As I suspected, hardly any students were interested in visiting the archives tonight. Seven hours into my shift and so far I’ve only seen two other souls walk by. They didn’t even stop by the service counter, instead making their way up the ornate winding staircase located at the heart of the library to the study rooms on the third floor.

  It’s possible that they didn’t see me reorganizing the shelves in the back but I should probably record their names before they leave. The last time I forgot to check a student in, a book went missing and I didn’t hear the end of it for a week. My boss is a stickler for adhering to policies.

  I sip my coffee, still warm thanks to the runes engraved in the sides of the tall porcelain mug. The spicy-sweet blend of cinnamon, scorch pepper, and milkroot floods my senses like a dose of nostalgia and a flush of heat rises in my cheeks, but not because of the beverage.

  Rose had called this drink ‘Death’s Touch’ and, as my spectacular fall from earlier replays in my head, I can’t help but think how incredibly accurate that name is. The crash of the chair, the gasps and murmurs of the other patrons, the wave of embarrassment washing over me as I fell.

  Although my wrist no longer hurts, in that moment I had wished for death, to be swallowed up by the universe so I’d be spared the humiliation. But instead I was given something . . . unexpected. I was given hope.

  Ten years. It’s been ten long years since I last saw Ashe.

  Just thinking of her name feels foreign, like the distant memory of a ghost on my tongue. My mind struggles to reconcile the fierce, intimidating woman from the coffeehouse with the scrawny, quiet girl I once called my best friend. She felt so cold and distant, with a dangerous edge that made my skin prickle. And yet, I still saw glimpses of the old Ashe—in the way her brow furrowed when she was thinking, or that lopsided grin she gave Spooky when she thought I wasn’t looking.

  But those moments were fleeting, hidden behind a wall so high I could barely see the girl I used to know. It’s as if a darkness hangs over her now, a shadow in her eyes I don’t recognize, and it makes me wonder what kind of life she’s lived since leaving that orphanage.

  Instinctively, my hand grasps at the pendant around my neck, my thumb gently stroking the smooth ruby. Where has she been all this time?

  A scribler whizzes by overhead, jarring me from my thoughts. I watch as the little artifice flutters about dutifully, its delicate wings of bronze and filament whirring softly. Although they are often used as personal assistants, this one holds the library’s entire collection on a single moonstone, every page perfectly cataloged and retrievable on command.

  As I set my mug on the shelf and get back to work, I can’t help but wish that my own memories were as easy to navigate.

  It’s a strange contrast, really. The library itself is a repository of the Imperium’s knowledge stretching back two thousand years, yet this particular contraption—a marvel of modern runescriving, a field of magic that barely existed over a century ago—is the key to navigating it all. Sometimes students would borrow it to dictate their notes or assist them with their studies by having it recall passages from similar subjects. Mostly, though, we just use it to navigate the labyrinthian maze of bookshelves and catalog the numerous tomes, textbooks, and manuscripts that line the walls of the multi-level building.

  The cute bird-like appearance, of course, was a personal touch requested by Head Archivist Brynolf, himself. The old coot was especially fond of songbirds.

  A loud rap draws my attention to the front. Shelving the book in my hand, I dust off my pants and make my way to the service counter as another series of raps echoes in the stillness.

  “You could’ve just used the call bell,” I mutter as I park the return cart and slip around the station, pushing aside a stack of books that need to be re-shelved before dawn. I’ve never known anyone to be so impatient to check out a tome before. “Alright, sign your name on that paper in front of you and we’ll find what you’re looking for.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” the student replies, tossing her long black hair over a shoulder as her almond eyes appraise me. “Unless you happen to know where the Hand is.”

  Her tone sounds friendly enough, cheerful even, but there’s a lethal edge to her words that sends a shiver down my spine. Why does she think my father would be here?

  “I’m sorry?”

  She waves a dismissive hand, a grim chuckle peeling from her full red lips. “I said, do you have any ink on hand?” Her words are exaggerated, condescending almost, like she’s correcting a child. “So I can sign in, of course.”

  Right. A gust of hot air whistles from my nose as I nod. Of course she wouldn’t be asking about my father’s whereabouts. Even if he was intent on combing through the library’s collection for his own pleasure, there’s no way he’d be here this late—or not have stopped by to say hello.

