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Chapter Text

Dramatis Personae

Prologue

Urgent Demand

The telephone rang.

The timing was a bit unfortunate, because I was in the lab, trying to drill the basics of potion-making into my new apprentice. At the moment that training mainly consisted of getting her to stop cutting corners long enough so that she wouldn’t blow up my lab or create a concoction that would eat through the beaker, the burner, the table, the floor, and from there presumably all the way to the centre of the Earth.

There had been a few near misses so far.

‘The phone’s ringing,’ Molly pointed out helpfully.

‘Forget the phone,’ I said, trying to direct her attention back to the bubbling brew in the beaker. I didn’t need Bob’s trained eye to see that this one, like many before it, was seconds away from failure. Or disaster. Or both. ‘You need to focus, Molly.’

‘I am focusing!’

She was not, and it showed. She screwed up her face to demonstrate effort and focus, but the potion only frothed and bubbled, and finally belched out smoke and foul air before giving up the ghost entirely.

I turned the burner off.

You win some, you lose most.

I tried to remember if I had been such a trial as an apprentice, and, upon due self-reflection, reached the conclusion that the answer to that question was probably yes. My appreciation for Ebenezer McCoy’s patience with my obnoxious and rebellious teenage self had grown considerably – if reluctantly – since I had acquired an apprentice of my own.

Turns out that mentoring isn’t for the faint of heart. Or the short of temper.

Then again, it was early days. Molly had time to improve, although the honing of her talent wasn’t the thing that really worried me. The lack of good judgement did that. The tendency to solve her problems with magic – and not necessarily the White Council approved sort – could still get her executed. And me with her.

Molly coughed to get the smoke out of her lungs. ‘At least you can answer the phone now,’ she offered, semi-apologetically.

Whoever was calling, they were persistent. The ringing stopped for maybe five seconds, but then started all over again. I tried to remember if I had missed an appointment, or pissed someone off. I came up empty.

‘You can clean up the mess,’ I said, because as a mentor I could absolutely delegate the tasks I didn’t like to my complaining underling, claiming that it built character. Of course, my life would be much easier if it was character that Molly lacked. Getting her to think before she reached for her magic and teaching her to exercise sufficient self-restraint were the real challenges.

Molly grumbled a bit, but mostly for show. We had established early on that I called the shots and she followed the instructions.

The phone was still ringing, which made me uneasy. I don’t get a lot of phone calls at home. If Murphy really wants me on a case, she tends to show up at my door if I don’t answer the phone. This was not her style. And I hadn’t given out my personal number to any clients.

Only one way to find out. I picked up. ‘Harry Dresden.’

‘Finally!’ a female voice exclaimed on the other end. ‘I have been calling you for at least ten minutes now.’

It took me a moment to place her voice. ‘Bradamant?’

Bradamant was my brother Thomas’s boss, so on the rare occasion that she called, it was him she was after. Which suits me well enough, because my experiences with my world’s current Librarian-in-Residence have never been amiable. Or even polite. Kai’s description of her as a rude, back-stabbing nuisance has not been disproven so far.

‘Thomas isn’t here,’ I said helpfully.

‘I know that,’ she snapped in the kind of voice that some eighteenth century aristocrat would have envied; it was custom-made for barking orders at troublesome peasants. ‘It’s you I wanted to speak to. I have a case for you.’

Since Bradamant’s main priority as a Librarian was book theft – or book purchase, but that was more the exception than the rule – I had a pretty good idea what she wanted me for. ‘I don’t provide magical aiding and abetting to theft,’ I said.

I didn’t have any moral objections to her mission. Depositing books from this world into the Library stabilised it, stopped it from sliding all the way to the depths of chaos. After Venice, I’d have shoved books in there by the truckload if they’d let me.

My reluctance to work with Bradamant had more to do with the fact that she had a well-established, well-earned reputation for getting others to do her dirty work for her. She’d reap the rewards, but if there was blame to go around, she’d make sure her partner or apprentice was standing in front of the fan when the shit hit. Thomas, himself no stranger to double-dealings and backstabbing, was more than a match for her, but I had no ambition to volunteer myself as her next convenient scapegoat.

Besides, Bradamant didn’t need me. She had the Librarian cheat code in the form of the Language. She could simply state her desire and reality would bend to accommodate her.

She huffed. ‘You are a private investigator, are you not?’

I confirmed that this was indeed the case, but if she wanted my services, she could telephone my office and make an appointment. Like any other client.

Clearly Bradamant didn’t consider herself as just any other client, because she growled impatiently. ‘This is urgent,’ she snapped. ‘I need you to investigate a person.’

Realising that there was no getting rid of her until I’d heard her out, I asked: ‘Who?’

‘I won’t discuss it over the phone,’ she replied. ‘Come to my office. At your earliest convenience.’

I embarked on a very good speech about how I wasn’t a dog that she could tell to sit and give paw, and that it really wouldn’t hurt her to say please every once in a while, but I was wasting my breath; she had already hung up.

‘Who was that?’ Molly asked.

I bravely resisted the urge to describe Bradamant with a few choice words that would make Molly’s father wince. After all, teachers are meant to give good examples.

Please stop laughing.

‘Bradamant,’ I replied instead. Our foray into all things magical and supernatural had not yet extended to the Library, so I gave her the quick rundown. ‘Bradamant is the Librarian-in-Residence for our world,’ I concluded.

‘But what does she want with you?’

Despite my annoyance, I did want to know the answer to that question myself. I didn’t like Bradamant, but this behaviour was out of character for her. By which I meant that she didn’t like me and usually took trouble to avoid me as much as humanly possible. And as much as I didn’t like her either, I had heard the sense of urgency under all the impatience. Something wasn’t right.

‘I’ll drop you home and check it out,’ I said.

‘Or I could come with you and help?’ Molly suggested hopefully.

‘I promised to teach you magic, not investigation.’ I doubted she had the talent for it. She was bright, but impulsive, and she had little inclination for curbing her own impatience.

‘What if I want to learn both?’ she countered.

I didn’t think she wanted to, not really. Private investigation might sound mysterious and intriguing, but what novels and films usually fail to mention is the boredom, the danger, the rude clients, and the frustration of a case that’s going nowhere. Not to mention the bad pay.

There’s a good reason I live in a basement apartment and not in a mansion.

Then again, a quick introduction to boredom and a rude client – both of which I could practically guarantee – might turn her off investigating really quickly.

So off to the library we went.

It was moderately busy when we entered. I knew Bradamant had an office some stories up, but I had never been there myself, so we presented ourselves to the receptionist and announced that we had come to see Bradamant Adams – Librarians, as I understand it, don’t usually go in for surnames, so Bradamant had picked one at random to use while she was stationed here – and got ourselves an invitation and a detailed route of how to get there.

‘Do we take the lift?’ Molly asked once she heard it was on the ninth floor.

‘You’re a wizard now, grasshopper,’ I reminded her. ‘Two of us might break the electronics down even faster.’

She muttered when confronted with the downsides of wizardry, but obediently trudged up the stairs behind me.

Everything was very scholarly and academic in the corridor where Bradamant’s office was. It was as if everyone had collectively decided to dress as stereotypically mousy librarian as they could, accessorising with books, clipboards, and pens tucked behind the ears. I wondered if there was a dress code Molly and I were now violating.

Bradamant had her name on the door. Thomas’s was nowhere in sight.

I knocked.

No answer.

Since Bradamant’s “at your earliest convenience” definitely meant “right this instant” that didn’t sit right with me. I knocked again and Listened.

Nothing.

‘Maybe she’s out?’ Molly offered.

She wouldn’t demand that I come over immediately and then step out for a cup of coffee. My finely honed detective instincts told me that the situation might be a bit more pressing than I thought.

I knocked one last time, but when that yielded no response, I tried the door. It was unlocked, which saved me the need to do something illegal.

‘Wait here,’ I told Molly.

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at me defiantly. ‘I am not afraid.’

She was – or very nervous at least – but that was not the reason I left her. ‘This could be dangerous. Or it could be a crime scene. The fewer people that trample all over it, the better the police will like it.’

I stepped inside and closed the door in her face before she could argue.

The place looked as if a tornado had gone through it. Two bookcases had gone over, their contents scattered to every corner of the room. One of the books had gone into the computer screen. Thomas lay in the middle of the mess, flat on his face, arms outstretched, not moving. I didn’t see any blood.

I knelt down beside him and felt for a pulse. It was still there, strong and steady, so I shook his shoulder. ‘Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.’

The response took some time. ‘If you try to kiss me, I will punch you,’ Thomas groaned.

I helped him to sit up. He was a bit cross-eyed, so I leaned him against the desk. ‘What happened?’

‘Hit over the head.’ He rubbed the back of his head, grimacing.

‘What with? A baseball bat? An anvil?’ It takes a lot to take down a vampire.

 He gestured beside him. ‘The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. All four pounds of it.’

‘You were knocked out with a book?’ I found that hard to believe.

Thomas gave me a disgruntled look. ‘I didn’t expect it. She came at me from behind. And she hit me at least a dozen times.’ He rubbed his forehead too. ‘All right, and I hit my head on the desk on the way down.’

That would have done it.

‘She?’

Thomas gestured around vaguely. ‘Emily. New apprentice.’

I didn’t see anyone. More to the point, I didn’t see Bradamant anywhere either. ‘And Bradamant?’

Thomas blinked and looked around. ‘What happened here?’

‘I had hoped you could tell me.’

But he couldn’t.

‘Though I think the book’s gone,’ he offered, glancing around the carnage.

‘What book?’

‘The book we retrieved on our last mission,’ he clarified. ‘Unless Bradamant still has it?’ He looked around for his boss and nearly toppled over. The apprentice really had done a number on him.

‘Sit down, damsel,’ I said. ‘I’ll have a look around.’ I got up before he roused himself enough to give me the promised punch.

Given the lack of alarm in the corridor outside, the book-wielding Valkyrie had not continued her rampage out there, so I inspected the door to the Library at the other end of the room instead.

The door was ajar.

A foot in a no-nonsense boot stuck out on my end. The ankle it belonged to – as well as the rest of the body, I assumed – lay on the other side. I peeked in and found Bradamant lying in almost the exact same position as I had found Thomas in, only she had blood in her hair and a gentle shake of the leg failed to wake her up. Her right leg was definitely broken, and I didn’t like the look of her left arm either. I suspected she had tried to fend off a blow and had her arm broken for her trouble.

It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to deduce that the apprentice was apparently a force to be reckoned with.

I left her there for a moment – still with her foot in the door, because if it fell shut I’d never get it open again – and went back for reinforcements. It wasn’t going to be Thomas; he was still trying to remember how to get back on his feet. The initial attempts were not promising.

I stuck my head outside the door. ‘Come on, grasshopper, I need a hand.’

‘Really?’

That almost made me think better of it, but I needed the help. ‘How’s your first aid?’

‘… Not great?’

‘Just do as I say, then.’

I let her inside and closed the door before we attracted a crowd.

‘Molly, Thomas,’ I introduced. ‘Thomas, Molly.’

Thomas nodded. Molly stared. Most people of the female persuasion – as well as some of the male – do when they first meet him. Even the growing bump on his head didn’t lessen his appeal. Go figure. Even when he’s injured Thomas looks like some sort of handsome hero.

‘Over here.’

I pushed the door open further and got my first good look at the Library. I don’t know what I had expected, but it looked like a library. It had bookcases from floor to ceiling, crammed full of books of all shapes and sizes. I might have been tempted to pull one off the shelf, but the titles were some kind of foreign – something eastern European, maybe? – and I couldn’t have read them anyway.

Life is full of disappointments.

‘Hold the door open,’ I instructed. ‘I’ll carry her out. Do not let that fall shut.’

Without the Language at my disposal, I’d never be able to get back in and notify Bradamant’s superiors.

Molly, maybe taken aback by the unconscious woman at our feet, didn’t argue. She nodded, face a few shades paler, and parked herself against the door.

I crouched down next to Bradamant and felt for a pulse. I found one, and she seemed to be breathing fine, but she didn’t wake up when I lifted her and carried her out the Library. As someone who’s had more than his fair share of head injuries, I could testify that they were no walk in the park. And Bradamant didn’t have my handy wizard can-heal-from-almost-anything-eventually thing.

‘Is she breathing?’ Thomas asked. He pulled himself to his feet at last, though he needed to lean on a desk to stay upright. He didn’t look great, but he recovered a lot quicker than I would have done. Being a vampire endowed him with some perks. ‘Does she have the book?’

‘Breathing, but no book,’ I reported, wondering where to put her down. A couch would have come in handy right about now. Failing that, a clear patch of floor would have to do.

I expected all kinds of bitching about that when she woke up.

‘Should we call an ambulance?’ Molly asked, still standing at the door.

‘Thomas can do that,’ I said.

Thomas took the hint and reached for the telephone.

While he was busy explaining where he was and what had happened and what had been done to the patient to get her to her current state, I had a moment to wonder what to do. Given recent events, new apprentice Emily was beginning to look a lot like the person Bradamant wanted me to investigate.

So far I had next to nothing to go on. I didn’t even know what this girl looked like, or what she wanted. Or why she wanted it. Not that I didn’t understand the urge of knocking Bradamant on the head – I’ve had that urge myself, usually about two seconds after she opens her mouth – but knocking Thomas out as well and running off with a book the Library wanted suggested another motive than merely being fed up with her mentor’s many antics. And I had no idea where to begin looking for one.

Never a good start to any investigation.

‘I’ll report to the Library,’ Thomas said when he put the phone down. He took one step and swayed on his feet. Apparently all four pounds of Shakespeare’s complete works could really take it out of a vampire.

Something to keep in mind.

‘You’d better stay with Bradamant,’ I said.

Thomas glowered at me, but being concussed ruined the effect. ‘I’m fine.’

He wasn’t, but pointing that out would get me nowhere. ‘Do you know where Emily’s gone?’

He didn’t.

‘So what if she comes back to finish the job and no one’s there to do something about it?’ At this stage in the proceedings, that was a legitimate concern. Of course, if he went with Bradamant to the hospital he could sit down and rest.

Thomas knew that. He muttered something about younger brothers being a pain in the arse, but he sat back down. ‘There’s a computer near the Traverse. First right, second left, then the first left again.’ He wrote down something on a piece of paper. ‘Bradamant’s log-in. Send an email to Kostchei.’

I’d heard Irene mutter that name before as if it was a curse. Of course, maybe the protégée took after the mentor. Like dogs and their owners.

‘Hold the door,’ I told Molly, who had been about to come back into the room. ‘Stick a few books in it if you have to, but do not let that door close.’

She nodded tersely. Maybe it dawned on her at last that she was in over her head in something she didn’t fully understand and wasn’t equipped to deal with.

I went back into the Library again. It was a strange place. Quiet, of course, but it went further than that. The air, the make-up of the place, was different from my own world. Venice had been different too, but there everything felt wrong. That wasn’t the case in the Library.

I took the first right and ended up in a long hallway with ceiling-high bookcases on both sides. And a window to my right, looking out and down onto a quiet medieval looking street at night-time.

Which did not make sense.

I backtracked, but in the corridor I had come from the bookcases stood at least five rows back, well within the space that the window told me was the outside.

This place was giving me a headache. And I thought Faerie was messed up. Turns out that the Library could give them a run for their money.

I ignored the dimensions that didn’t make sense and went in search of the promised computer. I found it already occupied. The user looked more like a 1920s gangster assassin than a mousy librarian, but since only Librarians could get in here – or at least only Librarians could open the Ways into this place – this man had to be one.

‘Hello,’ I said. ‘I would like to report a crime.’

Chapter Text

Irene’s hair was merely damp by the time she and Kai entered Coppelia’s office. She didn’t feel exactly warm, but the change of clothes did help. She attributed the cold mainly to the horror that a Librarian had been attacked inside the Library itself.

The implications did not bear thinking about.

She kept her face as neutral as she could as they presented themselves to Coppelia. ‘We came as quickly as we could.’

As quickly as Kai had allowed; the insistence on a change of clothes after her dive in an icy cold lake had been his. Irene would have gone straight to Coppelia, tracking water all the way and probably catching pneumonia in the process.

Coppelia glanced at Irene’s wet hair, but didn’t comment. ‘I see.’

‘How is Bradamant?’ Irene asked. She didn’t like her colleague, but that didn’t mean she wished ill on her either.

‘She has been taken to a hospital in G-692,’ Coppelia replied, which told Irene nothing useful. ‘She was unconscious due to a wound to the back of her head, last I heard.’

That spelled nothing good.

‘Do we know anything more yet about the attack?’ Irene asked, biting down hard on her apprehension in favour of focusing on the job in hand. ‘Who did it?’

Coppelia’s face turned into a disapproving mask. ‘It seems her new apprentice proved treacherous. She incapacitated both Bradamant and her assistant.’

That was no mean feat. Knocking out a vampire was not a bit of light exercise. And Irene had seen Thomas fight. He was no lightweight. What took down normal people was nothing but a mild annoyance to him. Irene had watched him shrug off blows that should have knocked him straight to hospital. Or to the nearest undertaker.

But since she wasn’t entirely sure Bradamant had ever bothered to mention Thomas’s vampirism, she framed her next question very carefully: ‘How did she manage to do that?’

And, now that she thought of it, she had never heard that Bradamant had taken on a new apprentice. When had that happened, and how had she missed that?

‘With The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, apparently,’ Coppelia replied wryly.

Irene winced in sympathy, but then frowned. That shouldn’t have taken Thomas out of the game. And it didn’t explain why she and Kai were here either. ‘But if we know who did it, why do you need us?’

‘Because the girl has fled.’

Yes, that could be a problem. Coppelia didn’t say so, but Bradamant had been attacked inside the Library. The apprentice could have fled into G-692 again, or she could have gone deeper into the Library. She might even have found a way to secure passage into yet another alternate. After all, someone resourceful enough to take down two people, one of whom was a nearly indestructible vampire to boot, could definitely find a way to escape the consequences of her actions.

Especially if she had planned for it.

‘I see,’ Irene said.

Coppelia wasn’t done. ‘It seems Bradamant thought it wise to hire a private investigator. I believe you already know Harry Dresden?’

Kai tried not to smile. Without success, but at least he tried. Irene didn’t mind hearing that they’d be working with him again herself. Of course, it served to remember that each time their cases had collided so far, everyone involved walked away with a new collection of injuries. And they left devastation in their wake.

Coppelia stared at her, as if she had picked that thought right out of Irene’s head. ‘Please take care to leave all the buildings involved standing this time. The Library’s resources are not, whatever you may think, infinite.’

Irene studied the floor intensely and did her best not to think about the fortune in damages she had done to the Field Museum and Bock Ordered Books. But at least the Council of Ten wouldn’t send an invoice for the destruction of their tower and the pileup of anachronistic boats in the bay.

Note to self: only wreak havoc in worlds that don’t know where to send the bill.

‘Noted,’ she said.

‘See that you remember it,’ Coppelia warned. ‘I should not need to remind you that you have an apprentice for whom you have to set a good example.’

Irene, who was well aware that Kai’s short-lived stint as a petty criminal meant she had nothing to teach him about legally dubious behaviour, thought this was a little unfair, but said nothing about it in favour of asking what it was they were actually meant to be doing.

‘Your task is to find Bradamant’s apprentice and retrieve the book she stole.’

Irene blinked.

‘What book?’ Kai demanded. Like Irene, he probably sensed that there was something more to this assignment than was immediately apparent.

The last time Irene’d had that particular feeling, she ended up fighting Alberich and a bunch of necromancers. And she’d nearly drowned. There was no indication that this next venture might turn out any better.

‘A unique copy of Jane Austen’s Emma,’ Coppelia said, and clearly this upset her more than the attack on Bradamant and the fact that the apprentice had disappeared.

Irene frowned. ‘Emma isn’t so rare,’ she pointed out.

‘It is in B-457.’ Coppelia fixed them both with a disapproving stare. ‘The government has banned it. All but a few copies have been burned. It is up to you to either retrieve the stolen copy or find a replacement.’

Ah, that was the kind of horrible assignment Irene had come to expect since she had been placed on probation. Now things made sense.

‘And the apprentice?’ she asked, although she could guess the answer to that one.

She had guessed correctly: ‘Bring her back.’

That made sense, of course. It seemed highly unlikely that a mere apprentice could have decided to knock out her two colleagues and make off with a priceless book all because her mentor was one of the most annoying people in the known worlds. This reeked of some premeditated plan. Even worse, Irene could practically feel the complications breathing down her neck.

Having Harry around didn’t seem like excessive luxury. More like a dire necessity.

Keeping her thoughts about this minefield of a mission to herself, she nodded briskly. ‘Has Harry been told to expect us?’

‘I believe he specifically requested the two of you.’

Irene knew Harry. Politely requesting help was really not his style.

‘We’ll do our best,’ Irene said.

‘You will bring back the book and the thief,’ Coppelia corrected. ‘We need the book.’

The tone dissuaded Irene from asking any more questions, and her kick against Kai’s leg stopped him from blurting out things he shouldn’t.

He kept his peace until they were a good distance away. ‘There’s something she’s not telling us.’

Irene was well used to her superiors not telling her things she really needed to know, but something about that audience today made her uneasy too. Coppelia had seemed at the same time preoccupied and laser focused. Irene had sensed an urgency in her tone, as if the stakes were higher than she had let on.

‘We have time for a little research,’ she said. ‘Maybe B-457 is sliding heavily into chaos and that’s why we need the book.’

‘Or,’ Kai speculated pensively, ‘there’s something in the book that makes it valuable, some information they don’t want falling into the wrong hands, like the Grimm book.’

The thought had crossed Irene’s mind. Part of her shied away from it, but she didn’t want to go in blind again, so research it was. But she made sure to find a room a long way away from Coppelia’s office before she allowed them to sit down and try and work out what was happening.

‘I’ll take the world,’ she said. ‘You look up the book.’

The world, as it turned out, was not on the fast track to chaos. In fact, it wasn’t on track – fast or otherwise – to anywhere. From all Irene could find it was a relatively stable world in between the extremes. It had slightly more order than chaos and so long as Fae and Dragons both continued to steer clear of it, it was likely it would remain that way for a while.

The world itself was low tech, high magic. They didn’t even have steam level technology yet, although recent reports suggested some countries were beginning to experiment with it. People got around by sailing ships or anything horse-pulled. The Traverse came out in the British Library in London, as it did in the alternate where Kai and Irene were stationed. War with France had been ongoing for the past two decades, but Irene’s information suggested that it was mostly fought at sea and on French soil, so they were unlikely to get in the middle of that.

So far, so normal.

