Ire pools low in my chest, scalding me from the inside out, as I put down my book in favour of studying the two portraits on the handout. I’d already identified the Magisters Ó Rinn and Ackland as her likely murderers, but Rector Carlton drew that same reaction.

When she said the parriarchs were responsible, I never thought she meant… all of them. But it’s a theory I’d be foolish to disregard. After all, whatever killed and reanimated her had to be incredibly powerful magic—well beyond the abilities of a lone arcanist.

Which suggests every parriarch during that time period was dabbling in necromancy.

I’m aware that this is a distraction I can’t afford, but I’ve never been one to turn from a mystery, and the Librarian is one of the greatest.

So when Hopkinson turns his back to the class, I reach down to my grimoire, flick to a well-used page, and mutter the incantation.

“Onvosobli.”

Lambert doesn’t move, used to basic illusion magic, but North jumps like he’s been given an electric shock.

Not my problem. Someone else can explain how I just disappeared to him. I have a ghost to find.

The obvious place to start would be her tower, and I slip from the classroom intent on heading there.

The Arcanaeum stops me. The first staircase I try collapses beneath me, becoming a slick slide with no way to ascend. Unperturbed, I try another, this time dropping my invisibility in favour of a stickiness spell that still does nothing to help me scale it.

Craning my neck to see the top, I grimace as I flick the book shut and consider my options, then still as I spot Dakari there, staring down at me with amusement written into his face.

“Having fun?”

“Naturally.” I bite the insides of my cheeks to keep my calm. “Do tell, how did you make it up there?”

“I’m a guest here.” His insolent shrug makes me seethe, but I won’t stoop to his level. “Besides, Kyrith is busy. You should go back to pretending to learn something.”

Feck you, I want to say, but I hold it back by force of will. I won’t rise to his baiting. Can’t let him know that he’s gotten to me.

“I require her assistance.” My tone is even as I address the Library itself in the hope that she’ll hear me.

“What a coincidence. So do I.” If there’s one voice I didn’t want added to this little tête-à-tête, it’s Pierce Carlton’s.

Evidently Dakari feels the same way, because his frown turns into a full-on glower as he faces down the newly minted Carlton heir. Violence charges the air with an electric hum that has my fingers slipping over the pages of my grimoire, running along the fore-edge and catching on a page that houses a powerful shielding spell.

Carlton is not to be trifled with. His mother is one of the strongest Destruction magisters alive. He might be stronger still, if the rumours are to be believed.

“Alas, it appears we’re to be disappointed.” Turning away from the stairs, I try for an unaffected shrug. “I’m surprised you left class, Pierce. Surely you don’t want to miss Hopkinson parading your mother’s portrait in front of the other students.”

“Of course not,” he agrees, a perfectly bored expression stuck on his face. “But I’d sooner not see the miserable faces of every single doomed Ó Rinn he has to show us. It tends to sour my appetite.”

My jaw clenches at the jab, but I say nothing. My time would be better spent in the Astrology Room, searching for answers than trading barbs with these assholes.

But Pierce can’t let it be. “Tell me, did your grandfather make you befriend the Winthrop heir as a matter of political strategy, or was it simply lack of planning on your part?”

Keep walking. Just keep walking.