  “There’s, uh, there’s fresh ink in that bottle.” As I motion to the inkwell between us, for the first time I take a good look at her.

  Her clothes aren’t the typical attire of most students on campus. The fitted vest, matching trousers that complement her hips, and sleek gloves that stretch up her arms to just below the shoulder, are all fashioned from countless small, interlocking scales the color of pure shadow, absorbing the library’s gentle light and reflecting nothing back. The vest itself is a contradiction of purpose; the asymmetrical collar was clearly designed to protect her throat on one side but the chest is cut into a deep plunging ‘V’ that seems to serve nothing except her own vanity.

  But it’s her bare shoulders that hold my gaze. Sprawling across her honey-colored skin are intricate, concentric circles in a pattern I’ve never seen before. The tattoo shimmers with an unnatural silver sheen, and in the dim lighting I can almost swear that it ripples like a living thing coiled just beneath the surface.

  It’s as beautiful as it is terrifying.

  “My, that’s a lovely necklace. Can I have a look?” The woman leans forward and, out of impulse, I clasp the jewel and take a cautious step back.

  “Sorry,” I stammer, tucking the necklace out of sight. “It’s just, it’s special to me.”

  Her lips curve into a sinister grin as she grabs the quill. “A little jumpy tonight, aren’t we?” Her eyes flick around, as if looking for signs of life beyond just the two of us, and my pulse quickens. “Must be scary.”

  “W-what is?”

  “Being all alone at night. You are alone here, aren’t you, sweetling?”

  Her term of endearment grates like sandpaper against my skin and another chill racks my body. My gut is screaming at me to say no. Tell her that there are students in the study rooms upstairs, or that the other archivists are cataloging in the back. Gods, tell her that the Head of the Imperium, herself, is here! Tell her anything but the truth!

  As if sensing my hesitation, her grin widens. “I thought as much. You’re a brave one, though I suppose you wouldn’t have much to worry about since the college has all manner of security measures in place. Then again, it’d be foolish for someone to try something in here of all places, wouldn’t it?”

  I clear my throat and attempt to divert the subject, trying my best to keep my voice steady as I ask, “So what book can I help you find?”

  “Trying to get rid of me so soon?”

  Gods, yes. “N-no, not at all! I just—”

  A clipped, shrill laugh erupts from her throat and I nearly jump out of my shoes. Godsdamn, why is she so unnerving?

  “Relax, sweetling.” She sets the quill back in the inkwell with a wink. “I’m just here to browse, but I got what I needed . . . for now. I’ll be back if I need you for anything else.”

  I watch her slip into the shadows, running her fingers through her hair as she ascends the staircase, her slitted gaze peeking back at me every other step. Once she’s out of sight my shoulders drop and I release the breath that I’d been holding in.

  What in seven hells was that about? I mean, I’ve seen students acting out of character after having a mental breakdown before. The late-night jitters, the tantrums over misplaced textbooks, the paralyzing weight that the stress of finals puts on all of us eventually.

  But this, this felt different. There was a coldness to her, a predatory stillness that I could feel deep in my bones.

  That woman wasn’t just eccentric. She felt dangerous.

  I grab the sign-in sheet and turn it around, scanning the page for a name. Maybe if I get her name then I can report her to the college’s head of security for . . . What, exactly? Being strange and menacing? That’s not exactly a crime for a student. But it’d still be comforting to know who she is, just in case.

  I blink down at the ink, still wet on the parchment. Two small drops above a line, both sides bending upward ever so slightly.

  Is this a joke? Why would she draw a rune?

  Although, it’s not like any rune I’ve ever seen before. It’s simple, crude. In fact, it almost looks like—

  A smile? Was she toying with me?

  Before I can make sense of it, a muffled thud like leather on stone echoes from deep within the labyrinthian bookstacks, and every muscle in my body goes rigid.

  Can this night get any more weird?

  Gathering the shaken threads of my courage, I swallow the dread climbing up the back of my throat like bile and move toward the sound. Regardless of everything that’s happened tonight, I still have a job to do and students aren’t allowed in the archives unsupervised. Brynolf will kill me if another book goes missing.

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  “Who’s there?” I call out after a few winding turns.

  Where did that scribler flutter off to? I know my way around well enough but that thing is supposed to alert us if someone sets foot back here.

