Page 23

The library stretched around me in giant stacks of books, many I hadn’t begun to explore but longed to. I’d been here as a ghost, drifting through shelves without weight or consequence. I could grab my own books now, pick my own choices instead of waiting for Nat to hand them over.

Nox inspected the nearest shelf like he owned the place. Which, knowing Nox, he probably considered accurate. I suspected it wasn’t Nat’s either. More like a place where all titles gathered, collected by gods, or beings equivalent to the Marshal, simply to keep a record of everything.

“Stay close,” I hissed. “This is not our library. And don’t take any books!”

Nox flicked an ear, and did not stay close.

I followed him into the stacks, trying to orient myself. The main reading area was somewhere to the left, I thought. Nat’s preferred corner was near the main landing fireplace, which glowed with a sort of eternal flame that never needed tending. There, the light was warmest and the books on death were organized by century rather than subject. Though I’d found them little more than logs of ancestry than any sort of how-to guide. Maybe Nat would be there.

A growl stopped me cold.

“Not again,” I muttered, as the low, deep rumbling rose up from the shadows like the ground itself had turned into a monster.

I turned.

Two hellhounds stood at the end of the aisle.

They were bigger than I remembered. Or maybe I’d just been running too fast to get a good look before. Their hides were the color of old ash, smoke curling from their maws, eyes burning with molten gold like liquid fire.

“Remember me?” I called out, trying for casual and landing somewhere near genuine worry. “Mostly dead guy? Supposed to be here? Training with the Reaper?” Couldn’t they tell the difference? Had the pastry done something to make my scent change?

Their teeth dripped lava. Their claws clicked on the stone floor as they crept closer. And this time I didn’t have Angel here to stop them from being dicks.

The one on the left growled again, hackles rising. It took another step toward me. Then another.

“For fuck’s sake,” I snapped, panic making my voice crack. “I’m not a demon! I’m not a snack! I’m literally just here to ask a question about⁠—”

Nox stepped in front of me.

He was still cat-shaped. Still a fluffy, kitten Maine Coon. Still Nox. But something in the air shifted. The hellhounds stopped. Their ears flattened. Their tails went still.

Nox did nothing. Just sat there, tail curled around his paws, watching them with those too-knowing golden eyes.

But his shadow moved.

It stretched behind him, rising, unfurling, something enormous and ancient, something with wings that blotted out the amber light in the space between stars. A dragon from a monster movie, coiled and waiting, patient as death.

The hellhounds exchanged a look.

Then they turned and slunk back into the shadows, tails between their legs, claws scrabbling on the stone in their haste to be anywhere else.

I stared at Nox.

Nox yawned. The shadow faded into his normal kitten one.

“What the hell,” I breathed.

He meowed. It sounded smug.

I was still trying to find words when footsteps echoed down the aisle. Nat appeared at the end of it, expression somewhere between exasperated and resigned. He took in the scene, me frozen, Nox preening, the lingering smell of sulfur, the shadows still settling, and sighed.

“The hellhounds have been complaining about your familiar for weeks,” he said. “I assumed they were exaggerating.”

He turned his glare on my familiar. “You have books that need to be returned.”

I gaped at my familiar. “Nox! Did you take books from here?”

Nox gazed at me unrepentantly. Then a stack of books landed between us with a thud that echoed through the stacks. Easily a few dozen books. All ancient-looking tomes, bound in leather, titles in languages I didn’t recognize.