The society in England on the other hand was not. It was a vaguely early nineteenth century kind of society, but with magic and with fast-changing trends. Magic, manners, and clothes were the areas of special interest, especially to the higher classes, and they apparently liked to change things up as often as the weather. The urgent note at the top of the report advised the visiting Librarian to report first to Librarian-in-Residence Agatha for a crash course in the latest developments before they tried to interact with anyone, lest they get arrested.

Irene really hoped the apprentice had escaped to Harry’s world and not to the book’s world of origin.

‘Anything?’ she asked Kai.

Kai shrugged. ‘It’s the basic plot of Emma, but with magic. The notes say it contains the kind of commentary on culture that the Society for the Promotion of Good Taste took offence to. They lobbied to have the book banned. And succeeded. According to the Library’s records, there’s only three copies left. And the stolen book is one of them.’

Because this wasn’t difficult enough already. ‘Any information on the whereabouts of the other two?’

‘One copy is in the possession of a Professor Leopold Henley,’ Kai said. ‘He’s turned his estate into a fortress. That kind of book collector.’

Irene had robbed that kind of book collector. It was never the kind of outing she had fond memories of. ‘And the other?’ she asked without hope.

‘Last seen at an underground auction two years ago,’ Kai said, apologetically. ‘Bought by a hooded and masked figure who paid a small fortune. In diamonds.’ So not even a currency to trace. ‘What about the world? Any chaotic influence?’

‘I think we can safely disregard that one.’ At least on the basis of the currently available information. ‘No Fae or Dragons, and the world is relatively stable. It’s slightly tilted towards order, but there haven’t been any major shifts in centuries.’

All very good information, but Irene couldn’t see how it was useful to the situation. As a rare book, of course it was important to the Library, but that still didn’t warrant Coppelia’s attitude towards this mission. Failure never looked good, but every Librarian had a failure once in a while. She’d never yet been given a mission where she was so explicitly told she was not allowed to fail.

What have I missed?

Only one thing was certain: they wouldn’t discover anything by sitting here and twiddling their thumbs until enlightenment happened to pass by.

‘We’ll focus on the apprentice first,’ Irene decided. As the mentor in this team, making the decisions was her prerogative. ‘With any luck we’ll find the book when we find her.’

Kai nodded. ‘We can always rob the Professor later,’ he agreed. ‘His copy isn’t going anywhere.’

Not until Kai and Irene got round to helping themselves to it. And Irene rather hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

By the time they reached the Traverse to G-692 Irene’s hair had finally dried and she was on the whole feeling slightly more optimistic about this mission than she had a few hours ago in Coppelia’s office. Harry had the connections in this alternate that could help them track down the apprentice. That gave them a place to start, and possibly some leads to follow. Irene had undertaken missions that started off worse.

The Traverse itself wasn’t closed. Someone had propped a book in the opening to keep it from falling shut. They found the culprit in Bradamant’s office, as well as Thomas, Murphy, and a girl Irene didn’t know. Bradamant was of course nowhere in evidence.

Irene thought the reunion might be slightly awkward, given that they hadn’t visited despite their best intentions, but Harry grinned when he saw them.

‘You’re not wearing your hat,’ Kai pointed out, which broke the remainder of the ice.

‘What hat?’ Murphy asked.

Harry made a face.

‘His wizard hat,’ Thomas clarified. ‘The pointy one with the embroidered stars.’

‘It’s currently all the rage in B-414,’ Irene said. Buying Harry a hat hadn’t been on her itinerary, but she and Kai had been in that alternate for a book – a relatively simple purchase, even though it cost a fortune – and the shop next door had several hats of that sort in the window. On sale. Kai and Irene both agreed that the opportunity was too good to miss.

There had been general mirth when they pictured Harry’s face when receiving the gift.

‘Every wizard who wants to be taken serious wears one,’ Kai added. He looked at Murphy and the girl. ‘I don’t believe we have met?’

Harry performed the introductions. ‘Kai, meet Karrin Murphy of the Chicago PD, and Molly Carpenter, my apprentice.’

Harry hadn’t had an apprentice the last time they were here. One day, Irene promised herself, they’d find some time to do the normal friend thing where they actually kept up with each other’s lives without these pesky crises getting in the way.

Kai could charm the birds out of the tree if he wanted, so he smiled and shook hands and won them over in a matter of seconds.

Irene did the smiling and the handshaking. But without the charm.

‘Anything new on this end?’ Irene asked when that was all out of the way. ‘Any sign of the apprentice?’

‘Disappeared,’ Thomas reported. He rubbed the back of his head, but if any damage remained, Irene couldn’t see it. Vampires healed fast. ‘But she packs a punch.’

‘Well, there’s no sign of her inside the Library,’ Irene said. ‘But it’s a big place.’

‘There’s no sign of her on the security cameras,’ Murphy offered. Irene wondered if Harry had called her in, or if she had shown up because this could technically be construed as a matter of some interest to the local police. ‘If she left the building, she must have climbed out of a window.’

Not impossible, Irene supposed. Resourcefulness was something that was actively encouraged in new Librarians.

‘We should check the security cameras,’ Thomas said.

‘I’ve done that,’ Murphy repeated patiently, frowning in concern. Maybe she too, like Irene, wondered just how hard he had been hit on the head.

To both their surprise, Thomas grinned wickedly. ‘The building’s official cameras, yes. We have installed some discreet ones of our own.’

Of course they had. Paranoia was another one of those traits Librarians were encouraged to cultivate. It seemed Bradamant had really taken that particular lesson to heart. Irene didn’t know why that still surprised her.

Thomas pointed to the smoke alarm above the door and the light fixture on the wall opposite. ‘Emily never knew they were there.’

‘So Bradamant didn’t trust her?’ Harry asked.

Thomas shrugged. ‘She was the new girl. You know how Bradamant is with information sharing.’

‘Only at gunpoint,’ Kai muttered darkly.

Thomas smirked. ‘Oh, not only at gunpoint.’

Irene decided that, after due consideration, there were things she didn’t need to know after all. ‘Where do the cameras send the recording?’ she asked instead. She really hoped the computer wasn’t it. She did not consider herself an expert, but the book buried in the screen and the shelf embedded in the case had presumably rendered it unusable.

Whatever this Emily had done, she possessed a talent for destruction that put her in the same league as Harry and Irene herself. The office had been completely thrashed.

Irene experienced an unpleasant sense of déjà vu.

Thomas produced an intact laptop from a concealed compartment of Bradamant’s fallen over desk. ‘Be prepared. Isn’t that the Librarians’ motto?’

‘I thought that was the Scouts,’ Murphy said.

The laptop had survived the forceful overturning of its hiding place, though Thomas refused to turn it on until both Harry and Molly had retreated to the other side of the room, citing destructive wizard powers on fragile electronics.

For just this once Irene’s mission got off to a pretty decent start. She’d had more missions than she cared to count – especially recently – where she lost days chasing her tail trying to pick up any information that could point her in the right direction. Now she got a whole dollop of clues presented on a silver platter. Or a small laptop screen, to be more precise.

The scene the recording opened on was fairly normal: Bradamant at her desk, Thomas in front of the filing cabinet, peering inside, looking for a specific file, perhaps. The apprentice, Emily, came as a bit of a surprise, though. Based on the destruction in the office and the damage done to its occupants, Irene expected someone built like a brick shithouse, not the delicate flower who’d look more at home at some sort of high society event. Apprentice-turned-criminal Emily maybe cleared five feet if she stood on her tippy toes, and could probably hide behind a lamppost if she turned sideways. She looked about as harmless as a fluffy puppy.

It beggared belief that someone like her had managed to knock out a near indestructible vampire with a book.

Something doesn’t add up here.

Irene spotted The Complete Works of William Shakespeare on the corner of Thomas’s desk. Emily, once she was done putting a slim volume in the bookcase, made a beeline for it and grabbed it. Then, calmly as you like, she walked up to Thomas and thumped her unsuspecting victim repeatedly on the back of the head. Thomas staggered, grabbed for the filing cabinet to keep his balance, but was knocked off kilter by the next succession of blows. He tried to change direction, heading for the desks to escape the onslaught. Emily followed him, delivering blows with her unconventional weapon with a business-like briskness that was far more chilling than any hysterical rampage would have been.

Both Thomas and she had their backs to the camera at this point, but it caught Bradamant’s expression front and centre. The first, predictably, was one of annoyance that something she didn’t like messed up her day. That quickly turned to alarm, then to horror, as her supposedly undamageable assistant didn’t shrug off the attack as he should have done.

Tellingly, her first instinct wasn’t to hurry to Thomas’s aid. She tried to save her own skin instead. She snatched another book with her off her own desk and then fled to the Library door as fast as her legs could carry her. She didn’t even spare a glance for Thomas.

As if I needed a reminder that she has all the social instincts of a starving wolf, Irene thought wryly.

Thomas, meanwhile, crashed into the bookcase, which toppled over and took both its neighbour and the filing cabinet with it, which at least accounted for some of the carnage; one bookcase fell apart on impact and all of them spilled books and papers everywhere. Emily moved through it all as if it couldn’t touch her, and strangely, it didn’t. Everything just seemed to miss her by a hair’s breadth.

Magic, maybe? That might explain why nothing hit her and why, despite her slight build, she was able to deliver blows of such force that they brought down even Thomas. But if so, it wasn’t like Harry’s kind, or it would have taken out the cameras.

On the screen Thomas struggled the last way to the desks, where one final thump finally sent him crashing to the ground by way of the edge of the desk. Irene winced in sympathy. That had to have hurt.

Emily stepped over him and set off after Bradamant. Bradamant had the door open and rushed through it, but nowhere near fast enough. Emily stuck her foot in the door, lifted her book and brought it down twice with an ease that suggested she did that sort of thing every day of the week.

Goodness, but she is ruthless!

The door obscured most of what went on for the next few seconds, though it seemed fair to assume that Bradamant didn’t have a good time. Then Emily reappeared, dragging at Bradamant’s motionless leg until it just about propped open the door. Having secured her door stop, she marched back into the office, wrenched a fallen shelf out from underneath a mountain of books, and proceeded to lay into every electronic device in the room.

The camera caught her face at last. Despite the fact that she had knocked out two people, she showed no signs of panic or distress. If anything, the lack of any visible emotion was what made the hairs at the back of Irene’s neck stand on end. Something was badly wrong with this girl.

She worked her way methodically around the room, destroying the computers and phones, which explained how the shelf ended up in the computer case at least.

‘Good thing we have back-ups of everything,’ Thomas said. He rubbed the back of his head again, but he looked much improved already. Irene was not a little envious.

‘Why would she destroy the computers?’ Murphy asked.

Thomas shrugged. ‘Beats me. Most of our work is on paper.’

And Emily didn’t touch the books and files.

‘Bradamant suspected something was wrong with Emily,’ Harry piped up from the other side of the room. ‘Why?’

‘She was secretive,’ Thomas said. ‘Disappeared a few times during our last mission.’

And Bradamant didn’t approve of secrecy unless she was the one indulging in it. Although, given what had happened today, maybe her instincts had been on point for once.

On the screen Emily had just about finished smashing up everything in sight. She gave the place another thorough look over and then calmly stepped through the door into the Library, leaving a perfect tableau of destruction behind her.

‘She could have gone everywhere,’ Kai exclaimed in dismay.

‘She’s gone back to B-457,’ Thomas predicted.

Everyone turned and stared at him.

‘Because that’s where the book comes from?’ Kai asked.

Thomas shook his head. ‘Because that’s where she comes from,’ he said. ‘It’s Emily’s home world. It’s why we were sent to retrieve the book; because we had a local expert.’

From what Irene had read B-457 was not a world to be attempted by the uninitiated, so that made some sort of sense. So far every clue pointed straight at the place, although all of it was circumstantial evidence.

‘If she tries to get there through the Library,’ Irene said, ‘she’ll need help to open a Traverse. She can’t do that; she doesn’t have the Language yet.’

Unless she really panicked and fled into the Library without thinking about it, she would have known that once in, she couldn’t get out on her own. And since the attack seemed premeditated, they’d have to assume the same was true for her escape. Which meant that, as a nice worst case scenario, she had help from inside the Library itself.

A traitor.

Oh, Irene had no illusions about the Library and the people who ran it. The game of politics was played there as well as everywhere else. But the last traitor, the last and only traitor, to come out of the Library was Alberich, a cautionary tale to scare the new recruits.

And with good reason.

Could it be that there was another?

Before her thoughts could run away with her and lead her down a rabbit hole of unlikely paths – contrary to what she liked to think, Alberich was not the source of all of life’s ills – Thomas cut in. ‘The Library keeps records on who goes through the Traverses, doesn’t it?’

Not exactly. ‘On who opens them,’ Irene corrected. ‘But it might pay to have a look at the records for the B-457 Traverse anyway.’

At the very least it gave them a place to start.

‘I’ll interview Bradamant,’ Harry offered.

He didn’t say that Bradamant was marginally more likely to speak to Harry than she was to Irene. Besides, Bradamant had hired him to a job for her.

Irene nodded. ‘Maybe some of your sources have heard something too?’ she asked carefully, because she didn’t know if Murphy knew anything about Harry’s devoted Faerie following.

Harry thought about it, then shook his head. ‘Not if it happened here, or in the Library.’

Which made sense, now that she thought about it; chaos couldn’t enter the Library, so the Pizza Guard would steer well clear. And if interesting events happened in B-457, they’d not be there either, or the levels of chaos would be higher.

Shame really; Irene rather liked the little pizza enthusiasts.

‘I’ll go with you,’ Kai announced to Harry. Presumably to keep Bradamant in line, though he was wise enough not to mention it. ‘And then Thomas can go with Irene.’

Irene wasn’t a big fan of splitting up, but she could see his reasoning. And, if push came to shove, Kai could get himself out of this world and back to B-395. And he was certainly no match for a book-throwing – of all the things to do with a book! – traitor, whereas Thomas was still looking somewhat cross-eyed.

Irene always thought that vampires were supposed to recover faster than this. Or they were, and Emily had done something else to Thomas that stopped him from bouncing back as fast as he usually did. Not exactly a nice and comforting idea.

Irene felt as if she had stuck her foot into a hornet’s nest and the consequences were as unpleasant as could be expected.

As cases went since she had been placed on probation, so far so normal.

Chapter Text

Murphy refused to go.

I tried to explain that the Library was its own entity, with its own jurisdiction over its own affairs, and that it seemed likely that most of the problems originated in another world entirely, which made it not Chicago PD’s problem.

Murphy disagreed. ‘The crime was committed in Chicago,’ she pointed out, daring me to contradict her.

The bump on the back of Thomas’s head did make it hard to argue with that. He had refused to sit this one out too.

‘We might have to go to another world to solve this,’ I said.

‘Can’t be more dangerous than Arctis Tor,’ Murphy insisted. ‘Or do you need a special bracelet to get in as well?’ She narrowed her eyes at me in a way that suggested she had successfully called my bullshit.

That’s the problem with lying to your friends; at some point the truth is going to catch up to you and you’ll be forced to explain what you did and take the consequences.

‘You don’t need a special bracelet,’ I said, without much hope that she wouldn’t push the matter.

‘Why not?’

Kai hurried to my rescue. ‘Because B-457 is not so steeped in chaos that lack of protection would corrupt your very nature, Miss Murphy,’ he explained. ‘If Harry had gone to Venice without protection, you would not now recognise him as Harry Dresden.’

That shut her up, although not for long. ‘You get involved in the strangest cases, Harry.’

She’d get no argument from me on that one.

‘Don’t leave without me,’ she ordered.

I hesitated, but getting in Murphy’s way usually didn’t end that well for me. Or any malevolent Faerie for that matter. It took a lot of guts to shoot someone like the Erlking too, and she hadn’t hesitated then either.

So I told her I wouldn’t and then distracted her by asking how she had known that something worthy of police attention had happened. Murphy had just shown up without explanation. Not unusual for a Knight of the Cross, but Murphy wasn’t a Knight.

‘Bradamant called,’ Murphy said.

Before she was knocked over the head, I presumed.

‘Why?’ Kai asked suspiciously. ‘She had already called Harry, hadn’t she?’

Murphy shrugged. ‘She didn’t say.’ Which sounded like Bradamant. ‘She only said that she was sure she was about to be attacked and to send assistance at our earliest convenience.’

Thomas hadn’t mentioned it. Of course it remained to be seen if Bradamant had told him the chance even existed that he was about to be clobbered over the head in the near future; it’d be easier to get a straight answer out of one of the Sidhe than to get any information out of Bradamant.

Interviewing her might be an experience not unlike pulling teeth.

One of the many joys of a wizard’s life.

‘How’d SI get stuck with that?’

Murphy grimaced. ‘The Library’s classed as the kind of thing no one wants to deal with, so we got it. Someone has to think of plausible explanations for all the property destruction.’ She gave me a bit of a look, although I couldn’t see how any of the Library’s antics were my fault. I just happened to associate with them.

My current associate assumed an air of wounded innocence that failed to convince Murphy. I didn’t even try.

‘I’ll see if I can track down Emily Ashwood on this end,’ Murphy said.

I expected she had fled into the Library, but it couldn’t hurt to eliminate the possibility, so I handed over the picture of the suspect that I’d got from Thomas. The book-throwing Valkyrie didn’t look like much of one. According to Thomas, she was of a height with Murphy, might even be an inch or so smaller. She had the kind of petite build that wasn’t much conducive to the martial arts. In the picture she smiled angelically, holding a book as if she was posing to have her portrait painted.

I thought she looked like trouble.

But maybe the fact that I knew she could take down a vampire and a tough-as-old-nails Librarian had something to do with that.

Something didn’t add up.

So Kai and I set off for the hospital to find out what that was. Molly tagged along, but I didn’t think she and Bradamant were ready to spend time together, so I left her grumbling in reception.

‘She could come with us,’ Kai said, gesturing back at Molly.

I shook my head. ‘She means well.’ She had meant well when she had messed with the heads of her friends too. ‘But she doesn’t have the judgement to go with her good intentions.’ And she reached for the magic solutions too easily for my liking, which was tricky enough when she did it in my lab, but disastrous if she did it in a hospital, where her powers could take out someone’s life support by accident.

It was hard enough for me to keep a lid on things long enough to not do exactly that.

Fortunately Bradamant was nowhere near the ICU. She’d been badly beaten up, but not badly enough to need life support. Three of her four limbs had fractures, three ribs had broken, another four were badly bruised, and she had too many contusions to count. The nurse on duty declared that she also had a concussion and, because of that, might be a little grumpy. I resisted the urge to tell her that the grumpiness was a personality trait rather than the result of any injury.

Kai too refrained from commenting.

We congratulated ourselves on our self-control when the nurse moved out of earshot.

We found Bradamant sitting up and complaining to another nurse. You could hear her from three corridors away, demanding that she be allowed to leave immediately and scoffing at the idea that she had a concussion on the sound logic that she had never had one before.

We almost turned back there and then.

‘Good afternoon,’ I said when we walked in.

The nurse turned to us with obvious relief. ‘Visitors!’ she exclaimed. ‘Isn’t that nice?’ she asked Bradamant.

The patient clearly didn’t share the sentiment. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s you.’

The nurse, clearly sensing we weren’t welcome any more than she was, beat a quick retreat. I couldn’t blame her.

‘You called,’ I pointed out.

She huffed. ‘Yes, and if you had shown up straightaway, this,’ she made an expansive gesture with her unbroken right arm, ‘wouldn’t have happened at all.’ Another one who thought everything was my fault.

I didn’t point out that the reason I was late – my apprentice – at least didn’t knock me over the head with my own books.

I sat down in the chair provided, because that’s what you did when you visited the sick. Kai chose to remain standing, so that he could loom menacingly at the foot of the bed. I kind of wished I had thought about that first. But Kai could play bad cop as well as I, so I dug up my friendlier side to be good cop.

‘What happened?’ I asked, trying to sound sympathetic and understanding.

Bradamant looked at me as if I had been knocked on the head with a four pound book. ‘I was attacked by my own apprentice,’ she snapped.

‘Why?’ I asked, because while I could definitely understand the impulse, something must have triggered it.

Bradamant seemed… uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know.’

Well, that was a lie. But on the premise of don’t offend the paying customer, I gave it another try. ‘When you called me, you didn’t expect to be attacked. You asked me to investigate someone.’

The apprentice, obviously.

Bradamant glared at me on general principle. ‘Well, yes. My apprentice, Emily Ashwood.’

My finely honed detective skills had led me to the same conclusion. ‘Yes,’ I said in the same tones as you would to a particularly slow child. Or the recently concussed. ‘But why?’

She didn’t appreciate my tone. ‘Other than the fact that she hit both myself and my assistant, you mean?’

‘You didn’t know she was going to do that when you called me.’ We were getting nowhere fast. ‘What made you suspicious?’

‘Her behaviour during our last mission.’

‘To alternate B-457,’ I said, to show that I had already done some homework.

Bradamant continued as if I hadn’t spoken at all: ‘It’s her home world. The societal rules are complicated. They have an extensive etiquette. If your manners aren’t up to scratch, you could get arrested.’

Which made it a minor miracle Bradamant was still at liberty. The silence both Kai and I observed probably spoke volumes.

She pretended not to notice. ‘Emily was brought along as our local expert.’

‘Thomas said you managed to get your hands on the book,’ I said, trying to hurry her along. ‘So she must have done something right. What tipped you off that she was up to something?’

‘It took some time to obtain the book,’ Bradamant replied. ‘So we stayed as the guests of the Librarian-in-Residence. We didn’t think anything was wrong at first, until the butler approached me one morning because he had seen Emily climb out of a window three nights in a row and did I know about that?’

‘Where did she go?’ Kai asked.

Bradamant glared. ‘I don’t know. I tried following her the night after and lost her. Thomas went the night after that, and he nearly got arrested. I think she was onto us by then, and alerted the authorities.’

The more I heard about this girl, the more she sounded like trouble.

‘And you still took her back with you?’ Kai asked incredulously. ‘Did you at least report it to a senior Librarian?’

Since that would have been the sensible thing to do, naturally Bradamant hadn’t bothered. ‘We had nothing tangible. She could have been out meeting a lover. Or she could have met an informant of her own, trying to get to the book without help.’

Because that was definitely what Bradamant herself would have done, getting the prize herself so she could make her colleagues look bad.

‘Judging by recent events she wasn’t meeting a lover,’ Kai remarked dryly.

‘Clearly.’ She turned back to me. ‘There’s something else.’

There usually was. The only question was if she was going to tell me without prompting or if I had to drag the information out of her inch by inch. ‘Yes…?’