  My toe nudges something hard and I glance down. Pieces of bronze and filament are scattered across the stone floor, and as I follow the trail of carnage through the aisle the rest of the scribler’s broken body comes into view, crushed under the weight of a fallen tome.

  Oh no! Brynolf is going to be so heartbroken.

  “What in the—” A hand clamps over my mouth, trapping my words and stifling the startled yelp poised on my tongue.

  “Don’t scream,” a familiar voice whispers from behind, their breath hot in my ear and tickling the hairs on my neck. The musky aroma of whiskey, worn leather, and earthen spices fills my nostrils and my eyes widen.

  I-impossible!

  “I’m gonna let go now.” My skin prickles. “Promise me you won’t scream.”

  I offer a terse nod, my heart pounding against my chest as the fingers slowly pry themselves from my face—only to grab the collar of my shirt and spin me around.

  “Hey!” Books rattle to the ground as my back is shoved into the nearest shelf and an arm is pressed against my chest. Damn, she’s strong! “Y-you said you’d let me go if I didn’t scream!”

  Her fiery red hair is pulled back into a loose bun but the fury dancing in her gaze is less tame. It’s captivating, almost, if she didn’t look downright frightening right now.

  “I don’t need you to talk,” she says, furrowing her brow. “I just need you to listen.”

  The muscles in her jaw tighten, hazel eyes flicking back and forth as she studies me, and as I stare back I catch a glimmer of fear just beneath her anger that stills me. What could she possibly be so scared of that she’d break into a warded library in the middle of the College of Arcane Magics?

  “Ashe, what’s wrong?”

  “Just listen, alright?” She removes the arm pinning me in place and rests a hand against the bookshelf. Our faces are a hair’s breadth apart and as she leans in my pulse quickens. When did the shy, quirky girl from my childhood become so intense? “Your father’s in danger, Dani.”

  Wait, what? “What do you mean—?”

  “Godsdamn it, will you shut up and let me talk?” I flinch as her palm smacks the leather-bound spines behind me. “I don’t have much time! It took me too long to hunt you down and I’m risking my own godsdamn life by telling you this, so please!”

  Hesitantly, I nod.

  “A blood bounty’s been placed on him.” A what? “I don’t know the details but it’s supposed to take place tonight.”

  If this is some sort of sick joke, I’m not laughing. “Ashe—”

  The shelf rattles as she slams her palm against it again and I nearly cry out. Godsdamn, why is she being like this?

  “I need you to think long and hard about where he might be.”

  “I don’t know, alright? He’s only been in town a few days. We had dinner earlier but he didn’t exactly share his itinerary!”

  “This is important, Dani! I can’t stop it if I don’t know where he is.”

  “Stop what? Ashe, what is going on? How’d you even—” My breath hitches in my throat. She’s not registered with this school. There’s no way that she can enter campus grounds, not without a coin made of mage’s silver. And not just anyone can wield that. “How did you get past the wards?”

  “The wards? What are you—?” Her eyes widen and her nostrils flare. “Shit, the security spells! They weren’t active when I got here. Of course, it’s happening here!”

  I reach out with a shaking hand and cup her cheek, hoping that this small gesture is enough to calm us both. Her skin is warm against mine but the touch chills me to the bone.

  “Ashe, please. Talk to me. What’s this all about? Why do you think that my father’s in danger?”

  Something flashes in her eyes, a spark just beneath the anger and the fear, but as quickly as it came it’s gone and a frustrated growl rumbles in her throat as she hardens her stare.

  “He’s not the only one.”

  She bats away my hand and parts her dustcoat, revealing a fitted mailed shirt fashioned from the same dark, interlocking scales as the woman’s vest from earlier. As my gaze travels down, I notice the studded hilts of two daggers strapped to the belt at her hips, and my blood goes cold.

  Gods, who is she?

  “Is there anyone else here?”

  No. Brynolf typically schedules only one of us for the night shift so he doesn’t have to pay out two wages, the cheap old goat.

  Wait.

  “J-just a couple of students. They’re upstairs, in the study rooms. Been there for the last three hours or so.”

  Another curse flies off her tongue as she turns around . . . and freezes.

