Page 20

Wonder

Malice is the human from her past.

It’s time to stop fooling herself. His face, his tenor, his possessions, and his nightmares are scarcely a coincidence.

As a curator of legends and celestial loopholes, familiar with The Stars’ enigmatic power and their infinite technicalities, she’s wiser than that and has the track record to prove it.

Her eyes sting. He’s alive yet not the same, somehow having been resurrected into a god. Yet unlike his former self, this demon is depraved, tormented by horrific nightmares, and living an outcast life.

If he were enjoying a happy and benevolent existence as a deity, his resurrection would bring Wonder joy, and she would be glad for Malice. Instead, his transcendence has done only harm, turning him into a monster who inflicts cruelty on everyone in his vicinity.

Her mind cycles back to when Malice so graciously announced his mutual enmity toward her. As if he blames Wonder for more than his confinement in the vault or her confiscation of his property. As if he has a history’s worth of blame to offer. As if he knows what she did to him in the past.

Although Wonder will not condemn herself for Malice’s actions or the choices he makes, half of this disorder is her responsibility.

If she hadn’t destroyed his mortal life, he wouldn’t have died, only to be reincarnated from an angel to a devil.

And if that hadn’t happened, many things involving her crew wouldn’t have transpired.

“Such a deep-rooted frown for such a pensive goddess,” Malice goads, peering sideways at her features. “Feeling wistful? Bittersweet? Nostalgic?”

Wonder fixes her grip on the archery buckle strapped across her chest. “What nonsense are you sputtering about now?”

“Your eyes are getting mighty watery. Like spigots about to overflow.”

She tamps down the grief, thrusting an arm across her tear ducts. “Just because I favor open books, that doesn’t mean I am one.”

“We have that in common. Have you been homesick? Is it finally hitting you that we’re here? Go on, I like getting answers.”

“You might get them if you’d shut up long enough for me to respond. Where are you going?” she insists when Malice detours into a copse densely populated with offshoots and a gurgling brook.

On the way, he points haphazardly. “It’s called left, otherwise known as west.”

“I know that’s west,” she bristles. “I’ve taken this route a thousand times.”

“So have I, and the best way to access The Archives is my way.”

“We need to go east. The economy wing—”

“What the fuck? You’re kidding me, right?” he grunts, flipping toward her. “That passage is unreliable and too narrow for my testicles to fit through. And putting it mildly—”

“You consider that rant mild ?”

“—it’s also the most boring-as-fuck branch of The Archives. Nothing but a snooze-fest of ledgers and numbers with a shitload of hyphens.”

Wonder stabs a finger in his direction. “That is precisely why it’s a frequently unmanned section. Furthermore, it’s canopied by a thicket of trees. Hence, it’s easier to breach the library from there without being detected. I know what I’m talking about.”

“Look at you. As ramrod as a beating stick.”

“I am not getting defensive!”

“No, you’re getting aroused.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “Don’t worry, competition does it for me too.”

For mercy’s sake, he relishes her exasperation as if it’s a sugar cube, an indulgent treat. In the near future, she’ll need pumice stone to scrub this memory from her temporal lobe.

On the flip side, damn him. He’s right. Rivalry grates on Wonder’s flesh like sandpaper, and the blood coursing through her veins prompts a heady rush.

We have that in common.

Oh, he has no idea how much they have in common. She could tell him as much. Malice has forfeited most of his rights, but not that one. He doesn’t have a clue about his past life, yet he deserves to know.

However, whether he should know is another matter.

It might send the demon god into a tailspin.

By the same token, it will force Wonder to share the details of her role in his former existence, which will cause Malice to despise her more than he already does, which will hardly induce him to be civil, much less cooperative.

The rivalry progresses during their quest, each of them bickering over the subject of research. And when not sparring about that, they feud over an assortment of other logistics such as the best recesses to search within The Hollow Chamber’s forbidden channels.

They fling their expertise at one other like darts, aiming to strike true and get higher points. It’s a petty match to see who knows more, to win the game.

Wonder huffs. The only award this prick will earn is an honorable mention.