‘I’m not sure she’s doing this of her own volition.’

I hadn’t seen the camera recordings up close, but even from all the way across the room, I could have told you that no one held a knife to the apprentice’s throat. She’d gone about her business in a matter-of-fact way, as if she did this every day, nothing special whatsoever.

‘Why don’t you start at the beginning?’ I suggested.

‘I did,’ Bradamant snapped.

I don’t think she was used to having to ask for help – although technically, she hadn’t actually asked anything yet – and she didn’t like it. She needed my help, but she’d be much happier not needing it. Tough luck; she wasn’t going anywhere covered from top to toe in plaster casts and bandages. I’d had clients like that before, but Bradamant effortlessly managed to place herself at the top of the list.

I had another go at patience. Fortunately, having an apprentice had given me plenty of practice at that. ‘Today,’ I said. ‘What happened today, Bradamant? Walk me through it.’

For a moment it looked as if she might snap at me again, but then she thought better of it. ‘Nothing special, at first.’ She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Her usual self-confidence had taken a hit along with her head. ‘We came back from our mission in B-457 yesterday evening.’

‘Emily’s home world,’ I nodded, trying to hurry her along a bit. Normally I’d be happy to let the witness do all the talking, but Bradamant had a concussion, and I wanted to get everything I needed from her before an angry doctor chased me out or my wizard thing broke some piece of sensitive equipment.

‘She seemed preoccupied, but I didn’t think she knew I suspected her.’ She noticed my face, and added: ‘Obviously she knew we had tried to follow her, but during the last few days her behaviour was exemplary, and she didn’t have any more nightly escapades, so for all she knew we were convinced she had mended her ways.’

Or maybe Emily knew what kind of paranoid piece of work her mentor was and had simply bided her time. I kept that thought safely inside my head and asked instead: ‘Could she have overheard you when you called me?’ It seemed the most obvious answer.

She scoffed. ‘I’m not a novice! I know what I’m doing. I waited until she was out to make a purchase with Thomas.’ Until she was alone in the office.

So the attack could be part of some premeditated plan or Bradamant hadn’t been as discreet in her suspicions as she had thought. Also not impossible. Bradamant and discretion were not on first name terms.

She was already irritable enough, so I decided not to mention that. I didn’t want to find out how much of a punch she could pack with a plaster cast. ‘And then?’

‘I called you.’

‘I was there for that bit.’

‘You took an age to answer.’

I declined to comment.

‘I could already tell you were going to be late,’ Bradamant continued snootily. ‘So I called the police too.’

‘You told the police you thought you were going to be attacked,’ I pointed out. ‘But you didn’t think you were about to be, not then.’

Bradamant huffed. ‘Well, I had to get them to take me serious somehow. And I was attacked.’

I could understand why. ‘And then?’

‘Five minutes later Thomas and Emily came back. Thomas had some files to update and I asked Emily to reorganise the bookshelves. And then she attacked us.’

It took considerable self-restraint not to point out that I had seen that she hadn’t lifted a finger to help Thomas. Kai had more trouble; a faint pattern on scales danced over his hands and face, a clear indicator of a Dragon with a fraying temper.

‘No warning?’ I asked. ‘Did she say or do anything that you think was odd?’

Bradamant contemplated that. ‘No. I don’t think so. Well, maybe… She might have whispered something, just before, but I didn’t catch it. And it didn’t seem important later.’

‘Could it be magic?’ Kai asked. The scales had disappeared again. ‘Her world of origin has it.’

‘Not that I know,’ Bradamant said, shaking her head. ‘She has never performed any magic where Thomas or I could see. Even in her alternate not everyone has magic. It doesn’t run in her family. I assumed she was one of those without. But I think we can agree that there are several things we didn’t know about that little traitor.’

I was pretty sure I would have to find out before I’d sit at home with Mister in my lap again. The next few days looked challenging.

Cases involving the Library were never easy. Or injury-free.

‘Why did you think she didn’t do it of her own free will?’ Kai demanded. ‘It doesn’t look like that to me.’

‘Because of something she said,’ Bradamant replied.

I couldn’t help myself. ‘Before or after she hit you on the head with Shakespeare?’

‘After.’ She tried to look dignified, but that’s a hard look to pull off in a hospital gown. ‘She bent over me when she took my book.’

Kai and I waited, but Bradamant had reverted back to factory settings and made us ask. ‘And then?’

‘She said that she was sorry, and that she didn’t want to do this.’

I hadn’t met many people who went around apologising for knocking someone out. ‘And after that?’

‘She hit me with the book again and I passed out,’ Bradamant said. ‘I assume that sometime after that you finally showed up and called an ambulance.’

So she was sorry, but not sorry enough not to do it again. Great. If I’d had any lingering illusions about this case being simple, they vanished into thin air.

Kai frowned. ‘Why was the book in your office?’ he asked.

Bradamant startled.

I didn’t get it, but Kai explained, probably for my benefit, since Bradamant would be familiar with Library protocol: ‘Any books retrieved on a mission are supposed to be sent directly to the senior Librarian who authorised that mission. You came back here through the Library, so you had the opportunity to deliver the book, but you didn’t. You took it with you into this alternate. Why?’

Judging by the look on Bradamant’s face she had very much hoped that we wouldn’t have worked that out. Not that Bradamant ever had trouble bending or breaking the rules, but maybe this was the kind of rule a Librarian could get into very serious trouble over.

She didn’t look at either of us when she answered: ‘Emily asked if she could read it first.’

Kai’s eyebrows jumped up. ‘And you let her? After you already suspected her?’

‘Of having a lover,’ Bradamant snapped. ‘Not this!’

Fair enough.

‘Well, it looks like she planned it,’ Kai said, looking down at her. ‘She’d never get her hands on the book if it disappeared into the Library, so she made you hold on to it for easy access.’

‘I know that!’

Although hindsight couldn’t fix the problem. Still, something didn’t make sense. ‘If you only thought she had a lover in B-457, why did you call me?’

‘Just in case it was something else,’ said Bradamant, the world’s leading authority on professional paranoia. ‘Which it clearly is. I need you to find her.’

‘The Library has sent its own agents,’ I said, gesturing at Kai. And although no one had actually said as much, I got the impression that the Library had taken over the case.

That needed a few moments to sink in and then she swore in a language I didn’t speak. ‘That’s why he’s here. I take it Irene is around here somewhere too?’

‘You really should have alerted one of your superiors,’ Kai said unsympathetically.

I wondered how much hot water Bradamant was in, but it was probably safe to assume that it was more than she could handle. There was nothing more Bradamant could tell us that I hadn’t already heard from Thomas, so we left her to stew. The unfortunate nurse due to check up on her got a chewing out we could hear all the way in reception.

‘And?’ Molly asked when we joined her.

‘And I am dropping you off with your parents,’ I said. ‘I’m going to have to go to another world. You’re not ready for that.’

And from what I’d heard about B-457, that world wasn’t anywhere near ready for particoloured hair and a ton of attitude.

‘I’m never going to be ready if you don’t let me learn,’ she complained.

How to explain this? ‘Molly, you’re still very new at this. I barely know what I’m walking into here. I won’t have time to mentor you. And one wrong step could get us arrested there. Can you honestly tell me you would do as I told you, without argument?’

Molly opened her mouth and then closed it again. She had her faults, but dishonesty wasn’t one of them.

‘I’m giving you the key to my apartment,’ I said, to soften the blow and because I did need someone to feed my cat while I was away. ‘You can feed Mister and continue your studies. Your book studies,’ I added hastily. ‘Nothing practical.’

Her face fell, but she nodded.

It would be a good test to see if she was ready to handle a little more responsibility. I didn’t like leaving her unsupervised, but she’d have to learn sometime. And it was better than the alternative, taking her along into the kind of situation she definitely was not ready for.

‘So I’m going home?’

‘I’m taking you home,’ I agreed. I wanted a word with Michael anyway. Not that he needed me to tell him to look after his daughter, but I’d feel better if I did. Turns out that mentoring comes with a greatly increased sense of responsibility.

Kai managed not to comment on the state of the Blue Beetle, but his face spoke volumes.

‘Snob.’

‘You could just get a bigger car,’ he grinned. ‘Maybe one that talks to you and tells you when you haven’t closed your door…’

I told him where he could stick his bigger car.

He informed me that was not anatomically possible.

Molly rolled her eyes, but slid into the back seat without comment.

I used the drive to get some thinking done. Not unusually, I had no idea what I was really getting into, except that it felt like somewhere below the surface lurked a lot more than I was currently seeing. Not my favourite sort of case.

‘How long will you be gone?’ Molly asked when she got out of the car in front of her parents’ house.

‘I don’t know.’ And not my favourite answer to give either. How did I keep getting involved in cases like this?

Michael opened the door before I could knock. ‘Harry. Molly? Has something happened?’

‘No one’s hurt.’ Except Bradamant, and I wasn’t sure I cared that much. ‘I have a case.’ I gestured behind me at Kai. ‘Library business. In another world.’

He didn’t ask me why I didn’t take Molly along. ‘What do you need?’

If I asked him to come along, he would. So I didn’t. I didn’t think Knights with big swords were on trend right now. ‘Just look out for Molly while I’m away. She has permission to use my apartment to continue her studies and feed my cat.’

‘And your dog?’

I shook my head. ‘I’ll take Mouse with me.’ He liked Kai and Irene – the gigantic box full of treats had made him even fonder – and he was a better judge of character than most people. I’d like him sniffing out the good and the bad in a world where I didn’t know the rules. And I’d like him to have a good long look at apprentice-turned-traitor-turned-possible-damsel-in-distress as well.

Michael gave me a meaningful look. ‘What about Lasciel? Is she coming too?’

Kai and Molly were both out of earshot; I’d checked.

‘She’s still there. She’s… quiet, lately.’ It might have worried me a bit more if I hadn’t known that she wouldn’t get anywhere with my subconscious either. ‘Another world is the best place to take her anyway. She doesn’t like it. She knows I can’t get to her coin from there even if I wanted to. And she doesn’t like other worlds either.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Unknown territory,’ I explained. ‘She doesn’t do too well with not knowing.’

Michael didn’t take this as the reassurance I’d meant it as. ‘Harry, you’re underestimating her. She’s old. She understands people. Making her angry only motivates her to destroy you. And she will.’

‘No, she won’t.’

I had pushed her to her limits after Venice, and she had almost beaten me down then. But I had come out on top, because I had an ace in the hole.

‘Harry…’

I didn’t let him finish: ‘I told her that if I started to suspect I was losing control, I’d come straight to you.’ And she had been meek as a lamb since then. Plotting revenge, probably. Whatever progress we’d made in our working relationship had been spectacularly flushed down the drain. But so long as she didn’t bother me and didn’t show me things that weren’t there, I wasn’t that bothered about it.

Michael promptly shut up. We both knew what that meant.

‘Be careful,’ he said at last.

‘When am I not?’

Michael said nothing in a way that spoke volumes.

Chapter Text

The Library was dimly lit. Irene had noticed before that some of the lights had been shut off or didn’t seem to be giving off quite as much light as they should, but she had dismissed it as a figment of her imagination. Besides, she’d had bigger problems. But it seemed even darker now than it had been on the way to G-692, and she couldn’t so easily dismiss it anymore.

Something wasn’t quite right.

‘Is it normal for it to be this dark?’ Thomas asked, bursting Irene’s happy bubble that this was all in her head.

‘No,’ Irene said. She had been in and out of the Library for practically all her life, and this had never happened before. The lights were always on. They didn’t get turned off, because you never knew where a hurried Librarian would come in and you couldn’t leave them trying to find their way back in the dark, could you?

But now shadows lurked in corners and the absence of light plunged entire corridors in ominous gloom. Irene tried to convince herself that this was not some omen of ill-fortune, completely unconnected to the matter of a treacherous apprentice, but she couldn’t find enough arguments to support that hypothesis. But she didn’t really believe in coincidence either. Two major problems occurring simultaneously seemed a bit of a stretch.

Thomas looked at her face, correctly surmised that Irene didn’t have any answers either, and wisely didn’t ask any more questions.

It saved Irene the need to answer that she didn’t have the faintest idea either. Only a sudden sense of impending doom that everything she knew and trusted in was falling apart at the seams. The Library never had traitors – save one – but now it had. No Librarian was ever attacked inside the Library, but now one had been. And the Library’s lighting never failed. Until today. It was too much change – and not for the better either – in too little time.

‘We’ll need to see Coppelia,’ Irene said. Junior Librarians didn’t usually get access to the kinds of records they were after, but, given the severity of the situation, an exception might be made.

‘Not Kostchei?’ Thomas asked, but he grinned.

It took some effort not to ask him what he made of Bradamant’s mentor. Safe to assume he wasn’t a big fan. On the other hand, he’d been working with Bradamant for the better part of a year and he hadn’t run screaming for the hills yet. Maybe he liked that sort of character.

‘Coppelia authorised the mission,’ she said instead. ‘Requests related to that mission go through her first. Good to know for your Library career.’

Whatever that may turn out to be. Thomas’s role wasn’t against any rules that Irene knew of, but she’d never heard of any Librarian having a permanent paid assistant in an alternate before. Technically, Thomas had no official standing. He wasn’t a Librarian, he wasn’t an apprentice. And he was a vampire to boot. They hadn’t had one of those in the Library before. Ever.

If Thomas sensed the thousand-odd questions Irene had, he didn’t let on. ‘I’ll keep it in mind.’

The closer they came to the offices of the senior Librarians, the more people they encountered. Irene knew some of their faces, but most were young recruits, apprentices or newly initiated. No one walked around alone. Many had their heads bent together, whispering.

It was one more oddity. Ordinarily people had no problems talking at normal volume. Unlike many libraries in the alternates, no one would shout “shush!” in your ear if you chatted with your fellow Librarians.

So what has changed?

And is it related to our new mission?

Irene knew better than to expect that Coppelia would trip over herself in her haste to provide Irene with useful answers, but they might at least learn something.

Thomas leaned in close to Irene’s ear and did some whispering too: ‘Some of them say that Traverses are malfunctioning.’

‘Beg pardon?’

‘Traverses. Malfunctioning.’

So she had heard that right. Irene shivered. It must be one of those myths young Librarians told to scare each other. Irene had heard and told a few of her own in her apprentice days, some far more far-fetched than this. Everyone knew that Traverses didn’t malfunction.

Just like the lights never failed.

She shivered again.

Before her mind could run away with her – was it Alberich, was the Library falling apart, were they getting invaded, what is happening, should we run? – she took a firm grip of it and said: ‘That’s not our mission. We have a job to do. Let’s do it.’

Thomas looked at her. Was it the lack of light or were his eyes more silvery than the grey she was used to? Up close it was a bit hard not to notice how very, very attractive he was. Maybe that’s why his eyes stood out so much.

Thomas grimaced, closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. When he opened them again, they were simple grey again.

Right, vampire. Funny how she kept forgetting that he wasn’t actually human. Probably had something to do with the fact that he looked very human. Very handsome, but otherwise normal. Which was what made him so dangerous. Or potentially dangerous. If Irene’s information was correct, his kind could kill with a kiss.

But Harry thought that Thomas was all right, and Irene trusted him. More to the point, Mouse liked him, and Irene definitely trusted him to tell the good guys from the bad guys. As far as she was concerned, Mouse had earned himself a lifetime’s worth of ear scratches, belly rubs, and treats, as well as her unwavering faith in his character assessment abilities.

Besides, Thomas hadn’t killed Bradamant yet, and everyone knew she likely had given him plenty of motivation for wanting to throttle her. Therefore his self-control must be phenomenal and Irene had no need to fear for her safety.

That settled, she returned to the matter in hand. ‘It’s likely nothing,’ she said, but didn’t really believe her own words.

‘And if they’re right?’ he demanded. ‘What if we want to go back to G-692 and we can’t?’

Irene meant to say that there was nothing to these whispers, but found that she couldn’t. On any other day, she’d have laughed about the very idea. But not today. When everything was already so out of sorts.

‘Then we find a Traverse that still functions and wait for Kai to find us.’ He’d told her before he could find her wherever she went. ‘He doesn’t need the Library to cross worlds.’

Thomas considered that answer, reached the conclusion that he wouldn’t get anything better than this, and nodded.

Coppelia’s door was closed, but when Irene knocked, her mentor called that she could enter. Irene opened the door and beckoned Thomas to follow her in.

‘Irene.’ You’d have to know Coppelia well to detect the surprise in her voice. Irene knew her very well. ‘And Bradamant’s assistant. To what do I owe the pleasure?’ You’d better tell me what you are doing back here after I’ve sent you out only hours ago is what Irene correctly translated from that sentence.

She hurried to oblige. ‘The apprentice Emily fled back into the Library after the attack,’ she reported briskly. ‘We have reason to believe she will try to return to her home world, B-457, and that she might have an associate there. We would like to see the records for the Traverse to that alternate.’

Coppelia studied first Irene, then Thomas. ‘Eight out of ten for concise reporting. You have however failed to mention how you reached the conclusion that she returned to B-457.’

‘She has nowhere else to go,’ Thomas said, matching Irene’s briskness every inch of the way. ‘And her behaviour on our last mission to B-457 suggests that she has an associate in that alternate. She took some extreme measures to avoid Bradamant and myself following her.’

‘Such as?’ Coppelia asked sharply.

‘Setting the authorities on us to have us arrested when we attempted to follow her on one of her nightly exploits.’

Judging by Coppelia’s face, this was the first she heard about that development, and she likely had some thoughts about Bradamant’s lack of action concerning her apprentice’s behaviour. Irene had a few of her own, but they wouldn’t get them anywhere now. ‘We could plunge into B-457 blind, but I’d rather have confirmation that she is not still lurking somewhere in the Library with some other scheme.’ Especially now that she had plenty of shadowy corners available to hide in.

‘Sound reasoning,’ Coppelia nodded. ‘And something that occurred to us senior Librarians as well. I have already requested and received the crossings into and out of B-457 for the past four weeks.’ She smiled meaningfully at Irene. ‘You are not the only one who can conduct an investigation.’ She retrieved two pieces of paper from her desk and slid them over to Irene and Thomas’s side. ‘Tell me what you make of that.’

Irene studied the records. Nothing much stood out at first. The alternate’s Librarian-in-Residence made a few trips in and out – not unusual. Two weeks ago Bradamant had opened the Traverse, going in. Yesterday she had opened the Traverse, going out.

‘Unknown?’ Thomas asked, finger tapping on the entry of this morning. Someone had gone into B-457, but the Library hadn’t known who?

Irene frowned. Maybe there was something in those whisperings that the Traverses didn’t work properly after all if this one had failed to record who had used it.

Coppelia’s face gave nothing away, but her voice did: ‘Unknown,’ she confirmed, equal parts disapproval and something Irene suspected was very close to worry.

‘What does that mean?’ Irene asked.

Coppelia’s face became very disapproving. ‘I should think that I shouldn’t have to explain the meaning of such a common word to you.’

Deflection instead of answering. That couldn’t be a good sign. ‘Why did the Traverse register “unknown”?’ Irene asked instead, although she was sure Coppelia knew very well she meant that the first time. Delay was never good either.

She had a very bad feeling about this whole thing.

‘Much better,’ Coppelia said. ‘The answer is that we do not know. Generally, all Librarians are recognised by their brand. It could be that the problem is with the Traverse.’ Irene’s mind drifted back to the rumours now flying around the Library. ‘Or, although this possibility is extremely unlikely, someone who is not a Librarian somehow found a way to open the Traverse.’

Emily, maybe, breaking out. The direction and timing of this particular use of the Traverse certainly lined up. The question remained how she had done it. The Traverses had been made so that only Librarians could use them. Magic from the alternates had no effect on them whatsoever.

Or so Irene had always been told.

She and Thomas exchanged a glance. Thomas didn’t seem particularly worried, but he didn’t seem about to a happy dance either.

Irene could practically smell the complications and all the trouble that came with them.

She hesitated briefly, because the chances of getting a useful answer were almost nihil, but going in without all the available information would be even worse, so she asked anyway: ‘Could the trouble at the Traverse have something to with the other malfunctioning Traverses?’

As predicted, that got shut down immediately: ‘That is none of your business, Irene,’ Coppelia said sharply.

Ordinarily Irene would have been content with that answer, but not today: ‘It seems it has some bearing on my current mission. I don’t much like the idea of getting stranded in an alternate with no way back.’

‘You won’t be,’ Coppelia said dismissively, but Irene wasn’t sure she bought it. ‘Your task is to focus on retrieving the book and the apprentice. Do whatever else you think necessary, but get it done as quickly as possible.’

Irene weighed the chances of getting better answers if she pressed on now, but decided against it. ‘Can I call in assistance where I think it’s needed?’

Coppelia studied her carefully. ‘Only if they already know about the Library. You are not authorised to initiate anyone else.’

Well, that shouldn’t be a problem. Karrin Murphy already knew all about the Library, and the other person she wanted to draft in also knew more than enough. ‘Understood.’

‘Speed is of the essence, Irene,’ Coppelia warned. ‘The Library needs this book, so if the choice is between the book or the apprentice…’

‘Understood,’ Irene said again, trying and failing to suppress the cold shiver down her spine. Coppelia could deny that this mission and the faulty Traverses had anything to do with each other until she was blue in the face, but Irene didn’t believe her. Something was going on, something important, and she was kept in the dark very deliberately.

‘Then I suggest you stop dawdling and get to work.’

Irene nodded, gestured at Thomas to follow her, and went to work.

‘I have been to B-457,’ Thomas said.

‘I know. You’re our local knowledge.’ So was the local Librarian-in-Residence, but given recent developments Irene thought it best to approach everyone not vetted by Mouse with extreme caution. ‘But there are far too many mysteries for my taste. We need a detective.’

Thomas’s eyebrows jumped up. ‘Harry?’

‘Harry and someone else.’ Harry did have an uncanny knack for getting to the right information, and so did Irene herself, but she could also admit that neither of them were in the running for Most Subtle Person of the Year. A mission in this particular alternate required a light touch, and possibly some undercover work. And she’d never met anyone who could disguise himself and blend in anywhere so well as Vale. ‘We’ll need to make a quick detour to get him.’

Thomas nodded.

Besides – and this she didn’t mention – she worried about Vale. She hadn’t seen much of him, but his behaviour had been… strange. There was no information – and Irene had spent her scant free time ploughing through the Library’s database – about what exactly excessive amounts of chaos did, what symptoms could be expected, over what time period these things happened… The only thing she did know was that Vale could, potentially, become Fae himself. Because he had some Fae in his ancestry. And because he fit the archetype of Great Detective so well. Becoming Fae for him would be easy.

