Page 88 of Liminal

If one thing has remained constant since I was a girl, it’s that people—both arcanists and inepts—always seem to be out to ruin each other.

Ammie Talcott’s grimoire is fairly standard. Full of the runeforms one would expect of any arcanist specialising in ensorcellments.

Until the last three pages.

The designs and notes scribbled in margins don’t fit with the rest of the immaculate book. The neat cursive handwriting has turned sloppy with anger and that translates into the spell on the final page.

I have no idea what the Ó Rinns did to Ammie, but she wanted them to suffer. And not just whoever hurt her enough to design such a horrible ensorcellment, but their children and their children’s children.

It takes a special kind of fury to make something insidious enough to carry down to innocent babies. Whatever the cause of her grudge, it must have been serious, because nothing else in her grimoire comes close to this level of malice.

In short, Ammie Talcott has ensured that every single Ó Rinn bearing the blood of her intended victim will lose whatever they value most. She set no time limit. She didn’t specify it had to be an object, or an animal, or a person… They could lose it like one might lose a penny down the side of a sofa and find it again later. Or it might be destroyed forever.

It’s vague magic.Dangerousmagic.

And it’s strong. She lived almost as long ago as I did, which explains why I’ve never heard of any of this. Very few arcanists were admitted to the Arcanaeum in her time, most of them unclaimed liminal bastards, and the gossip would’ve been old news by the time the adept patrons trickled in.

Generations have suffered under this magic, passing the ‘curse’ down, entwining it deeper into their blood.

Morphing it.

A child could love their mother more than anything, the curse would strike, and suddenly that child would be an orphan. An Ó Rinn might adore their spouse, and then be hit with an unexpected affair that destroys their marriage.

I understand, now, the depths of the insanity that could drive one to. To be innocent of any wrongdoing, and yet punished as if you were the perpetrator. It’s so deeply unfair that it even makes me pity Leo—though I know if he catches wind of that, he’ll use it to his advantage.

When he enters the Arcanaeum, I pull on the magic of the library to bring him straight to me.

He finds me drifting around the armillary sphere in the Astrology room. I’ve sealed off the doors and recalled all of thebooks to their shelves, leaving the space immaculate, except for the grimoire on the desk.

“Librarian, I?—”

“I know what your ensorcellment does,” I tell him, laying my cards out in the open. “I know about Ammie Talcott.”

His expression, already guarded, hardens as he shoves those red-tinted black curls out of his face. “Do you now?”

I nod once, aware of how his attention has locked onto the book. “I am willing to make a deal. You can look over this book, and this book only, if you agree to stop nosing into my private affairs.”

One perfectly arched brow rises, but he doesn’t move closer. “I thought you wanted me to?—”

“I have been dead for five hundred years,” I tell him, glancing sadly down at my arm. “If the key to continuing my existence lies in Mathias Ackland’s grimoire, it’s gone. I would rather enjoy the time I have left with…friends.”

And it’s true. Sometime in the middle of the night, when I was alone with only Ammie Talcott’s rage to keep me company, I came to terms with the idea that, perhaps, the Ackland grimoire should remain lost. That the malice in that book would be better left forgotten in the annals of the past.

Just like Ammie’s magic would be better ended so that all parties involved can move on.

“I still need your assistance to remove the ensorcellment.”

I shrug, moving closer. “There are others out there. Other people who would?—”

“My ancestors have begged everyone and anyone for help a hundred times over. It wasn’t enough.” Galileo watches me with haunted eyes. “I don’t think you understand. This book is just the beginning. I don’t have time to search for someone else with the power and the knowledge and the inclination to help me. I can’t live like this.”

I do understand. That’s the problem. I’m a neutral figure. I could pass harbouring Dakari and Jasper off as something I’ve done for the other houses. But altering the destiny of an entire family is not neutral behaviour.

I shouldn’t interfere. Every iota of common sense tells me this is a bad idea.

“When I was a boy, the curse came for my aunt,” Galileo continues. “She tried ridding herself of earthly attachments to stave off its effects. The magic deduced that what she valued above all things was her happy life. She died slowly, in utter misery. There was nothing the restoration masters could do.”

Magic… How young was he?