At any rate, their mutual proclivities unnerve her. Although writing is universal, it’s also been fundamental in the relationships of her crew: books between Love and Andrew, lyrics between Anger and Merry, and letters between Wonder and Malice.

Not that they’re a Wonder and Malice . Indeed, the prospect greases her tongue with oil. She loves the man he used to be, not the murderous scoundrel he’s become. As such, they’ve joined the ranks of Envy and Sorrow, another temporary pair without definition or a promising future.

Dragonflies sweep between the trees. Petals open for the creatures to perch upon, the woodland splits, and the branches unlace to reveal a resplendent edifice. Wonder and Malice’s pace quickens until they duck behind a hedge.

Nestled within the beeches, a landmark rises from the earth, multiple levels of interconnected towers shooting to the sky.

Windows refract lights from the constellations.

Exterior stairways soar along the stone fortification, and waterfalls course down the walls and grass-carpeted landings.

The structure blends into the enshrouding boughs, coalescing with the trees like an extension of the celestial wild.

The Archives.

The great library of forests and starlight.

Wonder’s mouth wreaths into a smile. From the corner of her eye, she notices Malice paying infuriating attention to her. In the piebald light, he glares as though her pleasure is contaminating his evening.

“What?” she blusters.

“Nothing.” He shifts expressions like he shifts moods, recklessly and with immediacy. “Wandering Wonder. How do you like the western view?”

Curse this demon. She had failed to notice the direction in which they’d been trekking.

Then again, Wonder takes a second look. Upon examining the gate bookended by tumbling mists of water, a smug giddiness brightens her voice. “I wouldn’t know. Would you?”

Brows punching together, Malice studies the facade and draws the same conclusion. She hadn’t been the only one not paying attention to their destination during the hike.

This is the north wing. The building’s very own northern star.

“Motherfuck.” He rakes those talons through his hair. “I hate this entrance.”

That perks her up. “Suddenly, it’s growing on me. Why don’t you demonstrate how much you loathe it by trespassing first? I know how much you enjoy coming in ahead.”

“Hilarious, Wildflower.”

“I like to think so, Demon.”

“What happened to ‘Dearest’? Why does everyone else get ‘Dearest,’ and I get its evil twin?”

Wonder studies the building’s architecture. “You wouldn’t know what to do with the alternative.”

“You’re right,” he says while also staring at the fortification. “On that note, I’m not actually complaining. Villainous forms of address give me a lot more banter material to work with.”

Whatever. He just abhors this entrance because it’s not a challenge, even less so than the eastern gate. On this route, the only trial they’ll face is navigating a dizzying maze of corridors that no immortal equilibrium stands a chance against. Easy.

Not that it used to be easy. Wonder has gotten lost in those halls precisely two hundred times prior to mastering each path.

Although the east wing is their best option, the rotation of the sentinels—whichever dutiful ones have remained until cessation officially begins tomorrow—should prevent an altercation in the north entrance at this hour.

Nonetheless, Malice is correct. Inside, there cannot be more than a couple of stragglers—fundamentally known as keepers—and it’s a large structure.

Any patrolling figures will be painless to dodge. Or rather, one can hope.

They bolt across the lawn and pause beneath the misty waters flanking the gate, where Malice withdraws the Asterra Flora and pours a drop onto the winding calligraphy of bars. It’s a clean break, the bolt giving with a subtle tremor.

Slipping into the courtyard, they rush toward a pentagonal double door, apply two more doses of the liquid onto each handle, and slip into the vestibule.

Inside the corridor, a procession of lanterns hangs overhead, each housing a star that emits strands of sapphire light.

The illuminations speckle the bookcase walls, and narrow windows give way to twilight.

Agreeing on a route is paramount, but they must tend to the basics first. That includes reaching a safe zone until the building empties at dawn.

Demoted from a library maven to a library squatter. If Wonder were alone, she would lament this state of affairs. But since Malice would feed on her disappointment as if it’s part of his diet, she pulls herself together.

“Whatever keepers are left, they’re already in vacation mode,” he murmurs. “I suggest we bunk in the southern dorms.”

She was going to suggest the same thing. The librarian dormitories are closest to the most promising areas for research.