And Irene hated it.

So dragging him to a more orderly world might not revert him back to normal, but it might at least slow the chaos down, or contain the chaos infestation in some way.

Not that she’d tell him.

He might deduce it for himself.

Of course, there was the minor issue of transporting someone chaos-contaminated through the Library. The Library wouldn’t let him in. But Irene imagined that she could simply send Kai to pick up Vale, transport him between worlds the Dragon way, and find her again once she stepped foot in B-457. Kai claimed he could track her down in some sort of mysterious Dragon way.

Time to put that to the test.

They had a bit of a walk ahead of them, so Irene distracted herself from the whirlwind of her own thoughts by asking some pertinent questions: ‘What’s the world like? B-457?’

‘Complex,’ Thomas grinned. ‘Easy to get arrested.’

Because of course nothing about this mess of a mission would be easy. ‘How’s that?’

‘Manners are subject to fashion,’ Thomas explained. ‘And what manners are fashionable changes as often as the weather. And if your manners aren’t up to date, well, you obviously don’t belong and if you don’t belong, you must be a French spy.’

Oh, bollocks. ‘And who determines what’s fashionable? The King? Parliament?’

Thomas shook his head. ‘Nope. The Society for the Promotion of Good Taste. They publish a helpful pamphlet several times a week with the latest updates about what is in and what’s out: Fashionable Manners, An Instruction for the Guidance of Polite Society.’

You could fill an entire pamphlet with that title alone. Irene felt a headache coming on. She hated worlds like that. In most alternates she could blend in with very little effort. Maybe people might think she was a bit odd, or her accent made her stand out, but her usual defence – a visitor from abroad – might get her arrested instead of giving her a free pass to be just a little different.

Getting arrested as a French spy didn’t feature on this week’s itinerary.

‘It’s more than just manners, right?’ she asked. ‘The Library’s database suggested what’s fashionable covers a wide range of topics.’

‘Mostly manners, clothes, and magic.’

Yeah, that might be a problem. Harry had Opinions about magic and the proper use thereof. Somehow Irene didn’t think he was going to take the concept of fashionable magic at all well.

Thomas laughed at her grimace. ‘Harry’s going to hate it,’ he predicted. ‘When we were there, it was all the rage to do summonings. Right now, who knows?’

‘Is it a problem if you can’t do magic?’

‘Not everyone can, so no.’ He grinned. ‘I got by on my good looks.’

‘Well, it clearly wasn’t your humility.’

‘Humility wasn’t considered a virtue last week.’

‘Lucky you.’

They both laughed. Irene decided she liked him.

‘So how did you get into all this?’ she asked, making an expansive arm gesture to indicate the Library. ‘Did Bradamant threaten you? Blackmail you?’

‘She offered me a job. I took it.’

Irene tasted a world of history and trouble behind those words, but also a flat refusal to elaborate. In that way he’d make an excellent Librarian; he’d never blab information he’d been told to keep to himself.

Irene couldn’t think of anything else to say, so they made the trip to the B-395 Traverse mostly in silence. She instead rehearsed her arguments for persuading Vale to come with her. Not that she thought she needed many; dangle a good mystery in front of him and he’d be off like a bloodhound. But what with him being so perceptive, there was every chance he’d figure out her ulterior motives for getting him off-world too, and he’d refuse to budge out of sheer contrariness. He didn’t like manipulation at all.

It's for his own good, Irene reminded herself. After all, he’d sustained the damage throwing himself headlong into danger for Kai’s sake. Irene owed him. They might not have made it out of Venice if it weren’t for him. And he hadn’t known what the risks were when he took them. Did it really matter if he knew nothing about her repairing the damage without his knowledge?

Irene checked both of them over before they crossed into B-395. Neither of them were dressed for it, but Thomas already wore a long coat; the standard Librarian uniform for when the local fashion had yet to be acquired. Irene could probably get by on the long skirt and blouse she already wore. They wouldn’t be here long enough to need to purchase anything.

The London of alternate B-395 may be filled with smog so bad that scarves worn in front of faces had become the permanent fashion, but it had begun to feel like home, like a place of her own to return to. Irene felt a pang of… something at realising it might be a while before she sat down with Kai in their lodgings again.

Those quiet moments had been too few and far in between lately, and she was, she realised, so tired. Dodging all over the known alternates might ensure she saw quite a lot of places and met a lot of people, but this alternate felt like home, to some extent. This was where one of her friends lived. This was where she had a place of her own to share with Kai.

She missed it.

They took a cab to Vale’s place. Thomas managed to take everything in without gawping like a tourist on his first trip abroad. Reluctantly Irene had to acknowledge that maybe Bradamant had actually known what she was doing for once when she picked him for the job. He certainly demonstrated the traits so encouraged in new recruits.

Maybe he’d make full Librarian one day.

Vale was at home; the lights were on. If he’d been out on a case, she’d have no idea when he’d be back. Irene might have been unable to wait for him, and she really wanted him on this case.

He opened the door himself. ‘Winters.’ He looked at Thomas. ‘A new associate?’

‘Bradamant’s assistant,’ she corrected. ‘Vale, this is Thomas Raith. Thomas, Peregrine Vale, the best detective I know.’

Vale arched an eyebrow. ‘Flattery is no use, Winters. You wouldn’t be here unless you required my help.’ He stepped aside to let them in. ‘Where have you left Strongrock? He has not been spirited away to strange places again?’

‘No,’ Irene said. ‘Not this time.’ Although she did keep her eyes open for any suspicious types with dubious designs on him. Or anything that might reactivate that wretched death curse. Neither she nor Harry had been able to determine if that thing was done now, or if it would periodically raise its ugly head again. Like malaria. ‘I have a difficult case. And I need your help. There’s a missing book and an apprentice turned traitor, currently on the run.’

‘Is that all, Winters? For a moment I thought you brought me something interesting.’

Irene didn’t reel back in shock, but that took effort. Vale had always been brusque, but he had never been this rude. He had changed, and not for the better. But how could she undo it?

‘It’s not simple, actually,’ she said, focusing on the task in hand. ‘The apprentice attacked another Librarian inside the Library. And she managed to open a door into an alternate on her own, which someone who isn’t a full Librarian isn’t able to do. Or shouldn’t be able to do.’

Fortunately, that did the trick. Vale’s eyes sparked with sudden interest. ‘You should have led with that.’

Irene proceeded to dangle tantalising bits, just to make sure she had reeled him in good and proper. ‘Or so we think. The Traverse was opened by someone “unknown” and that has never happened before, but the time and destination track with the traitor’s suspected movements.’

She left out the little snippet of Emily taking down a pretty injury-proof vampire with nothing but Shakespeare – weight of the book notwithstanding – because quite frankly, that was not her story to tell. Thomas himself didn’t really mention his vampirism unless he really had to, so Irene assumed he was a bit uneasy with the topic. If he wanted to inform Vale, that had to be his choice.

Unless, of course, Vale puzzled it out for himself.

‘No need to overegg the pudding, Winters.’ Vale smiled knowingly, but it was a friendlier smile, and the words were not so cold.

He’s still there. We’re not too late. So the sooner she could drag him into a higher order world, the better.

‘Come in. It is late, and you are ready to keel over.’

Irene opened her mouth to protest that, but realised she couldn’t. She tried to remember when she last slept, but it must have been sometime during her last mission – before her involuntary dip in a cold lake – and try as she might, she couldn’t quite determine how much time had elapsed since.

Library jetlag.

Not uncommon, especially among journeyman Librarians. They traipsed all over different alternates, sometimes in rapid succession, each with its own seasons and time zones. You could be in the midst of a winter night one moment, then in a summer afternoon an hour later, only to end in a Library where time did not exist at all. Small wonder that people got confused and disorientated if they did that long enough. The course of action recommended to cure Library jetlag was fortunately quite simple: one simply had to spend several days in one time and re-establish a good day-night rhythm. Alternatively one could remain inside the Library, provided they kept up a strict routine, though most found that hard to maintain, given that time inside the Library never moved at all.

Irene didn’t see either happening in her immediate future. Staying the night, getting a bite to eat, and sleeping for a couple hours was all they had time for.

‘All right,’ she relented. ‘Just a few hours.’

Chapter Text

By the time morning came around I had got pretty tired of my own head. Or, more specifically, its occupant. Lasciel’s initial sulk at the prospect of an off-world case had escalated overnight into what felt like full-scale panic.

‘I don’t know what you’re so upset about,’ I commented – inside my own head – as I rummaged around my tiny kitchen for something to eat. My faerie cleaning service kept my shelves well stocked, but mostly stocked according to their own preferences. And I drew the line at pizza for breakfast. ‘If you don’t want to see it, you can stay at the back of my head and talk to my subconscious.’

She flickered into being at the edge of my vision. After our trip to Venice she had settled on a Roman-style tunic as her standard outfit, although if she hoped to tempt me into anything with that skimpy dress, she’d be in for a rough awakening. I like to think I am not that shallow. ‘You throw yourself into danger deliberately, my host.’

‘No one’s tried to kill me yet,’ I pointed out. ‘And you don’t know someone will try to kill me. It’s a very mannered world, apparently. Killing someone might be considered bad manners.’

Not that this prospect didn’t cause me some concerns. After all, after I had stopped laughing at the idea of Bradamant getting arrested for a lack of polite behaviour, Kai had reminded me my own record in that area wasn’t spotless either.

I had begrudgingly admitted that he had a point.

Never mind, I’d dazzle them with my magical prowess and have all my bad manners completely overlooked.

Lash scoffed.

‘You know well enough that any case that involves the Librarians turns out highly dangerous,’ she reminded me. ‘You nearly died last time.’

I really didn’t need her to refresh my memory. Venice and the Train ride that followed had been making repeat performances in my nightmares these past few months. ‘I only very nearly died,’ I said. ‘So long as I don’t actually die, it doesn’t count. Besides, I promised to help.’

More because Thomas was involved, and I had to admit that the subsequent drafting in of Kai and Irene had only made it more enticing.

‘You have no obligation to them,’ Lasciel observed. ‘They owe something to you.’

‘They’re my friends,’ I retorted. ‘Friends don’t keep score.’

And I didn’t agree with her reasoning anyway. Kai incurred a death curse fighting one of my enemies, which made everything that happened after at least partly my fault, which made it my responsibility to fix it. We were even now.

Not that it mattered.

I sensed an emotion from her, but she suppressed it too quickly for me to get a read on it. I always thought it a little unfair she had an access all areas pass to my head, but she didn’t extend the same courtesy to me.

She only huffed in response.

I had hit a chord somewhere, though, and I thought I knew which one. ‘Right, I forgot, Denarians don’t go in for friendship.’

‘Friendships only weaken you, my host,’ she said. ‘Case in point, your last mission that featured Librarians. Oh, and the one before that.’

I had a quick vision of the highlights of my brief acquaintance with Alberich and shuddered in spite of myself. I retaliated with the highlights of my brief acquaintance with the Order of the Blackened Denarius, which would have been considered too extreme for even the most diehard horror fans.

She gave me a reproachful look.

‘You have done nothing to disprove my point.’

‘If it weren’t for Kai, your buddy Cassius would have bashed my brains out of my skull.’ And I was pretty sure I owed my continued existence to Kai – and to Irene too – a few more times since then as well. ‘And I didn’t see you lift a finger to save me.’

That shut her up.

‘Harry? You all right?’

I returned to the here and now with a bit of a jolt. I’d got so caught up in my in-house conversation, I’d kind of forgotten I wasn’t actually alone in the house. When it turned out that Thomas and Irene wouldn’t be back before midnight, I’d offered Kai the dubious comforts of my sofa. Neither of us could get into the Library without help, so we’d decided to give them until about twelve o’clock to come back on their own. After that, we’d kidnap Bradamant from her hospital bed and have her open the door to the Library.

We had four and a bit hours left until that happy event.

I considered lying, but if I started lying to my friends, I didn’t know where it would end. ‘Talking to the voice in my head,’ I said, which stunned both Kai and the voice in my head. I got the unflattering looks of disbelief in stereo.

Lasciel was at a loss for words.

‘Beg pardon?’ said Kai.

‘The voice in my head,’ I repeated helpfully. ‘The one that belongs to Lasciel, one of the Fallen. Her real self is locked in my basement in a cursed coin, but I touched the coin and now her shadow self hangs around my head trying to tempt me into digging up the coin.’

Kai’s expression changed to one of deep concern. ‘An evil entity lives in your head?’ The evil entity in my head took grave offence. ‘How long?’

I shrugged. ‘Few years.’

‘You had it when we first met?’

Lasciel didn’t like getting called “it” either.

‘Yep.’

Given how long it had taken me to confess my unwanted tenant to Michael, confessing to Kai was surprisingly easy. Of course, Kai didn’t have a big fancy sword that all the Denarians knew to fear. Instead he could turn into a winged beast that could kill me with one swipe of his claws. But I was pretty sure he never would. At least not until every other option had been exhausted. Michael had a duty to deal with me if I toppled off the rails. Kai didn’t. Maybe that made it easier.

‘Could we destroy the coin?’ he asked, pragmatically.

That thought had honestly never occurred to me. I blinked. Lasciel said nothing in a way that spoke volumes.

‘Like the One Ring,’ Kai continued, warming to his own theme. ‘Or a Horcrux. Or…’

Lasciel’s horror at the idea morphed into barely contained panic. ‘I think she gets the idea,’ I said, grinning. As solutions went, I think I preferred that one to the alternative.

The grin disappeared. ‘So where have you left the coin?’

In anyone else I would have suspected that the person asking had at least a little interest in potentially using the coin for himself, but this was Kai. He had more power than I could use in ten lifetimes. He didn’t need anything more. I didn’t think there was anything Lasciel could even teach him.

So I answered without hesitating. ‘Summoning circle in the lab. Under two feet of concrete.’ Which likely posed no challenge to a Dragon at all.

Kai straightened up. ‘Can it hear me?’

‘She hears what I hear, sees what I see.’ I’d grown used to that. Or rather, I didn’t think about it too much, which was better for my continued sanity.

Kai nodded solemnly and looked at me directly. ‘Then hear me well, evil creature. If you harm Harry Dresden or lead him down your wicked paths, I swear that I shall find your coin and destroy you utterly, every last bit of you.’

Lasciel didn’t cower. Not exactly. But I got a distinct whiff of discomfort that she did her best to hide.

‘Message received and understood,’ I reported.

‘It had better remember it,’ Kai promised darkly. ‘I am not at all sure we shouldn’t explore some options when we’re done with the angry apprentice, regardless of its continued good behaviour.’

‘We’ll hold it as a surety against her good behaviour,’ I said. ‘She’s supplied some useful information before.’

‘Your choice,’ Kai agreed.

‘I’ll keep you posted.’

We had breakfast in peace. Lasciel melted back to the very back of my brain, either plotting or hoping I forgot all about Kai’s suggestion. Mouse parked himself next to Kai and was rewarded by choice pieces of bacon and all the ear scratches he could wish for.

‘It’s not springing Bradamant from hospital that’s going to be the problem,’ Kai said as he fed a very grateful Mouse another bite. ‘It’s stopping her from going with us to B-457.’

Part of me thought it might be handy to have another person along who’d been there before, but not if the person in question happened to be swathed in plaster casts, and not if that person was Bradamant. How Thomas could work with her without running screaming for the hills remained a bit of a mystery to me. Besides, I could get us all arrested for breach of etiquette without help anyway.

‘Could Irene overrule her?’ I asked. ‘Because it’s her mission?’

Kai grimaced. ‘Maybe, but Irene’s still on probation. She doesn’t have a lot of authority right now.’

‘She’s still on probation?’ I counted back. It had been over half a year since our trip to Venice. I found that probation unfair to begin with, since we had actually prevented a war, got rid – temporarily at least – of some major troublemakers, and returned home with Kai in one piece. And, if I’d understood Lord Guantes right, Alberich stirred the whole thing up to begin with, and he was the Library’s own problem. Irene should have got a commendation for thwarting his plans, not punishment.

‘Library politics,’ Kai explained. ‘She should have waited for orders. Never mind that the senior Librarians would have ordered her to go after me anyway.’ His expression became suitably grim. ‘And they blame her for losing me in the first place.’

The more I heard about the Library and its internal politics, the more sinister it sounded. They might be the good guys. They certainly did good work. But their hierarchy and rigid adherence to orders gave me the creeps.

‘Anything I can do to help?’ After all, I had done the most damage. Not that I thought the Ten were going to send an invoice.

‘You’re already doing that,’ Kai pointed out. ‘If we get the traitor and the book, they might be suitably pacified enough to restore her to favour.’ He grinned at me, eyes sparking with mischief. ‘How do you feel about book theft?’

‘Never done it before.’

I may have broken a lot of rules – and yes, before you say anything, a lot of buildings too – and I had taken the Field Museum’s dinosaur for an unauthorised ride, but since I never planned to keep it, that didn’t count. Actually stealing something was a new one for me.

‘Welcome to my world,’ Kai said.

‘We find the apprentice, we find the book,’ I predicted optimistically.

Kai shrugged. ‘Unless she’s sold it. Or burnt it. But we’ve heard that an eccentric old book collecting professor has another copy. In his very own Fort Knox.’

If it came to that, the only question probably was if it’d be me or Irene that brought the house down. Maybe I should add “Cause less property damage” to my New Year’s resolutions list, where it could go the way of most people’s New Year’s resolutions.

Kai gave me a knowing look.

I did my very best to look innocent. Unfortunately, after you bring down an entire tower by yourself, people really don’t believe you when you claim not to destroy every building you enter.

A knock on the door saved me from actually having to make that claim. Mouse got up, wagging his tail. Good people.

Thomas and Irene brought news, and not the kind that brightened my morning. Because not only could the pretty Miss Ashwood knock out vampires, she could also most likely now open doors that should only be opened by full Librarians, because an unknown entity – i.e. not a Librarian – had somehow managed to open the Way into B-457. Another mystery.

Because we didn’t have enough of those already.

‘Then I thought we could use an extra detective on the case, so Thomas and I went to see Vale,’ Irene concluded. She shot me a mostly apologetic glance. ‘One who’s slightly better at… ehm…’

‘Subtlety?’ I suggested cheerfully.

‘Blending in?’ Kai offered.

‘Having a filter between his brain and his mouth?’ Thomas smiled angelically.

Irene blushed. ‘All three, actually,’ she admitted. ‘And everything’s just got more complicated.’

We sat down and Irene filled us in on what we’d missed, which apparently included the mysterious and unprecedented failures of the doors between the Library and the alternates.

My finely honed detective senses told me I was in over my head. Again.

Kai and I ran briefly through our frustrating interview with Bradamant. Thomas’s eyebrows tried to climb off his forehead when I told him that maybe Emily had been acting under duress, and Irene didn’t seem to buy it either. Fair enough, since I wasn’t sure I bought it either.

‘So, what’s the plan?’ Kai asked. ‘Other than going after Emily Ashwood? How are we going to find her in B-457?’

‘We’ll have to see what the situation is when we get there and decide based on our findings,’ Irene said, Librarian-speak for: no idea what we’re going to find, but we’ll make it up as we go along. ‘The local Librarian-in-Residence has a big house where we can stay for as long as we need to, so we’ll get the latest news from there.’

Normally I wouldn’t mind charging straight in, but in a society as complex as the one we were going to, it might pay to get the lay of the land first. Not my usual style, but there’s a first time for everything.

‘Do they have anything against dogs?’ I asked.

Irene seemed relieved. ‘Not that I know of.’ Mouse sat down beside her and pushed his nose into her hand in a shameless show of affection. ‘Have you run out of treats yet?’

I had treats until the end of my natural lifetime, and I told her so. ‘Where’d you get them from?’

‘A-782,’ she replied. ‘Most of Europe and Asia have a thing about pets, and apparently they have the best pet stuff in all the known alternates. It has a fascinating influence on their literature too, you know.’

‘Shall we go?’ Thomas suggested, interrupting what was sure to become a lengthy diatribe on A-782’s literature.

Irene opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again without saying anything.

So we went. I made sure to call Murphy to tell her to meet us at Bradamant’s office. If it were up to me, I’d have left her here, but wild horses couldn’t stop her from doing something she’d set her mind on, and she was a big girl. If she wanted to come, that was her choice.

And I kind of liked the idea of her watching my back.

So long as I got to watch hers.

I had packed most of my wizard paraphernalia last night. My ring was charged, my upgraded shield bracelet in great condition, staff and blasting rod polished. I had packed a few potions and a few ingredients, mostly to shut up Bob – who wasn’t coming, because talking familiars were currently out of style in B-457 – and shoved it all in my trusty bag. Irene’s gift of a wizard hat I had “accidentally” left on its shelf.

Thomas noticed. ‘Hats are all the rage right now,’ he informed me gleefully. ‘Especially if they are pointy and have pretty little embroidered stars. You really do need to be fashionable.’

I considered hitting him over the head, but refrained. My self-control was improving in leaps and bounds since I had acquired an apprentice.

Kai set off alone, to find a place where he could change into a Dragon and take off without alarming everyone within a five mile radius. He’d collect Vale from B-395, and fly him into B-457, where he’d find us again.

‘How?’ I had asked.

‘Easily,’ Kai replied. ‘I’ll just follow the trail of destruction.’ He disappeared before I had thought up a witty retort.

We made it to the library without incident. Not that I expected trouble, not unless Bradamant had discharged herself from hospital and decided to join us. But we remained happily Bradamant-free.

‘Harry?’ Irene insisted on accompanying me up the stairs instead of taking the lift with Thomas and Mouse.

I suspected ulterior motives. ‘Yes?’

‘It’s a bit embarrassing, actually.’ She stared hard at her feet. ‘Coppelia asked me to… limit the damage in B-457, if we can. The material damage, that is. Apparently you and I have gained a bit of a reputation.’

‘Did the Council of Ten find somewhere to send the invoice?’

Irene shrugged. ‘She didn’t exactly say. But the Library’s resources aren’t limitless and we are instructed to be mindful of that fact.’

I didn’t say that I usually didn’t begin a mission with the intention to leave a bread crumb trail of ruined structures behind me, but I couldn’t deny that some of my more recent cases hadn’t progressed incident-free.

‘You agree with her?’

‘The professional Librarian is encouraged to conduct himself or herself with calm, competence, and cunning,’ Irene said, trying and failing to come across as stern. ‘They keyword is discretion, you know.’

‘That’s what you think?’