  Standing at the end of the aisle is the strange woman, a man with short black hair who could pass for her twin, and a well-dressed man in a silky long-sleeved shirt and scaled vest. All of them are clothed in black, staring at us like a pack of wolves who just cornered their prey, and my hairs stand up on end.

  These people are definitely not students.

  Hoping for some clarity, I glance at Ashe and quirk a brow. “Friends of yours?”

  “Hardly,” she hisses through clenched teeth. “Don’t speak.”

  She steps forward, placing herself between me and them. A sharp, metallic shink! fills the sudden silence as she draws a long, curved dagger and my heart skips a beat.

  “Ah, Little Squeak,” the woman grins as she ties up her hair. Is she talking to me? “Glad you made it. We were beginning to think you got lost.”

  “Selene,” Ashe replies, her tone harsh as she twirls the knife in her hand with an unsettling familiarity. The black steel seemingly absorbs the light from overhead, with only the silvered edge glinting wickedly. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  What the heck is going on? Does she know these strangers?

  “Yes, so you are.” Selene smirks as she taps a dark object the size of her forearm against her open palm. Is that a fan? “And I see you’ve already met our guest of honor.”

  “She’s not the target,” Ashe snaps, a certain venom laced in her tone that I’ve never heard before.

  Target? What are they talking about?

  “Perhaps not,” the man in the center replies, pointing the tip of his axe at my head. “But it looks like our mark is a no-show and she’s seen our faces. That makes her a complication.”

  Oh gods, they’re going to murder me! But why? What did I ever do to them? I’m not even a licensed mage yet, I’m only a librarian! Not even my father—

  My father. So that’s why the woman had asked me about the Hand earlier. Seven hells, I didn’t misunderstand her at all! Ashe was right, this is a targeted hit to get at him! Which can only mean that . . .

  Realization hits me like a punch to the stomach. These people are hunters, and Ashe is one of them.

  “She was hiding in the books, Kyros,” Ashe says. Her grip tightens around her weapon but she doesn’t look back. “She doesn’t know anything.”

  The other hunter, Kyros, scoffs as he rolls up a silk sleeve. A glimmer of silver on his skin catches the light. “What’s this, sympathy? Are we protecting witnesses now?”

  “I think she’s going soft,” the other man says, shifting the double-tipped spear in his hand, and Selene’s shrill laughter makes my stomach knot.

  “I told you, boys. She doesn’t have the heart anymore. I doubt she’s actually ever killed anyone.”

  Gods, please let that be true—

  The edge of Ashe’s dagger is at my throat before I can blink and my entire body goes numb. For half a heartbeat some childish part of me thinks she’s bluffing, that this is all an act and we’ll laugh about it later.

  Then her blade presses into the soft tissue just a fraction, and that hope dies in my chest.

  “I’ve killed more than you can count,” she growls, her eyes never once leaving the three hunters. Like a predator staring down its competition over a meal. “But we only have enough elixir for one victim. I don’t think I need to stress the importance of discretion, Selene. Or do I have to spell it out for you?”

  Selene flicks her wrist and the object in her hand springs open. The edge of her fan gleams with the glint of steel and several deadly barbs tip the spines woven into the scaly silk.

  “I’d love to see you try, Squeak.”

  “That’s enough, you two,” Kyros says, holstering his axe. Judging by the way he talks to the others and carries himself, I’ll take a wild guess that he’s their leader. “Your rivalry is growing tiresome. Thanks to Ashe’s eagerness our element of surprise may be ruined but we still have a mission to complete.”

  “A mission with no mark, in case you’ve forgotten. The Hand should’ve been here by now.”

  “Relax, Damen, we’ll find him. Besides”—his dark eyes turn to me and the smile that curls his lips is anything but warm—“complications keep things interesting, don’t you think?”

  “The wards are down,” Ashe interjects. Her knife is still pressed against my throat but even if I could move, where would I run to? “And the sun won’t rise for another few hours. This can still look like the Covenant attempted to break in.” The Covenant? Are apostates the ones behind this assault? “Once we find our target and eliminate him, their minds will connect the dots. Our job here is done.”

  “Not quite.” Damen tips his spear in my direction and my body grows cold. “We still have her to deal with.”

  “I-I won’t talk.” The sharp blade digging into my neck bites a little deeper and I whimper. I know Ashe said to keep quiet but, gods, that stings!