Wonder swings toward him. “Let’s establish ground rules right now. This illustrious establishment has space for only one diva. And that diva is me.”

“Ahh,” he draws out. “If you’re that certain, such a flagrant public service announcement wouldn’t be necessary.”

Stars above. She fantasizes about digging a trench, dropping his opinions inside it, stuffing the remaining crevices with dynamite, and lighting a match.

For once, Wonder regards him as just Malice. Just Malice, an intolerable yet indispensable knave.

Hustling into the belly of The Archives, neither of them utters a syllable about when or where to turn.

Their footsteps brush the floor, and the deeper they go, the more this atmosphere glows.

The inlaid bookshelves contain scrolls about the genealogies of constellations, with plaques mounted beneath each container.

On the way, excitement skitters through Wonder. She has never had unfettered access like this before, never had the opportunity to sleep and awaken in the depths of her happy place.

Wonder changes her mind about being reduced to a squatter.

She used to dream about living here, which is about to become a reality, and she cannot wait to get started.

So long as they stay alive, everything will be fine.

It’s time for her to exercise the positivity that annoys Sorrow and exhausts Anger.

As the passages expand into aisled halls, branches and galleries multiply, as do study alcoves, fireplaces crafted purely for ambience, communal tables and desks topped with candles, and velvet chairs large enough to rest in.

They segue into another corridor, toward a neighboring wing. As for the keepers still in residence for the next handful of hours, Wonder has memorized their schedule, in addition to their kinetics.

Which is why she snatches Malice’s arm at the same time he ensnares hers. They freeze, listening as a percussion of boots pounds into the corridor from the acquisitions quarter.

Jerking back their arms, they bolt into opposite niches, pressing themselves against the walls while glancing sideways at each other across the divide.

Approaching footsteps match the beat of Wonder’s pulse.

To that end, Malice stares as though he’s got X-ray vision, spotting the anarchy beneath her bodice.

Lantern light flickers across the ground, signaling an incoming shadow.

The warden pauses, audibly ten feet from them.

Such keepers are retired Guides, ruthless toward vandals and trespassers of this sacred place.

They have the weapons to enforce punishment, their arsenal including longbows, crossbows, and other honed options.

The clank of steel suggests this warden carries a sword that’s curved like a quarter-moon.

The second the interloper’s shadow pans toward Wonder’s hiding spot, her companion’s features contort. Malice whips out an arrow and bounds forward, about to fling himself in front of the keeper and slit their throat.

Wonder makes a rapid, cutting motion, slicing her flat palm across her neck. The gesture grinds Malice to a halt. Miffed, he obeys but not without protest. From his end of the passage, he braces the arrow in one grip and sticks his tongue out at her.

At last, the figure’s boots strike away.

Although reluctant, the keeper disappears, making for the almanacs in the reference section.

Wonder’s ears perk, assessing whether the sentinel is biding time, keen to trap them.

She and Malice lock eyes for an eternity until he stalks loudly from his hiding spot, his emergence ricocheting down the halls.

Wonder holds her breath. But no one returns.

For someone who has been determined to get here, he’s not acting as if he wishes to succeed. But when has Malice ever behaved consistently?

They keep going, traveling from north to south. Beneath the lanterns reside infinite levels, categories, and collections. Wonder should ascend with Malice to the dormitories first. Instead, they detour without actually consulting one another, climbing down, down, down a spiral stairwell.

She follows the bookish siren’s call, stepping lightly while the convict beside her slides along the banister and then checks the perimeter before she reaches him.

At the bottom, another pentagonal door greets them, beyond which a refuge awaits, filled with dark magic, banned pages, and forbidden mysteries.

The Hollow Chamber.

This is it. Here, she’ll begin her quest for answers.

Anticipation blazes like a torch across Malice’s face. It’s an ephemeral transformation, a rare but infectious one as they swap reverent looks.

One might go so far as to call it a kinship.

Predictably, it doesn’t last. Trepidation encroaches into Wonder’s mind. She has her own mission, but what does he need her for? What does Malice want from this place? Worse, how far is he willing to go for it?

And will she be forced to stop him?