‘I think,’ Irene said, deadly serious, ‘that if this apprentice lashes out, or if Alberich shows up, or if anything tries to kill us, that I don’t mind if you bring down entire neighbourhoods. Leave Coppelia to me.’

I latched onto the familiar name. ‘Alberich?’ Speaking of complications we could do without. ‘Is he involved?’

‘He wasn’t supposed to be involved in the Darkhallow,’ Irene said. ‘And if Guantes hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t have expected that he had anything to do with Kai’s kidnapping either.’ And he was involved in both. ‘He hasn’t been banished from B-457. He could be there.’

‘You think he has anything to do with the doors failing?’

‘I think he hates the Library. He’s not exactly shown restraint before.’

I remembered that without any helpful comments, so Irene didn’t give me any.

‘Understood,’ I said.

We made the rest of the climb in silence.

Murphy and the others waited at the door to the office.

‘Ready?’ I asked.

Murphy answered by way of an eyeroll. ‘This isn’t my first rodeo, Harry.’

And she survived the attack on Arctis Tor just fine. What was another alternate compared to that?

‘It’s a bit of a walk,’ Thomas warned us. ‘About two hours.’

‘Not that far,’ commented Irene casually.

I knew the Library had to be big. Any place that contained the literature of hundreds of worlds had to be. It’s something else hearing that a walk of two hours to get from one Way – or Traverse, to use the Library’s own terminology – to another was just “not that far.”

‘Don’t you lot have lifts or something?’ Murphy asked.

‘We have rapid transfer cabinets,’ Thomas replied. I noted the we in that sentence. ‘But they are for emergencies only.’

‘And only for those who don’t get motion sickness,’ Irene muttered under her breath.

Someone had cleaned up a bit in Bradamant’s office. The furniture had been placed back in its original position, the files and books piled up haphazardly on the desks. The debris of demolished furniture had been placed out of the way, against the far wall. The shelf still stuck out of the computer case, though.

Irene, as the only Librarian in our little group, had the honour of opening the door. Murphy clearly anticipated some fanfare – perhaps her first encounter with the professional book thieves had given her some unrealistic expectations – but Irene only stood in front of the door and said: ‘Open to the Library.’

I felt nothing. Usually I can sense it when someone nearby is working magic, and it doesn’t matter if that someone is human, Fae, or Dragon. But with the Language I got nothing. The only thing that gave away that these weren’t just ordinary words was the weight of them. They felt heavier, pregnant with meaning and intent. But the working itself eluded me. I could only see the results.

She opened the door and beckoned us through. All of us had been in the Library before, but for Murphy it was all new. She stood still for a moment, pivoting on the spot to take it all in. ‘It looks like a library,’ she observed eventually.

‘Just a lot of library,’ I agreed. With dimensions and windows that didn’t make any sense. In its own way it made less sense than even the jumbled mess of the Nevernever. We passed windows that looked out on scenes we couldn’t reach. We passed through corridors that winded and turned seemingly back onto themselves. My sense of direction is usually functional enough, but I lost it in here. Even Irene needed to consult maps now and then.

And everywhere, there were books; crammed into bookcases of all shapes and sizes, or stacked on whatever surface happened to be available nearby, which included the floor. My own collection looked meagre by comparison.

And I would like it noted: I didn’t drool.

Irene must have noticed, though. ‘I’m sure part of your pay for this job could be done in books,’ she suggested slyly.

I made some plans to buy a few extra bookcases. I’d figure out where to put them later.

Thomas rolled his eyes.

The Library looked a lot like the dreamscape where Lasciel had first appeared to me. I was pretty sure this was a coincidence, because she had never been in here.

As if thinking about her had summoned her, she projected a vision of herself next to me, falling into step. She broke out the librarian get-up for the occasion. ‘This place is dangerous, my host.’

‘You think everywhere you don’t understand is dangerous,’ I retorted.

Having said that, something about the Library seemed different than yesterday. It took me a while to figure out what exactly, until I realised that some of the titles seemed a bit difficult to read in the dim light. It had definitely been brighter yesterday.

Lasciel nodded in agreement. ‘But that is not the source of the danger. Something sinister is woven into the very fabric of this place.’

‘Like what?’

But she didn’t answer and she faded from view.

It should worry me that she had shown up twice in one day without being called, but the dimly lit endless corridors took up most of my attention. I wouldn’t have noticed anything wrong if I hadn’t been in here yesterday and if the two people who knew the Library didn’t seem so uneasy. Irene and Thomas weren’t exactly nervous, but they were very vigilant and exchanged meaningful looks every once in a while.

Just in case I wondered if this half-dark was normal.

It seemed unlikely; you definitely couldn’t read a book by this light. I wondered if it had anything to do with the malfunctioning Traverses.

The Traverse to our destination world came as a bit of a surprise. It was just a wooden door. I had seen the inside of the Traverse to my world and that must have been the same kind of door. Originally. I couldn’t tell for sure, because it was hardly visible beneath all the posters warning the wandering Librarian to KEEP OUT! because my world happened to have a CHAOS INFESTATION! And, just in case the wandering Librarian thought that rule did not apply to him, there was a nice reminder that yes, That means you too! A more recent addition – recognisable as such because it was taped right over all the other warnings – noted that exceptions only applied with written permission from the Librarian-in-Residence. Since Bradamant was the Librarian in question, that probably never happened.

B-457 must be a safer world; no warnings applied.

Irene gave us all a quick onceover. ‘At least we’re all wearing long coats,’ she said. Not the ringing endorsement I’d hoped for. ‘Ready?’

As a now experienced world hopper, I nodded. The others did the same.

‘Open,’ Irene commanded.

The door opened onto a dimly lit storeroom. We shuffled through the door single file.

And then froze in unison as from behind a row of cupboards half a dozen guns were pointed right at us.

Chapter Text

‘Halt!’

Irene obeyed on instinct. The Language could do much, but she couldn’t outtalk a flying bullet.

Apparently her compliance didn’t mean anything to the trigger-happy gentlemen on the other side of the room; they fired anyway.

Harry saved the day. He was right behind Irene. Unlike her, he hadn’t bothered to stop moving, so he had his left arm angled over her shoulder. He muttered something under his breath and the shield flashed into existence mere inches from Irene’s face. Just in time too; the first bullet slammed into it half a second later.

The shield expanded in a riot of colour. Lines of blue and green and purple intermingled into a tight weave of magic that stopped all the coming bullets in their tracks. It was hard to say who was most surprised by this: Irene or the mysterious attackers. It took all her self-control not to stagger back, away from the danger, and stay in her place so she didn’t disrupt Harry’s working.

‘Hold fire!’

The shooting stopped. Harry kept the shield in place all the same.

‘Identify yourselves!’

‘I was about to ask you the same thing,’ Harry said conversationally. ‘Usually I annoy people before they try to kill me.’

It was hard to see anything. The room was lit by a single candle, so she hadn’t got a good look before all the action started. Now the light from the shield blocked her view. On the positive side, the assailants didn’t get a clear view of her party either.

‘You are under arrest,’ the officer announced.

‘For what?’

‘Espionage, sir,’ the officer answered. ‘But I fear we must add gross indecency to the charge.’

Stunned silence followed.

‘Beg pardon?’ Irene said.

‘You are guilty of performing magic contrary to the Good Taste Act, subclause B: Acceptable Sorcery and Assorted Arts. Drop your shield and surrender, or it will go the worse for you.’

Irene had read a bit about the laws. Not that much – the Library’s information was not that detailed – but enough to know that capital punishment was still alive and kicking. Especially for such crimes as murder, treason, and espionage.

And guess which charge we just had levelled at us.

Irene had her suspicions about this turn of events, but now was not the time to dissect the causes. Deal with the crisis first, everything else later.

‘Keep the shield up,’ she muttered as softly as she could. ‘Don’t let them see our faces.’

She felt more than saw him nodding his agreement. ‘Any plans?’

The others hadn’t actually come through the door yet, so it came down to her and Harry. Irene squinted. ‘Six men,’ she observed. ‘Maybe one or two more? Could you do something with that?’

The thought had occurred to compel them to see things her way, but she had done that once, in Venice, and she had promised herself she wouldn’t do that again. Ever. Besides, who knew how many men still lay in wait beyond this room?

‘If you can do something with their guns?’

‘Done. On the count of three?’

‘Silence!’ thundered the officer. ‘Drop the shield and surrender!’

‘One,’ muttered Irene.

‘Or what?’ Harry shouted. ‘You’ll shoot us?’

‘Two.’

‘I will have it noted and put on your records that you resisted arrest,’ the officer declared. ‘Contrary to the Behaviour of Prisoners Act.’

Of course a society like this would have codes of conduct even for prisoners. Irene had a sinking feeling they regulated the life out of everything. Hard to keep up with even for the natives. For someone from outside this society it was impossible. Which she supposed was the whole point of it.

‘Three. Guns, jam!’

Harry dropped the shield. ‘Forzare!’ he shouted. The energy rushed past Irene and battered the arresting officers at full force. The cupboards went over with a crash they’d probably hear in Paris. Several human-shaped forms got trapped underneath. The remaining unlucky ones were blown off their feet and slammed into the far wall.

More sounds of breakage ensued.

Irene winced.

On the upside, their opposition no longer demanded that they surrendered, on account of all of them being unconscious after that little show.

‘Time to go, I think,’ she said.

Harry pushed past her with a grin, indicating the state of the room. ‘That must be some kind of record. We’ve not even been here five minutes.’

‘Didn’t you say something about discretion?’ Thomas chimed in, successfully laying claim to the moral high ground.

Irene wisely said nothing, mainly because she didn’t exactly have a counter argument.

It must be nighttime in the London of this alternate, because the rest of the building was as dark as the room through which they entered. No more law enforcement officers showed up, but they crept very carefully to the exit all the same.

The Traverse came out in the British Museum, like it did in B-395, but the layout of the building was ever so slightly different from the one Irene knew. Fortunately, little signs pointing out the way to the exit could be found at almost every corner, just in case the visitor ever lost his way.

The other information boards were far more fascinating and far more worrying at the same time. Signs and information boards scattered around the building informed the visitor of such things as not touching the exhibits – reasonable enough – moving around the room in an anti-clockwise manner – strange – and avoiding eye contact with people wearing gloves – baffling. Most of them seemed like they were fairly new – except the ones about not touching anything. Maybe they put up new boards whenever the current trend in manners changed.

Irene tried and failed to fight the sinking feeling that she was vastly underprepared for a mission like this.

‘How did you manage when you were here before?’ she asked Thomas.

‘Mrs Smith’s butler,’ he replied promptly. ‘He knows what’s what.’

Since the butler was nowhere in evidence right now, that was no use whatsoever. ‘And how did you get there?’

‘Stealthily.’

The route out of the building remained mercifully incident-free. They didn’t talk and they sneaked around like thieves, but the precautions proved unnecessary. But better safe than sorry, Irene thought. And that at least was a Library-approved motto, she thought with not a little relief.

The doors to the outside had been locked, though that did not detain the determined Librarian. ‘Door, unlock and open.’

The door unlocked and opened without fanfare.

The streets outside were deserted and, more importantly, dimly lit. Even better, a thick fog had moved in and reduced visibility even further. Of course, Irene’s merry band wouldn’t see any stray law enforcement officers before they bumped into them either, but perhaps Mouse would smell them and give a timely warning.

Thomas took the lead. He must have a remarkable memory to be able to find his way in the darkness and the fog, but then, it had only been a few days since he was here before. Irene for one was happy to follow.

This London turned out to look very different from the one Irene knew, and not only because a lot of streets had different name than the ones she was used to. Many of them appeared to be named after people she’d never heard of, heroes from history maybe. The signs too appeared to be subject to regular changes, perhaps as the people the streets were named after went in and out of fashion. She wouldn’t like to be a mapmaker or mailman in this city. How would anyone keep up?

It wasn’t just the street names, though. The layout of the place was different too. Streets forked in unexpected places, or were wider or smaller than Irene knew them. Some streets that she knew as residential looked like shopping districts or parks, and vice versa.

Thomas led them into one such park that didn’t exist in Irene’s London. It had gates, but that hardly stopped a determined Librarian, and Thomas claimed that it would have a nice spot well away from any prying eyes where they could wait for Kai, and where he could land safely.

‘Better here than in Agatha’s back garden,’ he said. ‘I don’t think he’d fit in there anyway.’

They waited under an oak tree that must have been there for ages at the edge of the indicated clearing. The night felt colder now that they had stopped moving. Irene had to stamp her feet and blow on her hands to keep warm. When she was not busy keeping her circulation going, she peered into the fog, hoping for any sign that Kai was on his way. She had no idea how he was going to find them, but he’d have a hard time seeing them in this fog.

After what felt like a small eternity, Thomas with his sharper hearing perked up, and pointed upwards. It took Irene a little longer to notice what he did, but now that she listened more closely, she fancied she could hear the beating of wings. Even so, she didn’t see Kai until he was almost right on top of them. He came gliding out of the night as if he had been born to do so, and landed gracefully in the middle of the clearing.

Murphy made a small noise of surprise, but didn’t betray any more surprise. Still, knowing you’re dealing with a Dragon and seeing one land right in front of you were two very different things. And a Dragon in flight was an awe-inspiring sight any day. Irene hadn’t grown tired of seeing it herself.

Vale slid down Kai’s back. When his passenger was safely back on the ground, Kai changed back to human form, and joined them. He must have raided his wardrobe on the way, because he was immaculately dressed, although maybe not quite to local standards.

‘Good evening,’ he said, because he was brought up to be polite. ‘What a fine evening, don’t you agree?’ He rubbed behind Mouse’s ears, and then turned to Vale to perform the necessary introductions. ‘Vale, you’ll remember Harry Dresden.’

The smallest twitch of his lips betrayed that Vale indeed remembered the wizard who had taken down one of Venice’s major landmarks. He declared it a pleasure to meet Harry properly. ‘One can only hope the need for mass demolition is not due for repetition.’

Harry and Irene neatly avoided looking at each other.

Kai wisely moved on. ‘And this fine lady is Miss Karrin Murphy of the Chicago police, a true credit to her profession. Miss Murphy, I am pleased to introduce to you Mr Peregrine Vale, the greatest detective in London.’

Pleasantries were exchanged, and then, to Irene’s relief, they set off again. She had almost lost feeling in her feet.

She fell back into step beside Murphy.

‘Has it occurred to you that our arrival was expected?’ she asked.

‘Was it the men with the guns who gave it away?’ One didn’t need to be a detective to puzzle that one out.

The more she learned about this Emily, the more uneasy she became. From the available evidence, Emily was a cold-blooded, ruthless, and exceedingly resourceful individual. She expected to be followed, and she had planned against it. Given the ruckus they had caused getting into this world, chances were Emily would know Librarians were after her.

But she doesn’t know which ones, Irene reminded herself. And she doesn’t know about Harry or Kai either. Of her own little party, Emily knew only Thomas, and she would have some reason to assume he’d be out of general circulation for a while.

‘This is where we part ways for now,’ Vale said, when they arrived back at the entrance to the park.

Irene blinked. ‘What? So soon?’

‘If I am to be any use to you undercover, I should not be seen with you, Winters,’ he replied briskly. ‘It seems that Miss Ashwood has contacts and eyes in many places. Leave it to me to ferret out those secrets. That is why you asked me to come along, isn’t it?’

Irene quickly agreed that yes, that was why she had asked him along, but he had a knowing gleam in his eyes that betrayed he knew very well she had an ulterior motive. ‘But how will you find us again?’ she asked quickly, hoping to forestall any questions she didn’t want to answer.

‘I will find you, Winters.’ He smiled confidently. ‘This is not my London, but its layout is similar enough.’

And he had his ways. He had managed well enough in Venice as well. She’d never even had a hint that he was there until he dragged their arses out of the fire at the Train. ‘Just be careful.’

He didn’t dignify that with a response.

Irene watched him go, but not for long; the mists swallowed him up almost immediately. Splitting up under these circumstances seemed counterintuitive. There was so much they didn’t know yet, and clearly Emily had lain traps to trip them up. Who knew what else she had cooked up?

Thomas led their little band confidently through the empty streets. Somewhere in the distance a solitary church bell tolled the hour: midnight. That’d explain why there wasn’t anyone on the streets except the people up to no good. Which now included Irene and company; getting nearly arrested in the first minute after stepping foot in an alternate constituted a record even for her. She determined not to mention this little fact to Coppelia. Or to Bradamant.

She caught up to Bradamant’s assistant. ‘How many patrols are usually out and about at this time of night?’

Thomas shrugged. ‘Depends.’

‘On?’

‘On how many French spies they suspect are hanging around the city.’

Irene considered the welcome they’d had and drew her own conclusions. Although why anyone would want to be out on a night like this was beyond her. Judging by the state of the trees they passed, it must be mid to late autumn and the temperature had dropped accordingly. Surely even French spies would take one look at the weather and decide that they just couldn’t be bothered right now.

Thomas perceived their danger before anyone else did. He veered off course without warning, into a nearby alley. They all followed him.

‘Police,’ he explained in a whisper.

Mouse growled low in his throat.

‘Police?’ In Irene’s vast experience, tracking down spies was usually the prerogative of some kind of intelligence agency.

‘Intelligence, but they operate as a division of the police,’ Thomas explained.

They huddled together, waiting. The fog muffled sound, but Irene heard them eventually. They marched rather than walked, a group of a dozen men at least. They seemed more military than police and, when they came into view, they certainly had enough weaponry to pass for army; every man carried a musket and sported a sword at the hip as well. This was either a part of their uniform or they expected some serious trouble.

The uniforms themselves stood out more than the men who wore them; deep dark green coats worn over cream trousers and shirts, all of it embellished to within an inch of their lives; gold braid, gold embroidery, gleaming gold buttons… The police department must be swimming in money to outfit their personnel like this.

‘It’s a criminal offence to dirty a police officer’s uniform,’ Thomas whispered. ‘Or to tear it.’

‘How do you know?’ Irene whispered right back.

‘Nearly got arrested for flinging mud at their pretty pants.’

‘Did you get away?’

Thomas smiled smugly. ‘Eventually.’

Irene remembered that he was a vampire – yes, all right, not the blood drinking type, but the level of innuendo left precious little room for doubt about what kind he was – and there were things she absolutely didn’t need to know. Though she supposed that instant seduction was a handy thing to have in one’s toolbox, if not the most subtle.

The troop of officers – that’s what they looked like anyway – marched passed. None of them looked left or right. Maybe, Irene thought hopefully, they weren’t looking for her and her friends at all.

Unlikely, given the mess they’d left in the British Library, but you never knew. She might get lucky.

‘How about a change of uniform, Murph?’ Harry asked cheerfully, followed by the telltale ‘oomph’ caused by an elbow applied sharply to the ribs. Or, given Murphy’s height, the hips. If she was feeling charitable.

Kai was sensible enough to disguise his bark of laughter as a series of unconvincing coughs.

Thomas turned back and shushed them.

He had them wait for a full five minutes before he declared it safe enough to move again. Irene couldn’t hear anything other than the sounds of their own breathing, but she didn’t have Thomas’s keener senses, so she contained her impatience and resisted the urge to stamp her feet to restore circulation; the cold bit worse the longer they stood still.

When they finally moved again, Thomas picked up the pace. Irene wouldn’t say that he was nervous, but there was an urgency to his movements now, as if he expected to run into trouble again if they didn’t get off the streets as soon as possible. He had them stick to the shadows, and more than once he made them turn back or directed them into some dingy alley without warning.

Irene never saw or heard anyone, but she felt hunted. In this wretched fog, she couldn’t see anything, and she had to rely completely on both Thomas’s sharper instincts and his sense of direction. For all she knew the mists were crawling with police officers looking for French spies. Sometimes she thought she heard something, but she was never sure. Thomas’s sotto voce muttering of curses did nothing to put her mind at ease either.

It could have been ten minutes or an hour – no other church bells to tell the hour unfortunately – it was hard to keep track of time in this place. Eventually their luck ran out.

Thomas muttered something that didn’t bear repetition and ushered their motley band into yet another alley. ‘Quiet,’ he instructed.

Not that any of them were chattering; over the course of their cross-city hike all of them had become aware that this might not be as simple and straightforward as they might have hoped, and the clever commentary had died off. Now all of them wore suitably grim expressions.

‘What?’ Kai mouthed.

Thomas, situated at the entrance of the alley, through a series of hand gestures, indicated that a group of a dozen men approached from the right and another of about twenty from the left. This might not have been a problem if the alley had an exit on the other side, but even Irene could see that it was a dead end.

‘Mist, increase,’ she said.

Mist swirled heavily at the entrance, but probably not much further than that. What little visibility there was reduced to two feet at best.

Then they waited.

Until a pair of extremely well-dressed police officers stepped into the alley. Irene and company had half-expected them, and the officers probably had good reason to suspect the alley was occupied. Still, both sides needed half a second to process the other’s presence. For an endless moment they stared at each other.

Then everything went downhill very fast.

‘In here!’ shouted the one on the left, a young man with a shock of curly brown hair and an overabundance of freckles.

Thomas punched him in the jaw before the last syllable had left his mouth, and he went down hard. His friend danced out of reach before Thomas could follow that up with a matching blow.

Kai growled something unintelligible.

Every Librarian learned early that if it wasn’t possible to be discreet and stay under everyone’s radar, it was best to launch the offence before the other party could; that way at least you had the element of surprise.

Irene raised her voice. ‘Wind, blow the mist away from us!’

There wasn’t a lot of wind to start with, but there was quite a lot when she was finished. The mist swirled away, revealing quite a lot of men in pretty uninforms aiming their muskets.

‘Muskets, break!’ Irene shouted. She tried to remember if there were any working parts of a musket that she could particularly target, remembered that some of the weapon was made of wood and amended her next command to be a bit more specific: ‘Musket wood, burn!’

That had more effect. A few officers managed to get a shot off, but most of those went wide because the men suddenly realised that their weapons were on fire. They dropped them like hot potatoes, but these men were professionals; a little setback didn’t deter them for very long. As one they reached for their swords.

The next few minutes were very chaotic. Irene had received some training in formal fighting, but quite frankly, she preferred the Language. Thomas and Kai suffered from no such trouble. Thomas liberated the sword of the young man he knocked out – presumably on the sound premise that he wasn’t going to use it for the foreseeable future – and set to with a will. He had definitely received some training and Irene couldn’t help but notice that he looked very good doing it too. Kai matched him every inch of the way. He didn’t have a sword to start with, but he made do with fisticuffs until he acquired one.

The big surprise in this entire affair turned out to be Murphy. Irene knew the tiny police woman had nerves of steel and that she was an incredibly good shot as well – as evidenced by her encounter with the Erlking – but she must have had some martial arts training, because she took on her opponents with the kind of moves one didn’t make up on the fly.

