Page 77 of Liminal

Even my mother, who I’ve never seen cowed by anyone else, is silent as he sweeps into the room.

He’s old, but he hasn’t changed since I was a boy. The suit with navy pinstripes and his long beard makes him look like some kind of GQ Santa, but when he stares at you—like he’s looking at my mother now—it’s like gazing into the eyes of a walking corpse.

I’m not surprised when she stands. There’s no one on Earth who could remain sitting when faced with that man.

“Pierce has received exactly the same training as his sister,” she bravely protests, though I wish she wouldn’t. No part of me wants any of Ackland’s attention.

“The same?” Mathias interrupts, brows rising. “You have wasted my time training a protégé who can’t even fulfil her purpose. Now you intend to assure me that an arcanist whose talents lie in the school of destruction will be a fitting replacement?”

My fists clench at my sides. I’m not jealous that Anthea got the ‘training’ he’s talking about. Truth be told, I was relieved every time she bragged about it when we were teens. That relief quickly soured into concern when she stopped bragging and started withdrawing into herself.

Unfortunately for her, that prompted my mother to take an interest.

As heir, she couldn’t be a recluse, even if she wanted to be.

Image is everything to Isidora.

And now Anthea is…who she is. A perfect black diamond poised to shatter at the slightest provocation.

And my future doesn’t look much different.

“What are your plans for retrieving him?” He turns on me.

Somehow, I know telling him I tried to ask the Librarian nicely won’t help my cause. Nor will telling him that facing up against her is now a hundred times worse because that bumbling idiot Lambert is infatuated with her.

“She’s too stubborn and convinced of her own invincibility to respond to intimidation, so I was going to stay behind after closing and retrieve him myself.”

“You’re that confident of your skills?” Ackland tuts under his breath and shakes his head. “You need a better plan. The Librarian is tied to the fabric of the building. You can’t take a step inside without her knowing.”

“And we need to work on it fast,” Isidora adds. “The ensorcellments on the McKinley heir will wear off soon enough. When his memories return, we lose the element of surprise.”

“If your new heir is better equipped to hold his temper than his half-wit sister, then that won’t be an issue, will it?” The danger in his voice is silken, threading around me until my teeth grind together, and I drop my eyes.

Even if I manage to hold my temper, there’s no way to get past the Librarian. Even if I manage that, she’s got Winthrop,Ackland, and Talcott all salivating after her. Even Ó Rinn is invested.

“The Librarian angle is a waste of time,” Isidora concedes. “But McKinley himself is a bleeding heart. What about the younger McKinley? Can we leverage her?”

“Hazel?” My head snaps up. “She’s just a kid. She won’t even know who he is.”

She must’ve been a toddler when he was locked in the basement. Now she’s more sheltered than any other child I know. She has two bodyguards, for pity’s sake.

When one of the closest-knit families in our community lost their golden child, their protectiveness of their other children was dialled up to the max.

“He’ll remember her,” Isidora corrects. “Forget the Librarian. She’s running out of time, anyway. Focus on luring McKinley’s heir back here. Use the child as bait if you have to.”

My head jerks down of its own accord. “I’ll leave at once.”

I have to, otherwise I might vomit on my mother’s polished floor.

Noneof them stop me as I flee the office, though I keep my steps measured until I’m in my room, where I sink against the door and let out a noisy breath.

I have no intention of threatening a child to secure a man who didn’t deserve to be used by a creepy necromancer in the first place. Unfortunately, I’m toeing a fine line between incompetence and obedience.

Crossing to the nightstand, I grab the hand mirror there and take a second to check my split cheek before spreading my grimoire open on the thousand-count-white sheets and flickingto the runeform that’s so used that the page has come loose from the binding.

“Peor tu githir, vosoun e suand.” The words come easily, the power a drop in the ocean, despite the complexity of the spell and my less-than-masterful command of the school of transmutation.

And then I wait.