His brow furrowed in amused confusion. “No.” Pristine sleeves came to rest upon the tabletop, and that pricking sensation returned as her stare tightened on his gleaming coat buttons.
Mothlock Manor.That was where he was from. Not merely a group of lending libraries. Not a costly establishment. But the name for a manor by the sea. A place not on her map, she didn’t think, but then again she’d also overlooked Verity.
The destination for a man in a bowler hat and a body in a bag. And though she’d lost that one, she’d found another just like him. How unusually lucky.
Lux did not trust luck. It felt like anytime she’d ever done so, something disastrous would follow shortly afterward. The universe righting itself after her accidental good fortune. She felt a little ill.
Regardless, she said, “Collector of Mothlock is an impressive-sounding title. What does it mean?”
His confusion morphed into incredulity. “Sincerely? You’ve not heard of us?”
“Why would I ask if I had?”Damn it all.Her annoyance with useless questions might just ruin all of this for her.She dragged her nails along the bench’s woodgrain and lied again. “I only meant, I wish I had. But I haven’t.”
“Right.” His confident smile faltered for the first time, and Lux, upon seeing it, reminded herself he hadn’t done anything wrong. Yet. “Well, we’re as our title says: collectors of the rare and important. Usually that means books, sometimes objects. All of which are brought back to our estate for the purpose of preservation.”
“Preservation?” Lux immediately thought of her missing fingernail, floating now with others in an unmarked jar. “Whyever would books need to be preserved?”
Corvin eyed her thoughtfully, a perusal she found difficult to meet. “So many things are not cared for as they should be.” His fingertips tapped solemnly upon the table. “You would be surprised, I think, at what was once at risk of being lost. But at Mothlock, we collect, study, print, and bind. Then we redistribute that knowledge back into the community. Can you imagine what this country would be like if we lost our history? Or the ability to strengthen our brilliances?”
Lux blinked, taken aback. “I… No, I suppose I can’t imagine that.” A crack slivered through her suspicions. “It sounds like a worthy cause.”
Corvin’s lips quirked. “And you sound surprised.”
“Maybe I am.”
It was strange—it being the pleasant kind for once.
“You know,” he began, “I’ve only ever read of necromancers. I’ve always hoped to meet one in the flesh, but being as it’s one of the rarer gifts, I never expected to.”
In theflesh?
Suddenly, it was not Corvin who sat across from her, but the Mayor of Ghadra, Bartleby Tamish. His watery eyes and all his power-obsessed glory.Her defenses rose like hackles. She nearly bared her teeth.
“I’m not a collectible.”
The collector’s mouth dropped wide, aghast. “Of course not. Forgive me; I didn’t mean to imply anything like that.”
The deceased mayor dissolved before her. In his place were stark, clear eyes and a worried brow.Lux drew a deep breath. She stretched her fingers where they’d begun to sink again into the wood.The mayor is dead,she told herself.He’s dead, and you’re not, and you will never be kept again.
The words were the only sort of calming elixir she’d ever take. With her voice nearly normal, she tried to steer the conversation on. “You said you’ve read about people like me?”
Corvin’s brow was slow to relax, but he did appear relieved to change the subject. “Very little, to my disappointment, but yes. Have you?”
“We didn’t have many books where I’m from.”
“Truthfully? We have lending libraries, if not booksellers, in nearly every city. A disservice for certain that we’ve missed yours. Tell me where it is, so I might pass it on.”
Lux leaned away from the table as two bowls of stew and a plate of bread were placed before them. Matching mugs of mead completed the meal moments later. Lux thought the barmaid’s hands were shaking as she did so but was too distracted to pay further mind.
The initial energy that had bombarded her with Viktar’s revival had eddied only for the second enchantment to cause a resurgence. It still pulsed a faint, steady current in her core. She didn’t know what changed within her aside from her own soul’s recovery. And some lingering words from a cigar-smoking crone.
“You’re free to be a great necromancer now, rather than settling for a mediocre one.”
Except this didn’t feel great. It couldn’t be great to find herself returning to consciousness on the floor after performing an enchantment she’d done a hundred times before. The crone had been wrong.
She’d dug too deep.
She’d broken something.
