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There.

Silently dusting off shelves in a corner one day, the archivist had looked up to find Her Majesty sweeping past, veil fluttering with every step. She, the archivist, had scrambled up to dip into a deep bow, but by the time she’d looked back up, the queen was already creaking open a door at the end of the row of shelves and clicking it shut behind her.

End of memory.

I frowned and replayed the whole thing, soaking in every detail.

The door Queen Mydusia had entered that day…it looked like any other door out of the hundreds lining the interior walls of every floor, but a little jagged crack ran from the wood beneath the doorknob to the bottommost panel. Making it look more like a storage closet than anywhere a queen should tread.

Interesting.

If I could just find…

“Who’s there?”

The archivist’s voice yanked me out of her mind. Before I could call on either of my powers, her hand of dust closed around my face.

And goddamn me, I coughed.

The archivist whirled, heel hitting the cart and sending it rolling forward on squeaking wheels. Her gaze never found me, not with my Mind Manipulating magic still up, but her dust closed around me in a tight grip, and a chord of dismay struck my lungs when I realized I couldn’t reach my Walking power to disappear.

Apparently, the magical dust could hold me down in a way normal hands couldn’t. Great.

Let me go, I speared into the archivist’s mind.

The command latched, but nothing happened. The dust only tightened its grip around my mouth, and this time, I couldn’t even cough as it suffocated me.

“I know you’re there, whoever you are,” the archivist said, swinging wildly around to try to catch sight of me. “I-it’s illegal to be in here without express permission of the head librarian. You could be executed.”

Half of me wanted to pop my bubble of protection and just reveal myself. Technically, my status as the Fated General overrode any kind of express permission required to be in here, so I doubted the archivist would give me much trouble after that. She’d probably quake in her slippers when she realized who I was.

But once she saw me, I’d have to erase our encounter so that she couldn’t report me being in this section of the library, and I hadn’t erased a single memory since Hallow’s Perch. I didn’t want to start again now.

I didn’t want to hurt anyone else today.

Let me go, I commanded again, my vision darkening around the edges as the magic hand cut off my airways.

This time, the archivist’s thoughts slipped out automatically.

I’m not holding you. My dust is.

Fine, then. If the magic strangling me had a mind of its own, like some kind of deranged magical pet that wanted to please its owner, then it probably wouldn’t be too happy about a damaged book on duty.

With the last of my breath withering in my lungs, I scrabbled for a book behind me and hurled it as far as I could over the banister on the other side of the cart.

Go fetch, you son of a bitch.

The dust flew off me, lunging over the archivist’s head to catch the book before it exploded on the ground seven floors below.

Scraping in a deep, grateful breath, I didn’t wait long enough for the archivist to pull more dust from the air.

I simply grabbed onto my Walking power and disappeared, beginning my hunt for the inconspicuous cracked door, my wound still dripping.

As voices began shouting about an intruder from down below.

CHAPTER

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