The police officers weren’t prepared for that. Hard to tell if that had more to do with the fact that she was a woman or that she struck with the kind of quick, businesslike efficiency, but she got results. Three officers would have very sore… everything come morning.

Harry wisely limited his contributions to the magical side. He was pulling his punches, though. Irene had seen him at work in Venice and she had seen him fight Alberich. Harry Dresden could be a very scary, very deadly man. She suspected he was also, beneath it all, a decent one, because he only threw his opponents around a bit, but never hard enough to kill. Not even really hard enough to cause any lasting damage.

As for herself, she got creative with the Language. She dropped her opponents’ trousers, turned their fancy jackets into their prisons, made them trip over conveniently loosened cobbles, and, when she really felt inspired, had one imprisoned in decorative fence like an animal in a zoo.

All things considered, they weren’t doing so badly.

Of course the moment she thought that was the moment the tables turned. Without any warning whatsoever something invisible wrapped around her legs and yanked her off her feet. Irene yelped more in shock than fear, although fear followed hard on the heels of the shock, because she had no idea how to deal with something like this. If she knew what was wrapped around her legs, she could use the Language to manipulate it, but good luck trying to identify something invisible.

Thomas went down next, although he fell with considerably more grace than Irene. And he was close enough to the fence of Irene’s makeshift zoo enclosure to grab the bars and hold on for dear life. Irene however had nothing useful to hand and she got dragged away from her friends further down the street.

And whoever instigated the dragging, they didn’t bother to be gentle about it.

Harry hurried to her rescue. He sent a blast of energy in the general direction of the origin of Irene’s current woes, which stopped the dragging, but didn’t release her legs. So Harry pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket and drew a circle around them.

The invisible bonds fell away.

Irene scrambled to her feet and stared into the darkness.

‘Two of them,’ Harry said, pointing. ‘Wizards.’

Irene had pieced that much together by herself, and now that she squinted she saw them too. Not as distinct people with recognisable faces – they were too far off for that – but good enough to target, although from this distance the Language was a bit tricky; the wizards had chosen their base of operations well. ‘Anything you can do from here? Reliably, that is?’

Stupid question. She was after all talking to the man who had brought down the Campanile, sunk half a fleet of pursuing boats, and contained the irate Winter Lady in a circle of barbed wire, all in the course of a single evening.

Harry nodded. ‘Stay behind me.’

Irene did not need telling twice. She wouldn’t be in his line of fire for all the world.

The majority of the fight was taking place behind them. Irene took stock of the situation while Harry did what he had to do. Thomas, hanging on to his fence with one hand, fought off four of the Greencoats at once. The wizards must still be pulling at him, because he never let go, but he was good enough at this that it didn’t seem to hinder him much.

Kai and Murphy had ended up fighting back to back. Their opponents circled them, which meant that Irene could only see glimpses of them, but they appeared to be holding their own. Possibly that’s why the wizards didn’t target them; they couldn’t get a clear line of sight any more than Irene could. She did see that they were well-protected, though; every once in a while she caught sight of a bit of fur, usually right before one of the men went down.

Irene resolved to buy Mouse a few more treats, just in case the current supply ran out.

Reassured that her allies were in no immediate danger – or at least not in more danger now that she couldn’t help them directly – she focused on what happened in the circle.

When Harry demolished the Campanile, she hadn’t sensed anything of what he was doing. The circle served as a barrier between her and whatever he was cooking up. She didn’t sense anything now, either, nothing tangible at least. But the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and the air within the confines of the circle crackled with energy, building with every moment that Harry chanted.

The wizards must be worried about it, because they sent twin blasts of lightning their way. Irene flinched, but Harry gave no visible reaction. The blasts came up against the edges of the circle with some considerable force and bounced off.

Right, magic-repellent circle. Irene usually preferred her defences to be made up of a little more than just chalk.

Having said that, the chalk was very effective. One of the energy beams hit it at an angle that diverted it to the ground, where it gouged a small crater into the road. The other bounced off horizontally and incinerated a mailbox.

Well up to our usual standard, Irene thought wryly, although they couldn’t rightly be blamed for this one.

‘Kai, circle!’ Harry shouted.

Irene was not aware that Kai even owned a piece of chalk, but it didn’t exactly surprise her either. Kai had his own way of working magic, so maybe he and Harry had been exchanging the tricks of the trade.

With the wizards temporarily distracted by their failure, Thomas fought free of his invisible ropes, and made a mad dash for Kai’s little band, knocking down several opponents on the way. He too had noticed that the wizards couldn’t get to him if they couldn’t see him, because he shoved several Greencoats between him and them.

A few of those fell victim to friendly fire, but Thomas had always already moved on by the time they could launch their next assault.

It was over in seconds. Harry smudged the line of the circle with his foot and five seconds later all the Greencoats were on the ground.

‘What…?’

‘Just sleeping,’ he explained.

Irene stared at him. ‘You put them to sleep?’

Harry grinned the grin of the cat who caught the canary. ‘They were up past their bedtime.’

The object of her incredulity was not, as he thought, that he had sent them off to dreamland, but that he had done it to more than thirty full-grown men. At the same time. ‘So are we,’ she said instead.

The others escaped naptime by seeking shelter in their own circle, but they came out when the crisis was over. All of them were a bit dishevelled, but Irene didn’t see any blood and they moved under their own power, so they had got off light. She suspected the Greencoats had tried to arrest them rather than kill them.

Murphy glanced at the houses that flanked the street. ‘No way that the inhabitants all slept through that racket,’ she observed. ‘So where are they?’

Good question. Whether they lived in a high-tech world or a high-magic one, people were people. And people, as a general rule, were incurably curious. In most places, the locals would pull up chairs and get themselves their beverage of choice to watch the spectacle. At the very least you’d expect twitching curtains as people stole stealthy glances at the action.

Not in this London, though.

The places where people didn’t at least look at what happened in their own streets were not the good places to live. You’d expect that in bad neighbourhoods with lots of crime, where seeing and knowing too much could get you seriously and permanently inconvenienced, but this was an upmarket area, with big houses, wide lanes and, presumably, lots of wealthy inhabitants.

So what are they so afraid of?

Irene considered the Greencoats and made an educated guess.

‘Staring at spectacles in the streets is a criminal offence,’ Thomas clarified. ‘Part of the Proper Civil Behaviour at Home Act, subclause 7D. Very useful for the authorities, because then you won’t actually witness them lifting your neighbour from his bed on some trumped up charge.’

‘Hell’s bells,’ said Harry. ‘And I thought Venice was paranoid. Seems the Council of Ten could have learned a thing or two from this lot.’

‘Let’s not stand here until the next patrol shows up,’ Irene said. The fog she had blown away was reclaiming lost territory. Who knew what else lurked in there? She’d had her fill of nasty surprises for one night. ‘Thomas, how far away are we?’

‘Close. Five minutes.’

‘Then lead on.’

Thomas nodded, and set off. They plunged back into the mists.

Chapter Text

We didn’t see anyone else, which was just as well; any more social interaction with the locals might end up with me doing substantial damage to a building.

Thomas must have a photographic memory, because he directed us through the streets and alleys to another alley behind a row of houses. The little gate he brought us to was locked, so Irene used the Language to get us in.

‘Are you sure this is the right place?’ Kai whispered, taking in the house. ‘It’s very…’

‘Posh?’ Irene suggested.

‘Better appointed than our lodgings,’ Kai remarked tactfully.

‘Snob,’ I said.

‘Nothing wrong with having standards.’

I had a quick look for myself, and came to the conclusion that I was in the wrong job.

The house was as quiet and dark as all the others. That gave me the creeps. No city was ever this deserted at night. There’s always someone getting to or coming from a very late or very early shift, a couple of homeless junkies, the obligatory drunk bawling songs at the top of his lungs and annoying all the neighbours. I added it to everything else that was wrong with this city. Not the same sort of unnatural wrong that Venice was, but still wrong.

Thomas crossed the garden and rapped on the backdoor in a distinct pattern: four knocks, brief pause, five knocks, brief pause again, followed by a quick succession of seven more raps. The numbers of the Library world designation. Clever.

Nothing happened. We stood in the garden, looking at the little puffs of fog our own breaths made in the cold and hoping we didn’t freeze to death.

‘I’ll open it,’ Irene offered.

Thomas stopped her before she got near the door. ‘No, you don’t. Not if you don’t want us to collect bits of you in a three block radius.’

‘Beg pardon?’

‘Mrs Smith has a very creative butler,’ Thomas explained.

And a very paranoid one.

Thomas had to repeat his knocking two more times before a light appeared in the window. A series of intriguing sounds happened before the door opened.

The man in the doorway was middle-aged, dressed in a long nightshirt accessorised with a tasselled cap that made him look more than a little ridiculous. It was however clearly understood that anyone laughing at the ensemble would find oneself at the business end of his overgrown kitchen knife.

I wisely stifled my laughter.

The knife-wielder gave us all a thorough onceover. I made sure to stand still and let him get on with it, because from the way he held that knife I could tell he both knew what to do with it and had no moral qualms whatsoever about using it on pesky intruders.

At last his eyes settled on Thomas and he relaxed. Marginally. ‘Mr Raith, what an unexpected pleasure.’ He had a very posh English accent, underlined with an edge of steel. Mr Raith, you had better tell me what you are doing here again, unannounced, or you’ll regret it.

Thomas, no stranger to threats of violence himself, smiled calmly. ‘Parker, good evening. A situation has arisen that requires more discretion than I can offer you in this lovely garden. Might we come in?’

I blinked. Thomas had answered in an exactly matching posh English accent. I didn’t know he could do that. And it wasn’t a pale imitation either. Most people can fake an accent if they work at it, but it’s never perfect, and you can usually tell it’s an affectation rather than the real deal. Thomas on the other hand spoke it as if he’d done nothing else since birth.

Parker and Thomas engaged in a staring contest from which Thomas emerged the victor; Parker did a step back and allowed us into his domain.

We walked into a warm and spacious kitchen. Parker had lit a few candles, enough to see by. The place looked like it could fit right into one of those museum exhibits, the kind where they built a fake nineteenth century kitchen for the edification of the modern person, all the better to appreciate the modern conveniences.

Well, those of us who could actually use modern conveniences without breaking them.

This was the real deal, though. This kitchen got a lot of use. It had a lived-in feel to it, with dishes left on counters, a cloth-covered bowl, eggs in a rack against a wall, and a dusty apron draped over a chair.

‘Mr Raith,’ Parker said, locking and bolting the door behind us, ‘perhaps you could perform the introductions? And then you may tell me what business has brought you and your associates to London.’

It was not a suggestion.

Thomas nodded, still smiling. ‘Naturally,’ he agreed. ‘May I introduce Miss Irene Winters, a highly esteemed colleague of Mrs Smith, and her apprentice, Mr Kai Strongrock.’ Parker remained unimpressed. ‘May I also present Seargent Karrin Murphy, a true credit to the Chicago Police Department, and my good friend, Mr Harry Dresden, and his dog Mouse.’

Mouse sat up straighter and bestowed his best doggy grin on our reluctant host.

‘My esteemed friends, may I present to you Mr David Parker, butler in the household of Mrs Agatha Smith?’ He didn’t just nail the accent, but also the correct vocabulary. Maybe it was part of Library training.

We all muttered that it was a pleasure to meet him, but I kept an eye on that knife. If the butler thought it was a pleasure to meet us, he hid it well. More likely, he rightly suspected that our unexpected arrival at his backdoor in the middle of the night was the prelude to a world of trouble.

‘I take it,’ he said, disapproval dripping from every syllable, ‘that your sudden appearance and the loud disturbance this past hour are not unrelated.’

‘We had an unfortunate run-in with several dedicated officers of the law,’ Thomas replied easily. ‘They mistook us for French spies and, in their zeal, forgot to ascertain our identities by asking questions before they attempted to detain us. An unfortunate struggle ensued.’

‘So I heard,’ Parker remarked wryly. ‘As did indeed all souls from here to York.’

I elected not to mention the fate of the unlucky mailbox.

‘Did they see your faces?’ the butler asked.

I thought that through. It had been dark, save for a few street lamps, but I’d been able to make out little more than shapes, and we’d all been in too much motion for anyone to register anything beyond general height, build and maybe hair colour. Dogs of Mouse’s size weren’t very common, though. We might have to keep him out of sight for a bit.

Thomas must have reached the same conclusion. ‘No. And we shook them off a few streets away. They didn’t see where we went.’

The butler nodded tersely. ‘And what, sir, possessed you to chance the streets at night? Are you not aware that the city is under curfew?’

‘I was not,’ Thomas said, frowning. I did some frowning myself. This hunt for French spies had sounded a lot more entertaining in Chicago. The only thing I had going for me was that no one would think I was French the minute I opened my mouth. ‘May I enquire what caused this development?’

‘I would never dare to speculate on such matters,’ the butler said virtuously. ‘All I know is that an anonymous tip was delivered to the authorities early this morning.’ He paused meaningfully. ‘It is strange that this coincided with the unlooked for return of Miss Ashwood to her father’s house.’

That answered one question at least. I exchanged a meaningful look with Kai and Irene. We’d worry about how we’d get the runaway damsel out of there later.

‘These things too may not be unrelated,’ Thomas confessed. ‘We few have been dispatched to find Miss Ashwood.’

‘And what may be your intentions with the young lady?’

Thomas’s face became grim. ‘The young lady attacked both myself and Miss Adams yesterday morning. Naturally we would like to take her back with us to answer some questions from the relevant authorities and, if possible, re-acquire the book she took with her into London.’

‘Naturally,’ said the butler.

‘I would like to speak with Mrs Smith as soon as it can be arranged,’ Thomas pressed.

The butler didn’t like that very much. ‘To presume upon Mrs Smith’s hospitality again so soon might be considered bad manners.’

‘It is part of your mistress’s duty to receive her colleagues when they come to her house on the Library’s business,’ Thomas pointed out sharply.

‘I see but one of her colleagues here,’ the butler said bluntly. ‘By your own admission, you are no true Librarian, and nor is Mr Strongrock. Your brother and the Seargent have no affiliation with the Library at all.’

‘All of us are in the employment of the Library,’ Thomas countered, ‘and charged with the execution of this mission. Perhaps you would be so kind as to wake Mrs Smith, so we may conduct our business directly with her.’

Another staring contest followed. The rest of us were wise enough not to poke our own noses in; death by vengeful butler would not look good on my death certificate.

‘I shall not wake Mrs Smith at this ungodly hour,’ the butler declared at last. ‘You may speak with her in the morning. I shall find you beds in the meanwhile. Perhaps,’ he added passive aggressively, ‘you shall recall that they are to be used at night.’

Thomas simply thanked him for his service, with an extra double helping of passive aggressiveness, just for good measure.

Mr Parker the Butler invited us to follow him and to be quiet, or we’d wake Mrs Smith and the staff. We did as we were told. I was too busy gawping in any case. The outside of the house of the house only whispered wealth. The interior screamed it. Elegant wooden furniture, expensive looking vases, luxurious carpets, pretty panelling, delicate wallpapers, large paintings… It went on and on. Someone must have known what they were doing, though, because despite all the expensive stuff, it managed to avoid looking decadent and vulgar.

‘The Library must pay well,’ Murphy observed under her breath.

I had been thinking along the same lines. ‘Well, they are professional thieves.’

The butler shot us a dirty look.

He led us up the stairs and distributed us among the available bedrooms with the bare minimum of words and an extensive collection of reproachful glances. We had clearly upset the order of his world, and he didn’t like it. Murphy, Irene, and Kai each had their own rooms. Thomas and I, on the other hand, were made to share, and instructed to keep an eye on the dog.

Mouse gave him a reproachful look of his own.

The butler remained unmoved.

The bedroom continued the theme of wealth. Two large canopy beds occupied opposite corners, weighed down with every duvet and blanket in the western hemisphere. The wooden floor was hardly visible, covered with soft rugs. Mouse found the fluffiest one, lay down, and went right to sleep.

I fell on the bed and regretted that almost immediately; it was so comfortable I didn’t want to get up again.

I tried to figure out what time it was, Chicago time. We’d gone through the Traverse maybe at eleven? Then we’d walked for two hours. In all the excitement that followed I had lost track of time, but the best I could figure out was that it would be somewhere late afternoon. Which explained why I didn’t feel tired yet.

‘When did you become an English gentleman?’ I asked Thomas.

He shrugged. ‘Since an English gentleman generally gets taken more seriously than an obvious American.’ I did notice he dropped the fancy vocabulary and tone. ‘It’s encouraged.’

I remembered Bradamant’s cut glass tones – as if she’d had generations of belittling the peasants behind her – and Irene’s careful accent free English.

‘You’re just the assistant,’ I said. ‘It’s required for you too?’

The silence spoke volumes.

I sat up in shock. ‘You’re going to become a Librarian?’

Another heavy silence.

Hell’s bells.

I hadn’t seen that one coming. Thomas was… Thomas. He was a vampire. Librarians were, as far as I was aware, all human. Besides, what would they do about his nature? He needed to feed, and I doubted the Library would supply their own people as his sustenance.

And even if they found a way around that, I’d never seen Thomas exhibit any particular love for books and reading.

But even as I thought it, it occurred to me that the lifestyle would suit him. The danger, the disregard for laws. He had the ingenuity to plan and pull of book heists, and a unique skill set that no Librarian had: the ability to seduce opponents at will, a nearly indestructible body, and fast healing if he did get hurt. Give him the Language on top of that, and he’d be unstoppable.

No wonder the Library wanted him.

It just surprised me that the attraction was mutual.

‘You’re really going to become a Librarian?’ I asked stupidly.

He sat down on the remaining bed. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’

‘But you’re thinking about it? Have they asked you?’

‘Kostchei suggested it,’ Thomas said. ‘Bradamant wouldn’t mind training me up. I said I’d think about it.’

But he hadn’t said no. He hadn’t told me either. I tried not to feel hurt.

He must have read my mind. ‘I would have told you if I did.’

I didn’t say what I thought, because even in my own head it sounded pathetic. I hadn’t had a brother for long. Or rather, I’d had a brother since I was born, but I’d only known about him for a few years and I wasn’t ready to lose him again so soon. Once he went into the Library, who knew when he’d come out again? Or if he came out again in my world at all. Irene and Kai wanted to visit, and they never got permission.

Instead I asked: ‘What about Justine?’

Justine was my brother’s girlfriend. Thomas slept with every woman who would have him – read: every single one that clapped eyes on him – but he loved Justine. And she loved him. And because they loved each other so much, they couldn’t be together. Her touch literally burned him, the downside of being what he was. Thomas needed lust to survive, but real, genuine love was poison, and that included his own.

Their love story was a regular Romeo and Juliet. Minus the dying. So far at least.

Despite all that I also knew Thomas would never desert Justine. Not while she was under Lara’s “protection.” And not under any other circumstance either.

Thomas hesitated. ‘… That’s not a problem.’

I saw many.

‘Really,’ he insisted. ‘I wouldn’t work inside the Library. I’d stay in Chicago.’

That brought me up short. ‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t age outside the Library, like regular Librarians. I already know the world and they like the idea of a Librarian-in-Residence they don’t have to replace every few decades.’

Put like that, it made sense. ‘So nothing would change much.’

‘Except that I’d be sworn to the Library,’ he said. ‘And that I wouldn’t be part of House Raith anymore.’

Just an added bonus as far as I was concerned. ‘They’ve already thrown you out.’

‘Officially, yes,’ Thomas agreed. ‘Unofficially, I’m pretty sure Lara still thinks I’m at her beck and call. If she wanted to.’

And she had the leverage to force compliance.

‘We could stage a rescue mission,’ I offered, very pointedly not thinking how the last one in the Raith Deeps had turned out.

Thomas scoffed. ‘You read too many books.’

‘Says the aspiring Librarian,’ I threw right back.

He threw a pillow at my head. I retaliated in kind and in the ensuing pillow fight we dropped the topic.

Eventually, when we both ran out of ammunition and we couldn’t be bothered to retrieve the pillows, we subsided.

‘How’s the head?’ I asked.

‘You don’t throw that hard.’

‘I meant all four pounds of Shakespeare.’

‘Head’s fine. Mostly.’ But he rubbed the back of his skull with a grimace. ‘I’d like to know how she did it.’

That made two of us. I’d been racking my brain, but for all I knew the magic in this world had nothing in common with the magic in my world. I’d seen the two wizards in the street do things I hadn’t seen before either, although I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on that invisible rope trick.

I was still considering the possibilities when I fell asleep.

And I didn’t wake up until the grumpy butler charged into the room, trailing two young men in behind him. ‘Rise, gentlemen.’

I blinked against the light. One of the young men drew open the curtains.

‘Quickly, please, gentlemen,’ the butler chivvied. ‘Mrs Smith has requested you join her for breakfast.’

My stomach made embarrassing noises in response.

I stepped out of bed, still blinking the sleep out of my eyes. The butler didn’t have time for that, because he grasped me smartly by the elbow and dragged me to one of the mirrors on the other side of the room. Thomas was quicker than I and saved himself the embarrassment of getting manhandled like a naughty child.

That was all the embarrassment he saved himself, because apparently we couldn’t be trusted to dress ourselves. My claims that I had dressed myself for at least three decades now fell on deaf ears, and I wasn’t allowed to undress myself either. Apparently that was what the young men – Parker introduced them as Leo and Tommy – were for.

Thomas, who was used to people stripping his clothes off, grinned mischievously at me.

Parker declared my duster not fashionable enough for wear outside the house – or anywhere – and my T-shirt and jeans didn’t meet with his approval either. Instead I got dressed up like a doll, with more layers than I usually wore.

In the end I looked like something out of a period piece.

Parker tutted about the length of my limbs – unfashionable – the state of my hair – too long and thus unfashionable – and the state of my stubble – you guessed it, also unfashionable. He ignored my protests and merely told me to hold still before he snipped off an ear. And even I knew better than to speak when he put the razor to my throat.

He didn’t slash my throat, but he made it very clear that he wanted to.

The real problem turned out to be my left hand. Butters was right, and it was improving, but it still looked like a melted wax candle, and I kept the glove on to protect it, and keep it out of sight. But gloves inside the house were a big social no-no, and the Fashionable Manners allowed no exceptions to the rule. I decided that Parker could stick the Fashionable Manners where the sun didn’t shine, put my foot down, and kept the glove.

His glare effortlessly communicated that we would not be friends.

