“Well, that’s not ominous at all,” I murmur.
“Stay close,” Nash says. Malachi draws his sword. Theo swings an ax.
“Where in the Blazes did you find an ax?”
He shrugs. “It was on the wall.”
We step inside, and the world expands. Shelves stretch upward beyond sight, spiraling into shadows that feel as though they contain entire lifetimes. Books drift through the air, rearranging themselves, whispering in voices that brush against my mind like half-remembered dreams. Ink moves, pages turn, and stories breathe.
It’s like a poor man’s version of the Living Library, but it’s blissfully empty of Idols.
The jitter in my veins settles. Not gone, but quieter, as if this place recognizes it. Or… understands it.
“Welcome,” a voice says.
We turn to find Gwyneth standing between two towering shelves, her fingers resting against a book that glows faintly beneath her touch. She looks... not fragile or weak, but tired in a way that feels ancient, like she’s carrying too many endings, none of which are hers.
“You made quite the entrance,” she says.
“I prefer to make statements,” I reply.
“You made Red Queen potpourri.”
“She was asking for it.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“Well, as you know, I’m a rule breaker,” I say with a shrug.
Her gaze sharpens. “Yes,” she mutters. “That you are.”
What’s wrong with her? She normally barrels into me with her tiny form while berating me for the billions of things I’ve done wrong this annus.
She flicks her eyes toward Theo. “You’re back.”
“Looks like it.”
“And not a dragon.”
“Always a dragon, Stone sister. Never mistake this form for something less deadly.”
She hums low, and her jaw tics as someone whispers to her, “Ask her the question.”
The knights flank either side of me, their unease rippling down my spine.
“What question?”
Genie reappears and slides his gaze between us, noting the weird distance. “What happened? I got stuck guiding a flock of unemployed flamingos out of the wine cellar. Those pink-feathered fiends don’t handle their berry wine well.”
“Gwyneth is about to ask me a question,” I explain.
“Okay,” Genie drawls. “But why are you standing on opposite ends of the library like it’s a battlefield?”
“It is,” Gwyneth says. “It all is.”
Oh.Oohh.For some unfathomable reason, she thinks I am not me. “You need not ask, sister,” I say, raising my voice. “For you never need ask. Sisters forever.”
Her jaw wobbles. “Tell me who your first kiss was.”