  “Nice try, sweetling.” Selene waves the fan in front of her face with a devilish chuckle. “But we’ve a reputation to uphold and you’re a loose end. It’s nothing personal.”

  It very much feels personal to me.

  “It was hard enough for us to enter the college unseen,” Kyros says, his wicked grin betraying the nonchalance of his tone, as if discussing what he’d like for breakfast. “The cleaners won’t be able to set foot on these grounds and spilling her blood here will only risk implicating the Society’s involvement. I’m open to suggestions.”

  “So we take her with us,” Ashe offers and my heart plummets to the stone floor. She can’t be serious—can she? “Kill her off campus. The moon’s still full, Kyros, you know we can make it look convincing. She’ll be just another late-night victim of a feral shifter who didn’t leave the city streets.”

  “Or we can gut her where she stands, make it look like a summoning ritual gone bad.” Selene’s smirk will surely haunt my nightmares if I ever live through this night. “This is supposed to be the work of apostates, right? Mages are all about that shit and I’m getting bored. We’ve waited long enough as it is.”

  The dagger against my skin falters slightly.

  “You’re just itching to kill something tonight, aren’t you, sis?” Damen smirks and I swallow the lump that had lodged itself in my throat.

  Why isn’t Ashe doing anything?

  “Fine, we kill her here.” Kyros sighs and runs a hand through his thick brown hair. “It’s not ideal but Selene’s right, we can’t waste the elixir. It’d look more compelling, anyway, and we don’t have time to fake a wild fera attack. Especially for a mage who shouldn’t be out on the streets at this hour.”

  “Kyros—”

  “You fucked up, Ashe!” His outburst would have made me jump out of my skin if I wasn’t already scared to death. “You weren’t where I told you to be and now you’ve forced our hand! This is the consequence of your insolence, so I suggest you get in line before you find yourself on the wrong end of a blade.”

  Something inside me goes very still. This is real. They’re actually going to kill me.

  His words slam into me like a physical blow.

  ‘Kill her here,’ that’s what he had decided. And, from the way she’s just standing there with her knife at my throat, Ashe isn’t going to stop them.

  I can’t just stand here and I can’t trust Ashe to save me. Whatever she is now, she is clearly not the person I once knew. I have to do something to get out of here. My life depends on it!

  Think!

  ‘A good defense is always a good offense.’

  Spurred by Professor Maynard’s lecture from yesterday my mind races, seven years of incantations and spellwork fumbling around as I try to think of something—anything—to get me out of this situation.

  Should I try a binding spell to root them in place?

  No, too many possibilities and the incantation will take too long. I don’t have complete focus for something so complex right now.

  What about some type of blast to distract them or knock them back?

  Too dangerous and, again, too many possibilities. It could bring the building down on top of us. I need precision, something that targets only them and doesn’t risk damaging my surroundings or myself.

  How about a light cantrip? It’s simple enough. I can summon the night to blind them or dispel the enchanted firelight in the lanterns overhead. That should give me enough of a window to make my escape. No one here knows this place like I do.

  I nod. Alright, I have my intent. Now I just need the right rune.

  My chest tightens as the implications of my decision weigh heavily on my conscience. I’m not a licensed mage. My soul isn’t fractured and I don’t have a soulstone to channel the arcana. Professor Maynard said it was impossible for a human to weave magic without one.

  But I have to try something! My window of opportunity is closing fast and I’m as good as dead if I don’t act now. Besides, it might not even work and I already have the ruenaga if it does. What harm can one little spell do that hasn’t already been done?

  Without a second thought I close my eyes, clearing my mind of everything except the lights.

  Light magic comes from the sun arcana.

  The sun is warm.

  Feel that warmth pulsing within the lanterns. Not the sun itself, but pieces of it, like flickering echoes caged in the glass above. Lock onto that. Let it envelop my senses—

  Gods above, I can feel it! I can feel the heat from overhead as the magic keeping them lit radiates around me! It’s almost tingly. Is this how it feels to weave? It’s amazing!

  Focus, Dani! I may only have one chance at this and I can’t blow it!

  I take one quick breath in, picturing the lights above being snuffed out as the warmth from the sun grows cold, and mutter the first phrase that comes to mind.

  “Voranoctem!”