I almost didn’t recognise my own reflection. I hadn’t been this well-groomed in… I searched my memory, but I suspected it had been when Susan dragged me to the party where we tried to steal the Shroud of Turin.

I instinctively shied away from that memory.

For multiple reasons.

To distract myself I moved my arms and legs. The clothing was tighter than I liked, and the restriction of the neck cloth at my throat annoyed me already. The range of movement was better than I had expected, but I still felt like a dressed up mannequin. I felt awkward and not a little like an imposter.

Thomas on the other hand wore the clothes like he had been born to it. On him the effect was effortless. People meeting him in the street would assume he belonged here.

I didn’t think they’d say the same about me.

Thomas grinned mischievously. ‘You look…’

‘Like a gentleman,’ said Leo.

‘Like a clown,’ said I.

That earned me another stern stare from the butler. ‘The dictates of fashion are no laughing matter, sir.’

I remembered that I had nearly gotten arrested for unfashionable behaviour last night, and agreed that, in this world, that was true.

I missed Chicago already, where I could be as unfashionable as I wanted.

‘He’s a wizard,’ Thomas told the butler. ‘He should have the appropriate outerwear.’

‘What outerwear?’ I asked suspiciously.

The butler and Thomas both ignored me. ‘I shall ensure the proper accoutrements are prepared.’

‘What accoutrements?’

I might as well have saved my breath. They very deliberately ignored me.

Even Mouse hadn’t escaped the attentions of the footmen and the bossy butler. One of them – Tommy, I thought – had taken on the Herculean task of brushing out Mouse’s messy fur. Unlike me, he enjoyed the attentions, and paid Tommy with head butts and a full face wash. The piece of red ribbon that was tied around his throat didn’t meet with his approval. He looked at me for help, but the other footman was doing things near my throat, so I didn’t dare to move.

And here I was thinking I had come here to track down a wayward apprentice.

Nothing about this was simple.

The butler lined us up for his professional appraisal. Thomas passed muster with a terse nod of the head and the comment that Mr Raith was the very picture of fashionable virtue, whatever that meant. I on the other hand fell victim to disapproving stares and a lot of tugging and straightening before he eventually declared that this was the best he could make of it.

Not exactly the ringing endorsement to give you confidence.

I tried not to squirm.

‘Mrs Smith expects you to join her for breakfast,’ Parker the Butler said. ‘I suggest you do not keep her waiting.’

And with that threat he herded us out of the room to meet our host. From that tone and his manners it’d be anyone’s guess if we’d be served breakfast or be served up as breakfast.

Such is the life of the wizard: you never know what you’re going to get next.

Chapter Text

Irene slept well. Waking up turned out to be a less pleasant experience. Her backside reminded her that it had had a painful encounter with the streets, and communicated that in a number of bruises of spectacular size. Irene winced when she inspected the damage with the help of the full-length mirror.

She really hoped horse-riding wasn’t the way to get around here.

A knock on the door made her restore her underwear to less revealing levels.

‘Enter.’

A maid entered the room, bearing a pretty pastel green dress and half a florist’s shop worth of flowers. ‘Good morning, Miss Winters. Mrs Smith has asked me to help you dress.’

Irene contemplated pointing out that she knew perfectly well how to dress herself, but refrained. Besides, in an alternate that placed such heavy emphasis on clothes being just right, she’d definitely get it wrong. Fashion had never been her forte.

Fortunately, the fashion happened to be vaguely Regency, with empire waists currently all the rage. That had the upside of uncomplicated dresses that were easy to move in, but the big downside of lack of pockets.

‘That’s what your reticule is for,’ the maid, Martha, said. She produced a dainty reticule that definitely wouldn’t fit a weapon of any meaningful size.

‘That’s very small,’ Irene observed.

‘You cannot go out with anything bigger, Miss,’ Martha said. ‘That’s what they do in France, you see.’

Irene did see. Sort of. The French sounded like a far more practical people than the English in this alternate. ‘Maybe people in France actually like to be able to leave the house with more than just their house keys.’

Martha shook her head ruefully. ‘That’s what Mrs Young thought too.’

‘And what exactly happened to Mrs Young?’

‘Arrested,’ Martha replied briskly. ‘Lifted from her bed in the middle of the night. Less than a week later her head was on a spike over London Bridge. Such a shame that was. You’d never have thought she was a French spy. Happily married, considered for the Society. And her with three young ones too.’

Irene’s eyebrows did their best to climb way past her hairline. ‘And was Mrs Young a French spy?’

‘Judge certainly thought so,’ Martha said. She tugged Irene’s hair up into what she assured her was the latest style. ‘You don’t question these things, Miss. Questioning treason cases is…’

‘Treason?’

‘Just so, Miss.’

Irene took a deep breath. ‘On reflection, I think I’ll stick with the fashionable reticule.’

‘Very wise, Miss.’

The more Irene saw of this world, the less it seemed a place of silly customs and eccentric fashions, and more and more like the kind of paranoid place where not having the right dress marked you out as a spy. With all the ensuing lethal consequences.

Just ask Mrs Young.

Irene reflected that the alternate itself put her and her group at a distinct disadvantage. Emily Ashwood had chosen her hidey-hole well. She was a native. She could hide in plain sight. She knew the rules. More importantly, people knew her. If it ever came to a confrontation, people would believe her word over that of the unknown suspicious strangers.

Because this mission wasn’t complicated enough already.

When Irene’s hair had been arranged to Martha’s satisfaction, the maid moved on to the artificial flowers. Not real flowers, Irene noted with some relief, just ones made out of cloth and embroidery. Flowers were in, Martha declared, and the more the better. She enhanced Irene’s hair, tied a few on pieces of ribbons to serve as necklaces and bracelets – real jewellery of silver, gold, and gems was considered decadently French – and pinned them all over Irene’s dress, until she looked as if she had been dragged through a field of wildflowers by her ankles.

‘Pretty as a painting,’ Martha said.

Pretty was not the word Irene would have used.

‘Mrs Smith is waiting for you in the dining room,’ Martha continued, blissfully oblivious as to Irene’s true feelings about her appearance. ‘Follow me, please.’

Since Irene wanted to speak with her colleague, she followed without protest.

The dining room had been fully laid, but Irene was the first guest to come downstairs. Only the host sat at the head of the table, like a queen in her own home.

Agatha Smith, Librarian-in-Residence, came as a bit of a surprise. Small, plump, and with a face like a wrinkled peach, she looked like everyone’s favourite grandmother. She was a good deal more advanced in age than was usual for a Librarian on a permanent posting. Most of them would have retired to the Library by now.

Not Agatha. And she sat so comfortably in this house that Irene very much doubted she had any plans for such a move.

‘Ah, Irene, dear, good morning,’ Agatha said warmly, greeting Irene as if she had known her all her life. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. I’ve heard so much about you.’

Irene didn’t say that she had never heard of Agatha until yesterday. ‘Thank you. It’s very kind of you to receive us at such short notice.’

Agatha gestured for Irene to sit and help herself to the food available. ‘Parker tells me something of a situation has reared its ugly head. Something to do with the sudden return of young Emily?’

Irene frowned. ‘You know her?’

‘Oh, very well, I should say,’ Agatha nodded. ‘I supervised the first part of her training. She is – or was, rather – expected to become my successor when I retire. Though I don’t suppose that will happen now.’

Irene didn’t know what to say to that, so covered for it by taking a large and welcome bite of breakfast.

Agatha smiled knowingly. ‘No, I never noticed anything suspicious about her. She always seemed like a nice girl, who loved books. She’s from a respectable family too, never a whisper of scandal attached to their name. She seemed ideal. It’s not easy, you see, training a Librarian to function in this alternate. So many rules and regulations to remember, and they change twice a week too. More often, if the Society’s feeling inspired. Occupational hazard, of course, in such an order-slanted world, but it’s very tricky to manage if you’re not used to it. So I had a chat with some of the senior Librarians and convinced them it’d be far easier to train up a native.’

Irene could follow that logic. The only thing she disagreed with was the choice of native. ‘Why did you send her on to Bradamant, then?’

‘Well, the girl may have to step into my shoes one day, but that’s no reason not to give her a well-rounded education. What use is a Librarian who can’t occasionally go to a higher tech alternate?’

Irene considered the possibility that Agatha had been in on the whole thing, but cautiously decided against it. Most Librarians were not traitors. Maybe Emily wasn’t one either. Maybe she had only acted under duress. This early in the investigation she had too little to go on. Though if Emily really had the authorities put the Traverse under surveillance, that did not bode well.

‘There’s been some suggestion she may not have acted of her own volition,’ Irene said carefully. ‘Did you ever see any signs that she was maybe getting blackmailed?’

‘No, nothing of the kind. Poor girl if it’s true.’

‘If?’

‘Well, she’s a delightful girl, I’ll stand by that, but she is a troublemaker.’

‘You just told me she’s respectable!’

Agatha tutted her disapproval in almost the exact same way as her butler. ‘I said her family is respectable, not that she is. Her parents have done their very best to keep a tight rein on her. When I told them I wanted to take the girl on as my companion, their sigh of relief nearly bowled me over. I think they quite despaired of her ever amounting to anything.’

Judging by the available evidence, Irene rather thought Emily’s parents were on to something.

Circumstances conspired to stop her from saying something of that nature. The butler marched into the room, trailing Irene’s companions behind him.

All of them had undergone a complete transformation. Even Mouse hadn’t escaped it entirely. A pretty red ribbon had been tied around his neck, but it didn’t suit him at all. You couldn’t try and pass off a dog like Mouse like a lady’s little lapdog and hope to succeed. Mouse glanced at Irene for help, since it did not come from anyone else. She beckoned him over.

Of the rest of them only Thomas and Kai really pulled off the required look. Of course, Thomas could probably wear sackcloth and still look good, and so could Kai. But for Thomas these clothes were something he didn’t normally wear and yet he still made it appear he’d worn nothing else all his life, whereas Kai actually looked more at home in these kinds of fashions than he did in more casual modern ones.

Harry and Murphy on the other hand were the image of acute misery. Relatable, in Murphy’s case. She had been forced into a wig to compensate for her unfashionably short hair, but it was just the wrong shade to suit her. She wore the same kind of dress Irene did, but in lilac, and with feathers instead of the flowers. The end result looked more severely abused peacock than respectable lady.

Irene glanced briefly at Murphy’s face and decided she’d have a longer life expectancy if she kept her thoughts on this matter to herself. Death by feather sounded wholly unappealing. And very messy.

Harry actually brushed up nice. Until now Irene had only seen him looking varying degrees of scruffy – not dirty, just not someone who cared a great deal about what he looked like – accessorised with the odd bruise or cut. But now someone had cut his hair, shaved off the stubble, and forced him into a full gentleman’s regalia, probably at gunpoint. The clothes fit him like a glove, but he still gave the impression of a kid dressing up in his older brother’s clothes.

Quite an achievement, given Harry’s height.

Irene performed the introductions this time. She “accidentally” neglected to mention that Kai was a Dragon. If Agatha didn’t already know, then she didn’t need to know.

Agatha invited them all to sit down to breakfast, and sent off the butler to fetch something suitable for Mouse too. Mouse sat down next to Irene and stared at her with such a mournful gaze that Irene decided to improve his quality of life by removing the ribbon.

‘I wouldn’t do that, dear,’ Agatha warned.

‘He doesn’t like it,’ Irene said firmly. ‘And he isn’t a lapdog.’

‘It’s the fashion,’ Agatha pointed out. ‘I suppose he doesn’t have to wear it in the house, so long as we don’t have any visitors, but he does have to wear it outside. You won’t like the consequences if you fly in the face of fashion.’

As Mrs Young had found out the hard way.

Irene had no intention whatsoever of having her head adorn a spike next to that unfortunate lady.

‘Well, we have no visitors now,’ she said, rolling up the ribbon and stuffing it in the reticule, which reduced its storage space by about fifty percent. Mouse laid his head on her knees in gratitude. Irene scratched behind his ears. ‘Good boy, Mouse.’

Mouse wagged his tail in agreement.

‘No one fashionable owns a dog this size,’ Agatha observed, because in this mess of an alternate even unchangeable things like size were subject to the whims of fashion. ‘It might be best to keep him out of sight as much as possible. He is unfashionably large.’

‘Just like his owner,’ Harry said in a tone that betrayed he’d had just about enough of this nonsense.

Agatha stared at him reproachfully. ‘There’s no need to fly off the handle, Mr Dresden. I appreciate that you are a stranger to this alternate, but it is you who are the visitor and therefore obliged to follow your host’s rules. While you are a guest in my home, I expect you to do nothing to bring the Greencoats to my door. It has taken the Library much time and effort to establish a presence here, and I shall not stand for you flushing all that hard work down the sewer in a matter of days.’

A genteel granny-like type, but with a spine of steel. Irene made note not to cross her.

‘You will allow us to stay here as your guests, then?’ Thomas asked. ‘That’s very kind.’ He sent a winning smile at her.

Agatha didn’t melt into a puddle at his feet, but she smiled back indulgently. ‘Well, then,’ she said. ‘I take it young Emily has walked off with Emma. You’ll need both the book and the girl, I reckon.’ For lunch, probably. ‘Anything else?’

‘If she is acting under duress, we’ll need to find the person who’s forcing her,’ Murphy said. She brushed a drooping feather out of her face with some force. ‘And arrest the person responsible. Of course.’

Agatha frowned. ‘The Library is not interested in arresting felons.’

‘No,’ Murphy agreed, ‘but the Chicago Police Department is. Miss Ashwood committed assault within my jurisdiction. I have no reason to assume that any blackmailing – if that is the case – took place elsewhere at this point in the investigation. Both Miss Ashwood and her blackmailer will stand trial in my alternate for crimes committed there. I see no reason why the Library should oppose that.’

‘Miss Emily belongs to the Library,’ Agatha countered.

‘Not yet,’ Murphy insisted doggedly. ‘She hasn’t sworn her vows yet.’

Agatha had nothing to say to that. ‘You are a very single-minded young woman,’ she remarked sourly.

Murphy remained unfazed. ‘That makes me good at my job.’

Agatha wisely decided that she couldn’t win that argument, and moved on to the practicalities instead. ‘According to the latest news, young Emily has returned to her father’s house after a long stay in Canada, and is now ready to rejoin polite society. If nothing’s changed, we know where she is. Ordinarily it’d be impossible to see her at this stage. As she hasn’t made her official return to society yet, we cannot make calls on her. Fortunately, we have a way in.’

‘We do?’ Irene asked. One of these days she’d have to stop throwing herself into missions with only very minimal preparation. It’d be nice to feel really on top of a mission from the get-go.

‘Oh yes,’ said Agatha. ‘I have a little token of my appreciation to deliver to Lady Ashwood. She gave a most wonderful dinner the other night. It’s only right for me to pay a call and thank her with a little present. And if I just happen to take along my nieces, whom I haven’t seen for far too long, that is entirely acceptable.’

Irene catalogued that under the best she could get under the available circumstances. She’d rather pay a less official call so she could snoop around as she pleased, instead of making conversation with a high society lady.

‘Emily knows you’re a Librarian,’ Thomas pointed out. ‘She’s not an idiot. She’ll know something’s up when you barge in so soon after what happened.’

‘It can’t be helped.’ Agatha sipped her tea. ‘Besides, if she’s watching us, I imagine that leaves you fine gentlemen free to sneak in and conduct a more covert operation.’ Her eyes sparked in amusement as she smiled at Thomas. ‘I assume a man of your… talents could find his own way in.’

That sounded more like Irene’s style.

Thomas grinned right back.

‘I do have to ask,’ Agatha said, looking around the table like a stern school teacher, ‘are there any of you, apart from Thomas and Irene, with special talent?’

‘Harry’s a wizard,’ Thomas announced. ‘Parker knows of it already, and will furnish him with the appropriate accessories. And is there any hope of the latest Fashionable Manners with the latest magical trends?’

Harry nearly choked on his coffee. Irene, who knew Harry fairly well by now, was pretty sure that it was the idea of magical trends that had gone down the wrong way, and not the coffee.

‘I’ll have one of the footmen deliver it to your room. Anyone else?’

‘I have some modest talents myself,’ Kai replied. Modest among Dragons, maybe. ‘But I would prefer not to advertise these.’

Agatha didn’t like that. ‘Hiding magical talent could land you in a lot of hot water with the authorities, Mr Strongrock, if that is indeed your name. As a Librarian, I am familiar with the Three Musketeers, though of course I would not have any work of a French author in the house.’ Kai refused to be ashamed, so Agatha gave up and moved on. ‘Hiding such a highly prized talent will gain you no small amount of suspicion. Only people with things to hide would do that.’

‘Such as French spies?’

‘Such as French spies. If you are caught using your talents without having advertised them by your apparel, you are likely to get arrested on treason charges. This mission is risky enough; infiltrating the highest layer of society to take one of their own will prove difficult enough without further… complications.’

‘I will be very careful and very discreet, Mrs Smith,’ Kai promised solemnly. He exuded innocence and trustworthiness. If he really wanted, he could charm the birds out of the trees with as much ease as Thomas. If they ever decided to team up, no one would be safe. ‘I don’t plan on using anything that could cause you any inconvenience.’

‘You do know what they say about best laid plans?’

‘I never said they were best laid plans.’

She gave him up for a lost cause.  ‘And you, Miss Murphy?’

‘Just a good shot,’ she replied. Irene knew exactly just how good a shot.

Agatha studied her intently, weighed the chances of Murphy leaving the house without her trusty weapon, and came to the inevitable conclusion. ‘Keep your gun out of sight, if you please.’

‘They will never see it,’ Murphy promised sweetly. ‘Not until it’s too late.’

Agatha classed Murphy under lost causes as well. ‘Very well.’ The tone suggested she didn’t think anything of the kind. ‘That’s as good a plan as we’re likely to get at this stage of the game. I’ll have the Fashionable Manners delivered to your rooms, gentlemen. I suggest you familiarise yourselves with the contents as soon as possible. Mr Raith, please impress upon your compatriots the dire need for compliance with the rules. I myself will see to the ladies.’

She delivered that last announcement like the wolf telling the little lamb it was the wolf’s lunch.

What have we walked into?

Irene was no stranger to highly regulated alternates, but usually she didn’t try to insinuate herself into the highest circles of their societies. Her usual modus operandi was to stay below the radar as far as possible or, if she absolutely had to infiltrate someplace in order to get close to the book she wanted, infiltrate the lower classes, where scrutiny was usually less tight.

Not this time, though. This time she’d go in bold as brass, dressed to catch the eye, walking in through the front door. A very disconcerting experience for any Librarian.

Agatha rose to her feet, signalling that breakfast was over. ‘Ladies, we shall depart in half an hour precisely. Do not be late.’

She swept from the room like a queen.

Irene and Murphy decided not to be late.

The men disappeared upstairs for their lessons in manners, herded there by Thomas, who enjoyed this whole thing far too much. Irene and Murphy returned to their rooms too, to have their clothes and hair fixed where needed and be helped into outdoor shoes, coat, and gloves. Hats and bonnets had recently been declared a French fashion, and so could absolutely not be worn, though that might change in the next week or so, as the weather grew chillier and people tired of having their heads exposed to the cold all the time. Or so Martha said.

‘How does anyone keep up?’ Irene asked in exasperation.

In between having her hair tugged and her feet forced into new shoes, she perused the latest edition of the Fashionable Manners. Some new rules and regulations had come into effect only the day before. It was now considered good conduct to not make eye contact with people who wore gloves indoors – and indeed one should shun their companionship as if they carried a deadly disease. Introductions now followed the new pattern: when making a new acquaintance a woman should bow first and then shake hands, and the other way around for men. As an afterthought it was noted that nature motifs had after due consideration been deemed appropriate for decoration.

And that was just the section on everyday rules and regulations. A whole separate section dealt with the dos and don’ts of magic. Evocations were old-fashioned, but not a staple of French fashion, and therefore acceptable, though the user should be prepared for comments on his choice of magic, or so the pamphlet warned. Potions were definitely a no-go, though. Familiars would increase one’s standing in society, provided it wasn’t a black cat. Too stereotypical, apparently. Cats of other colours could be used without consequence, but would invite comment of the negative kind. The pamphlet did warn that talking familiars were still the fashion in France, and should therefore be avoided at all costs in England.

Probably for the best that Harry had left Bob at home, and not just because he wouldn’t recognise good manners if they danced naked in front of him.

It all seemed so very silly and pointless. Why would anyone ever bother with this sort of regulated nonsense? Ordinarily, from the safety of another alternate, Irene might have laughed about the ridiculousness of it all.

You know, if there hadn’t been the death sentence for unfashionable manners to consider.

‘That’s what the Fashionable Manners is for,’ Martha replied matter-of-factly. ‘So we know what’s acceptable and what’s not.’

‘Don’t you ever get tired of it?’

Martha shrugged. ‘That’s just life, Miss. And we wouldn’t want to be thought French anyway. Would you?’

In this alternate’s London? ‘No, I wouldn’t. Naturally.’ Wouldn’t want to end up like the poor Mrs Young.

Irene skimmed a lengthy diatribe on the question if thaumaturgy was in or out – undecided, so it could stay around for the time being – and then moved on to the next page. Which just so happened to be a glowing recommendation of necromancy.

Irene had seen quite enough zombies to last her a lifetime. Occasionally she still had nightmares about that Halloween night in Chicago: the terror, the relentless rain, the hopelessness, and the endless stream of zombies attacking them from all sides. Invariably, she woke up from those dreams cold and shaking.

And here it was the fashion.

‘Have they gone mad?’ she blurted out.

Martha peered over Irene’s shoulder. ‘Oh, the necromancy? Well, that’s just plain good sense, isn’t it?’

‘It is?’

‘No sense in sending living soldiers against the Frenchies, is there? Better send the ones who’re already dead. They won’t die again.’

Sensible, maybe. Practical, definitely. But even Irene, whose grasp of ethics even she knew was shaky, knew that there were some things you really shouldn’t touch. She didn’t sense magic, as a rule, and she hadn’t sensed it as such when Harry called up Sue, but she had felt something. And what she’d felt had given her the chills.

She imagined Harry’s response to this particular section in some detail and really hoped Thomas could contain the inevitable eruption.

She wisely said nothing herself.

The coat and gloves Martha wrestled her into continued the floral theme, so if Irene wanted to, she could stand in a flower bed and be completely invisible. Useful in a garden, less so in a lady’s fancy parlour.

But compared to Murphy, Irene got off lightly. True, the feathers on her coat and gloves were of the embroidered kind, but the maid had compensated by sticking a few more in her hair and on her dress.

