Hazel's throat tightened. "That's impossible. My wards detect any magical presence that crosses the threshold."
"Then the individual was already present before the wards were set." Mrs. Shufflewick straightened, cape swirling. "Or—more troubling—possessed intimate knowledge of library layout and magical ward placement. The sigils avoid every structural support beam. They curve around the load-bearing columns. They stop precisely at the boundary of the restricted archives'secondary containment field." She fixed them both with sharp gray eyes. "This is someone who's been studying us."
Nate set down his analysis wand, and rose slowly to his feet.
"Someone who knows exactly how we work." Hazel's voice came out smaller than she intended.
She knelt beside the floor's central moon-phase inlay, where the largest sigil covered the full-moon medallion. Her Guardian magic pushed outward despite her flinch, and the Codex hummed against her awareness—not in alarm, but in confirmation. She traced the symbol's outer ring without touching it.
"Revelio historia, signum antiquum,
Show me truth in symbol's form.
Let hidden meaning rise like dawn,
From shadows of the time before."
The air shimmered above the sigil, and ghostly lines of light appeared—not just the symbol itself, but connecting threads that reached toward the other marks throughout the library. For a heartbeat, she could see the entire network as it was meant to be: a vast magical circuit with this central sigil as its heart.
"I've seen this before." She looked up at Nate. "The founding documents. In the restricted archives. There's a sigil sequence in the original town charter's margins that historians always dismissed as decorative."
"Not decorative."
"Not even close."
Mrs. Shufflewick was already striding toward the archive door, magnifying glass extended. "The game, as they say, is afoot. The evidence suggests not days or weeks of preparation, but decades. Perhaps centuries." She paused at the threshold. "Whoever orchestrated this intrusion has been watching Assjacket since long before any of us drew breath."
The front doorsbanged open with the subtlety of a cannon shot.
A figure swept into the reading room trailing a black silk cape that caught on the brass door handle, yanking him backward mid-stride. He recovered with a pivot that might have been graceful if his heel hadn't landed on the cape's hem, sending him into a stuttering two-step that ended with one hand braced against the circulation desk and the other clutching a leather portfolio embossed with more gold seals than a diplomatic pouch.
"Fear not, citizens!" The man straightened, adjusted his cape with practiced nonchalance, and produced a badge wallet from his breast pocket. "I have seventeen certifications in supernatural investigation!"
Vic the Vampire PI looked exactly like someone had dressed a silent film star in modern clothes and told him to act natural. Dark hair swept back from a pale forehead with architectural precision. A three-piece suit in charcoal pinstripe beneath the cape, which Hazel now noticed had a crimson silk lining. His skin carried a faint luminescent quality—custom sunscreen, probably, the expensive kind that cost more per ounce than printer ink.
Nate's jaw tightened by exactly one millimeter. Hazel had started measuring his irritation in millimeters. It seemed appropriate, given how precisely he measured everything else.
"Magical Security Liaison, Southeastern Regional Office." Vic fanned his credentials like a poker hand. "I've been dispatched to assess the disturbance and coordinate official response protocols."
"We're already investigating?—"
"Excellent! I'll supervise."
Mrs. Shufflewick materialized at his elbow. The deerstalker had vanished, replaced by a peaked officer's cap. Her cape had restructured itself into a crisply pressed uniform jacket with brass buttons and epaulettes that would have made a general weep with envy. A clipboard appeared in her hands, already bristling with forms.
"I'll need credentials." Her pen hovered. "Forms 27-B through 94-C, and three character references before any official investigation can proceed."
Vic blinked. "I just showed my credentials."
"Regional credentials. I require interdepartmental authorization, a notarized scope-of-investigation waiver, proof of liability insurance—magical and mundane—and a signed acknowledgment of our building's historical preservation status." She flipped to a second page. "In triplicate."
"Triplicate?"
"One for our files, one for the regional office, and one for the Codex's permanent archive. Standard procedure since the Supernatural Records Act of 1847."
Hazel bit the inside of her cheek and caught Nate's eye. He gave the smallest nod—barely a dip of his chin—and they moved in silent agreement toward the central sigil cluster while Mrs. Shufflewick herded Vic toward her office with the relentless efficiency of a border collie working a confused sheep.
"Surely you can make an exception for?—"
