“The leviathan didn’t look as if it was designed to leave…,” said Enrique, thinking of how the creature had shot into the air only to rest its head, snake-like, on the ice.
“I agree,” said Zofia. “Its dimensions are not compatible with the hallway space. It would destroy the beauty of its mechanism.”
At least someone was listening to him, he thought glumly. While Séverin and Hypnos discussed new schematics, and Eva and Zofia examined a Forging net, Enrique stood there with the Mnemo bug clutched in his sweaty palm. Invisible.
“We need to discuss the girls.”
Enrique didn’t say statues. He wouldn’t disrespect them that way, but he could feel his word choice shuddering through the group.
“Notnow, Enrique, just go and—” Séverin stopped mid-sentence as another attendant ran forward with news about the leviathan in the grotto.
Enrique clutched his Mnemo bug tighter. He wished Séverin cared enough to at least finish his insult. Commotion whirled around him, and he decided, suddenly, that if he was useless here, then he might as well make himself useful elsewhere.
“I am going to find the library,” he announced to no one.
Zofia looked up from her work. “The one that didn’t have books?”
“The very same,” said Enrique tightly.
Aside from Zofia, no one said anything. Enrique stood there a moment longer, then awkwardly cleared his throat. Hypnos looked up, his blue eyes slanted in confusion.
“Perhaps you could escort me to the library?” asked Enrique.
Hypnos blinked. For a second, his gaze slid to Séverin as if waiting for permission. The gesture rankled Enrique, who nearly turned on his heel when Hypnos finally nodded and smiled.
“Of course,mon cher.”
Away from the others, Hypnos seemed lost in thought, his brow creased as he fiddled with the crescent-shaped Babel Ring on his hand. Enrique waited for him to ask about the girls, to notice that Enrique had been trying to speak, but Hypnos said nothing. The wide double doors of the library loomed ahead. Hypnos would leave him there, and finally Enrique’s impatience won out.
“Do you think those girls are the missing victims from twenty years ago?” asked Enrique.
Hypnos looked up from his ring. “Hmm?”
“The girls…,” prompted Enrique. “They might be the same ones from the stories in the area.”
Hypnos grimaced. “I think you’re right.”
“And the way they werearranged,” said Enrique, emboldened. “It seemed purposeful. What if they’re part of the key to findingThe Divine Lyrics? I was thinking about how in the seventeenth century, there’s a connection between—”
“My handsome historian,” said Hypnos. He stopped walkingand turned to him, rubbing his thumb along the top of Enrique’s cheekbone. “Your words are dazzling, but now isn’t the time.”
“But—”
“I have to go,mon cher,” said Hypnos, backing away. “Right now, Séverin needs me. I need to consult with Ruslan, check with the Sphinxes, etcetera, etcetera.” He flailed his hand. “Normally, responsibility gives me indigestion, but I find myself rather motivated.”
He leaned forward, kissing Enrique.
“I have every faith you’ll solve what needs solving and dazzle us all! Immerse yourself in your research,mon cher, it’s—”
“What I do best,” finished Enrique flatly.
Hypnos looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled and walked away. Enrique stared after him, trying not to let those words—what you do best—sink their teeth into his heart. Of course Hypnos was preoccupied. That’s all. He would’ve listened otherwise, wouldn’t he?
Numbly, Enrique reached for the door handle. Only once did he look over his shoulder to see if Hypnos noticed that he’d paused outside the doors. But the other boy never turned. As Enrique walked inside, he felt as if someone had taken the nightmare of waiting for the Ilustrados in the library auditorium and turned it inside out… the slow dread of waiting and hoping to be heard inverted to standing before an audience that could not hear him.
THE “LIBRARY” SEEMEDto Enrique like the entrance to an abandoned temple. Past the double doors lay a marble aisle stippled with light from the panes of skylights above, so that it seemed to undulate. Marble pillars held up the ceiling. Four on each side of the aisle, and one at the end, each of them carved with the likeness of one of the nine muses.
On his right stood Clio, for history; Euterpe, for music; Erato, for love poetry; Melpomene, for tragedy. On his left stood Polymnia, for hymnals; Terpsichore for dance; Thalia, for comedy, and Ourania for astronomy. At the end of the long aisle stood one muse set apart from her sisters as the chief of them all… Calliope. The muse of epic poetry, revered in mythology for the ecstatic transcendence of her voice.