‘Nothing succeeds like excess?’ Irene asked when she met her at the top of the stairs.

‘I think they want to stick me in the hen house,’ Murphy muttered darkly.

‘Is the maid still alive?’

Murphy had enough of a sense of humour to laugh about it. Since it was either that or scream in frustration, Irene laughed too.

They descended the stairs and joined Agatha, who stood waiting like a stern schoolteacher waiting for the naughty children. Mouse sat next to her.

‘Irene, you cannot take the dog,’ she said.

Irene hadn’t asked for him, so either Harry sent him or Mouse had come of his own volition. ‘I think the dog is taking us.’ She retrieved the red ribbon from her reticule. Mouse pleaded with her with soulful eyes, but all that accomplished was that it made Irene feel extremely guilty about what she had to do next. ‘Sorry, Mouse. No choice.’

He whined softly, but held out his head for her ministrations. Irene made sure to tie the ribbon as loosely as she could get away with. Agatha then produced another longer ribbon – same colour – to act as a lead. Irene didn’t ask what good that would do if Mouse decided to part company with them, but only because she had by now resigned herself to nothing in this alternate making any sense whatsoever.

Mouse gave them a knowing look. Murphy scratched him behind the ears and in gratitude Mouse removed a mouthful of feathers from her hair.

Agatha closed her eyes as if she could wish it away by not seeing. She rushed them out the door before Mouse had the chance to finish the job.

The carriage that would convey them to the Ashwoods’ town house couldn’t have screamed luxury any louder. Dark green with leaf and floral motifs in bright colours painted on, comfortable cushions and curtains in a matching shade of green, and, to top it all off, foldable tables built into the interior. For playing cards on long journeys, Agatha explained, of which she undertook many in the course of her duties. She remained suspiciously vague though on the topic of who she played cards with.

Irene sank into the cushions and decided she might not ever get up again. This was a far cry from the teeth-rattling cabs of her London. Mouse hopped onto most of the bench next to Irene, sighed contentedly, and lay his head on Irene’s lap for a much-needed nap. Murphy and Agatha took the bench opposite. Agatha made a relieved noise, and sank back into the cushions. The only one not comfortable was Murphy, who complained that the feathers pricked her in some very uncomfortable places.

‘Listen well,’ Agatha said once they were on their way. ‘Your part is fairly simple. You wait with speaking until you’re introduced, then you bow and shake our hostess’s hand. I’ll tell Lady Ashwood you’ve lived in America for the last decade, so you’re bound to be a bit odd. I have enough credit that she’ll take my word for it.’

Irene, whose ability to speak in a convincing American accent was dubious at best, really hoped the Ashwoods had never been to America themselves. Never mind, she could always try to imitate Murphy.

‘What else?’ Murphy asked.

A veritable list of instructions followed: ‘Take your gloves off as soon as you step over the threshold, or no one’ll speak to you. Always accept offers of refreshment, whether you want it or not, or you’ll insult your host. Smile, but keep your mouth closed when you do, or it’ll be seen as a threat. Never compliment your host’s furniture, but complimenting plants is fine. Don’t pick a seating spot yourself. Your host will do it for you. Above all, don’t gawp at anything.’

Irene’s ears were ringing by the end of it.

Either way it hardly mattered, because ‘You will leave most of the talking to me anyway. And don’t wander off. Stay where you are directed to sit and don’t even excuse yourself to go to the loo.’

‘Let me guess, that’s rude?’ Murphy asked with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

‘Rude during morning calls, acceptable during balls. You can’t have people peeing on the floor or in flower pots after all. Some practicality remains necessary, even if it’s also done by the French.’

‘Would the government ban eating if the French did it?’ Murphy asked.

‘Government? Oh, my dear Miss Murphy, the King and Parliament are there mostly for show. They do everything the Society for the Promotion of Good Taste tells them. They don’t want to be considered unfashionable any more than the rest of us.’

‘Imagine that,’ Irene muttered.

‘Irene, the alternate you work in might have easier rules,’ Agatha said reproachfully. ‘This is not your alternate. The Library has important work in this one too. Without us, this alternate would be sliding into high order faster than a banker after his annual bonus. It’s not easy work, and often ridiculous, but it must be done, and it won’t get done by moaning about the circumstances.’

‘You’re right,’ Irene said. ‘I’m sorry.’

So she’d grit her teeth and do the job. Right now, her job consisted of getting the lay of the land, and distracting the lady of the house while the other members of the outfit sneaked around.

The Ashwood townhouse was bigger, fancier, and definitely more expensive than that of Agatha. The butler must have been peeping through the spyhole, because he opened the door before they had the chance to knock.

‘Good morning, Evans,’ Agatha said amiably. ‘I’ve come to pay a call on Lady Ashwood. Could you announce us, please?’

‘Certainly, Mrs Smith.’ The butler stepped aside to let them through. ‘May I have the names of your charming companions?’

‘These are my nieces, Miss Irene Murphy and Miss Karrin Murphy,’ Agatha replied, gesturing to each in turn. ‘Returned to our fair shores at last after years in America.’

‘Welcome back, ladies.’

Murphy and Irene smiled gracefully.

The butler left them in the hall for a moment while he went to announce them and Irene understood why Agatha had instructed them not to gawp at anything. The place invited gawping with open arms. Opulent would be an understatement. Expensive wouldn’t come close. Decadent might be as close to the mark as she could get. By comparison, Agatha’s house was merely shabby chic. Someone had thrown money at this place by the truckload.

All of it was in the latest styles too, if the nature themes were anything to go by. Redecorating this on a regular basis likely didn’t come cheap either. And this was only the entry hall. Goodness knew what the rest of the place was like.

The butler came back and accompanied them into a just as richly appointed parlour, where a lady sat waiting. She rose graciously as they came in.

‘My dear Mrs Smith! What a delight to see you!’ Her voice exuded warmth and sincerity.

‘Lady Ashwood, a delight indeed.’ Agatha’s smile matched hers in sincerity every inch of the way. Irene had no doubt that they really were friends. Which of course might make this that much more complicated. ‘I thought I’d come and pay my compliments about your lovely dinner the other night in person.’

‘You could have sent a messenger.’

‘And missed the pleasure of your company? Nonsense, my dear.’ The two clasped hands, and smiled some more.

Emily Ashwood owed her colouring and delicate build to her mother, but where Irene’s first impression of the daughter had been all action and sharp edges, the only word that sprang to mind to describe Lady Ashwood was “soft,” from her features to her dress to the way she arranged her hair. You wouldn’t catch this lady whacking people around the head with Shakespeare.

Irene noted wryly that no one had stuck any feathers in her.

‘Who have you brought with you today?’ Lady Ashwood asked, though the butler had doubtlessly informed her already.

‘Ah, Sophia, I’m glad you asked,’ Agatha said, beckoning Murphy and Irene forwards for their formal introduction. ‘These lovely ladies are my nieces, Miss Irene Murphy and Miss Karrin Murphy, lately returned from America.’

Irene bowed and shook hands as instructed. She must have done it right, because Lady Ashwood declared that it was truly lovely to meet her. ‘Such a comfort you must be to your aunt.’

Irene smiled modestly and broke out her rarely used American accent: ‘One can only hope.’

Murphy winced.

Fortunately, Lady Ashwood didn’t notice. ‘I for one am glad that she has you fine young ladies. No woman should live alone at her age. No offence, dear, but I’ve often worried about you all by yourself.’

‘I know it’s kindly meant,’ Agatha said. ‘And I can’t deny that it makes me feel quite youthful to have younger people around the house.’

‘I can imagine so. Oh, but we shouldn’t remain standing. Please, sit. Miss Irene, right here beside me. Miss Karrin, over there, I should think, with your aunt beside you. Yes, that arrangement will suit nicely.’

Irene sat down and that was when Lady Ashwood first clapped eyes on Mouse. He’d been hiding behind them and, because he could be very silent when he wanted to be, no one had noticed him before. Quite an achievement for a dog his size.

‘Gracious,’ she said mildly, lifting a hand to her chest to indicate shock. ‘And who is this?’

‘This is Mouse,’ Murphy replied. ‘Our loyal companion.’

Mouse and Lady Ashwood regarded each other with mutual curiosity.

‘He is quite big,’ Lady Ashwood observed.

‘It’s the fashion in America,’ Irene invented, keeping a perfectly straight face. ‘And naturally we couldn’t part with him when we came here. We’ve grown so very fond of him, you see, and he’s a great deterrent to any miscreant who’d seek to bother two women travelling alone,’ she added virtuously.

‘Naturally,’ Lady Ashwood agreed, but she kept a wary eye on Mouse.

So Mouse deployed his own form of conflict resolution, trotted over to Lady Ashwood and laid his big head in her lap for cuddles and adoration. Lady Ashwood proved no match for this gentle giant. Ten seconds later she scratched his ears and declared him a good boy. Mouse wagged his tail in agreement.

‘Refreshments, I think,’ Lady Ashwood said. She pulled the cord beside her to summon the butler, and instructed him to bring them tea. After the days Irene’d had lately, jumping worlds and time zones on too little sleep, coffee would have been her drink of choice. She’d had a cup at breakfast, but it didn’t do nearly as much good as she’d hoped.

Agatha made meaningless small talk with their host, and handed over a fabled recipe from her own cook as a token of her appreciation for a splendid dinner. And possibly a not so subtle hint for the next one.

The tea came. The lady poured and dispensed. Irene was just thinking that everything was going wonderfully well when the door opened and Emily Ashwood sashayed into the room.

Chapter Text

By the time I finished Fashionable Manners I had come to the conclusion that I never wanted to be fashionable again. And I possibly never wanted to see or hear that word again either. It must be the most overused word in the world.

‘Necromancy!’ I said, disgusted.

They actually promoted necromancy. It was hard enough to swallow that they made something like magic, something that was used by every wizard in his or her own unique way, subject to trend, but when that trend was necromancy, that really galled me. A power as dark and corruptive as necromancy promoted as a fashion trend. If that didn’t sum up this world in a nutshell, I didn’t know what did.

And I thought Venice was crazy.

Kai wrinkled his nose in distaste, and even Thomas muttered about new depths getting plumbed with this one. But our opinions didn’t matter. This was not our world, and if we didn’t want to get arrested, maimed, or decapitated we had to stay below the radar. And to stay below the radar, we had to adept.

But I’d die before I touched necromancy again. Integration only went so far.

I stared without enthusiasm at the outerwear delivered by Parker: a velvet blue coat, with matching gloves and hat. All decorated with embroidered stars and would-be magical mysterious symbols. The only way I could have advertised my wizard status any clearer was to walk around with a flashing neon sign over my head.

Kai observed he was very glad he had decided to keep his magical abilities publicly under wraps.

I wished I’d done the same.

‘One consolation,’ Kai added. ‘The hat’s not pointed.’

If it had been, I would have refused to wear it on principle, but apparently pointy hats had just gone out of fashion this week, because too many French wizards wore them. Irene’s pointed offering now lived on one of the shelves in my subbasement, where Bob could laugh at it, and pester me about wearing it.

‘Small consolation,’ I corrected. I already looked like a dressed up doll, and the additions would not improve it. The only thing I considered a consolation was that I could keep my staff and blasting rod with me – and in plain sight – and no one would think anything of it. The coat even had a special storage space in the lining inside for the rod and any at least five pockets for other magical necessities.

But it wasn’t my spell-protected duster. I felt naked even with all the layers and the flashy coat.

If we wanted to be in place by the time the ladies showed up to the Ashwoods’ place, we couldn’t dawdle, so we left before they did. They got the fancy coach. We walked.

‘Keep an eye on them, Mouse,’ I instructed my dog. I’d have liked to take him along, but we were conspicuous enough already, and I liked the idea of Mouse as extra back-up for the women.

And before you point out to me that Murphy and Irene were more than a match for anyone: yes, I know that. But I’d have liked to watch out for them myself and I couldn’t, so Mouse could do it for me. I doubted any book-throwing harpy could get the drop on him. Like she’d got on Thomas.

Mouse sat down next to the front door to wait for the others, and we let ourselves out. The disapproving butler fortunately had given up on us and was nowhere in sight.

Thomas had scoped out the Ashwood house the last time he was here, so he knew how to get there.

The streets were quiet. It wasn’t that early, but according to Thomas, no one who was anyone showed their face early. Only working people had a reason to leave their beds early, and they’d had their morning rush several hours ago.

Just as well. I still felt like an overdressed clown. And I bet it showed.

Not with Thomas and Kai, though. They strolled along as if they owned the city. Well, a Dragon and a vampire of the White Court would be used to being top of the social food chain. Everyone else was far enough beneath them not to matter much. Thomas had got used to slumming it on my couch, and Kai had never turned his nose up at the dirty work, but they were born to privilege. And it showed.

From the Fashionable Manners I knew that it was currently not fashionable to greet other people in the street if you didn’t already know them. Since we knew no one, that worked out well for us.

It was a quiet journey. No crisis happened.

Which made me deeply suspicious. Usually when things go my way, that’s the only warning I get that the shit is about to hit the fan.

Spectacularly.

We found the house. The only word I could think of to describe it was ostentatious, and even that barely scratched the surface. It oozed money.

Thomas led us around the back, which still oozed money, but a little more discreetly. Everyone who actually had work to do came around the back. Which meant that we’d stick out like a sore thumb. So we loitered in the back alley, studying the house from a safe distance while I pretended to study the cobbles. If asked, I was instructed to say I was inspecting a possible tear in reality. That’d put people off.

How they expected me to deliver that with a straight face was never communicated.

‘So, how do we get in?’ I asked, bending over theatrically, squinting at the dirty stones.

‘Through the window,’ Thomas announced, pointing up.

‘I can’t fly,’ I retorted. ‘And Kai flying us up there might possibly be missed on the other side of the city, but not here.’

‘I wouldn’t fit between the house and the tree anyway,’ Kai said practically.

Thomas grinned. ‘We’ll climb the tree. From that big branch we can easily climb in the window.’

‘And what’s on the other side of that window?’ I asked.

‘Emily’s bedroom.’

I realised that I didn’t want to know how he knew that, but that I needed to know. ‘Did she and you…?’

He shook his head. ‘I try not to with colleagues. Ruins your working relationship.’

‘Did she try?’

‘Once.’ The tone was definite enough to discourage further questions.

Which I posed anyway. ‘So you broke her heart.’

‘Not sure she has one, but no. Lust, not love, Harry. Believe me, I know the difference.’

Yeah, he would. I shut up.

‘So how do you know where her bedroom is?’ Kai asked.

‘She pointed it out to us when we were here last time.’

‘Last time?’ I asked. I felt like I had missed something. ‘I thought you were in London to steal a book. What were you doing here?’

‘Didn’t I mention? Emma happened to be part of Sir Henry Ashwood’s collection.’

Kai and I stared at him. ‘And you didn’t think it’d be a good idea to mention this any earlier?’ we demanded, in stereo.

Thomas shrugged. ‘I thought Bradamant had.’

‘Bradamant never shares unless you drag it out of her with tongs,’ Kai pointed out. His voice dripped with disapproval. But since now was not the right time to determine blame, he got back on track: ‘Was that how you got in last time?’

‘Considered it, didn’t need to use it,’ Thomas reported. ‘We managed to get ourselves a dinner invitation instead.’

‘You stole the book between the first and second course?’

‘No, between the main course and dessert.’

My brother the book thief. The very professional, very official book thief if he decided to go that way. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Not the book theft, obviously, but the commitment to the Library. From what I’d seen of it, as an institution it had its flaws, as well as an uncomfortable tendency towards secrecy.

Of course, Thomas was hardly a stranger to secrecy. He’d been raised on it. And he saw laws and rules as optional anyway. And from the way he discussed his previous heist, this job was tailor-made for him. He liked it, and he was good at it.

He hadn’t said it, but I had a feeling the decision had already been made.

‘And they let you?’ Kai asked, fascinated.

‘Just had to seduce the housekeeper to keep her mind off what I was doing in the library uninvited,’ Thomas said matter-of-factly. ‘Other than that, no problems at all. One of the easier heists. Very civilised.’

‘Except for the part where they nearly arrested you.’

‘That’s a separate issue.’

Only I didn’t think it was. Something had happened with Emily on that last mission. Questioning the witnesses proved a trial – both kept secrets as easy as breathing – but from what I could piece together Emily had made it a habit to run off at night, and probably had set the police on Thomas and Bradamant when they tried to follow her. Now I found out that Emily’s family were the original owners of the book they’d stolen. Either her family were putting the pressure on her to return their lost item, or she was working for someone else. My guess would be someone native to this world, since this was the place where her behaviour changed so drastically.

Or she had been a mole all along and something had forced her to reveal herself. But what? And why?

As usual, I had more questions than answers.

‘How long do we have to stand here?’ I asked. ‘My back is starting to ache.’

‘Until the coast is clear,’ Thomas said, unhelpfully. ‘Or until I can get one of the servants on their own and distract them.’

I glanced at the back door. ‘There’s one alone now.’ I didn’t like what he did, but I knew he’d do it whether I approved or not. And a few kisses to distract from our mission couldn’t hurt anyone much. I hoped.

Thomas shook his head. ‘And I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. Look at that silly grin on her face. Head over heels in love. With that footman, by the looks of them.’

We peered at the maid and the footman who had just appeared at the door. Silly grins and blushes abounded.

Kai, a vampire novice, frowned. ‘You can’t touch them?’

‘True love. Antithesis to lust. Doesn’t mix with what I am. Like order and chaos.’

I tried not to remember what I’d seen of order and chaos brushing up against each other and definitely not mixing. It wasn’t my first choice, but it had shown up in my nightmares a couple of times since then. I wondered if Kai still had the burns from that gondola trip.

I blinked and dispelled the images.

‘It burns me,’ Thomas clarified when Kai didn’t respond. ‘Same reason I wouldn’t try anything with you and Irene.’

‘Me and Irene?’ Kai frowned some more. ‘What do you mean?’

For someone so bright he could be remarkably dim about some things. I for one remembered some handholding, and that was just the obvious lovey-dovey stuff. Kai had thrashed half a museum when Grevane attacked Irene. Irene had broken every rule in the book and pushed herself beyond her limits to bring Kai home out of nightmare Venice. No one did those kinds of things for someone they didn’t care deeply about.

Whether or not all that caring had actually been acknowledged, or even recognised, remained another matter.

And I was pretty sure I knew the answer to that one.

Thomas raised his eyebrows, but changed tack. ‘Same reason I wouldn’t touch Agatha, then.’

‘I thought you said you didn’t try with colleagues,’ I said.

‘But if I did, I wouldn’t. Haven’t you noticed?’

‘Noticed what?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Agatha and Parker. The butler.’

So that made him so protective of her. Last night I’d just thought he hated getting dragged out of bed, but maybe the idea of us causing trouble for Agatha was what had put his nose out of joint.

Fascinating as this was, this wasn’t a high school yard where we could happily speculate who was dating whom. The lovebirds had gone back inside, replaced by a grumpy-faced maid giving a carpet the whacking of its lifetime. I didn’t see anyone else and unless we wanted to be here till sunset, we’d better get a move on.

‘Thomas, you’re up.’

He straightened his coat – not that he needed it – and strutted over to the mad maid. Within moments he had her from taking out her frustrations on a piece of carpet to wrapping her limbs around him like an octopus and trying to suck his face off. I turned away.

Kai and I tackled the tree. It was an old one, with a rough bark that offered plenty of footholds. Climbing with a staff proved a little more difficult. It’s a good thing no one filmed that, because it wasn’t one of my more graceful efforts, but I got high enough eventually. Kai scrambled up behind me. He of course made it look easy.

Thomas finished off the maid – not fatally, before you ask – and came up behind us. His victim sagged against the tree trunk, blissfully starry-eyed, and definitely not sure which planet she was on. I think she might even hesitate if someone asked her name.

‘Aren’t you afraid she’ll tell someone?’ Kai asked.

‘She isn’t married.’ Thomas vaguely indicated the maid. ‘And having that kind of encounter out of wedlock, at your place of work, and with a total stranger is a very serious breach of social rules. She won’t tell.’ He winked. ‘Getting up to all kinds of sexual shenanigans is a French thing, didn’t you know. This way.’

Thomas went first over the branch to the window, did something wiggly with lock-picking equipment that I didn’t know he owned, and got the window open. He beckoned Kai and me to follow.

I wasn’t invited into this house, so I had to leave most of my magical bag of tricks at the door. Or window, in this case. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like being vulnerable, and especially not in this place. We had discussed this problem, but since it was only supposed to be a fact-finding mission, and Kai did get to take his powers with him – threshold rules didn’t apply to Dragons, apparently – we decided to risk it.

I might have left my ability to magically defend myself, and most of my handy wizard senses, but I had enough left to sense that the Ashwood house was not a happy home. Part of that impression could just be what I already knew about one of the occupants, but I thought it was more than that, although I couldn’t put my finger on it yet.

Emily’s bedroom was an extravaganza of pale woods and gentle pinks, all in the kind of warm shades that made the place look welcoming. It featured a canopy bed, luxurious carpets, a sizeable wardrobe, and a dainty little vanity with a wide array of a woman’s many beauty products. A desk had been placed under the window. I left a muddy footprint on it when I entered. A series of bookcases took up an entire wall, stocked from top to bottom.

From what I’d seen of her, the bedroom didn’t match her personality. The bedroom suggested that a Disney princess lived here. This Disney princess mustn’t have read the rulebook.

It was at this point that we realised none of us had the right qualifications to search a young woman’s bedroom. Thomas admitted that he had certainly seen enough of them, but that paying attention such useful things as preferred hiding places was not usually first and foremost on his mind during such occasions. Kai said he hadn’t grown up with any sisters and what I knew about the inner workings of young women’s minds would fit in a shot glass.

‘In stories, girls like to hide things under floorboards,’ Kai suggested hesitantly.

‘She’s a book thief in training,’ I said, since all the floorboards looked as if they’d been welded to the floor. ‘Why don’t we start with the bookcase and the desk?’ I really hoped I could skip the vanity.

In the back of my head a female voice laughed at me.

I ignored her.

Thomas removed his hat, turned it upside down on the desk and tossed his gloves into it. ‘These hats are delightfully multifunctional,’ he said in an exaggerated posh English accent with the air of a skilled salesman. ‘When not worn, you can turn them into a receptable for your little knickknacks.’

I resisted the urge to point out that the coat pockets provided the same function with the added benefit of not making me look ridiculous. I did take off my hat. Unlike Thomas’s and Kai’s, mine had acquired a little collection of dying leaves and twigs.

They noticed: ‘What happened to your hat?’ Kai asked.

I climbed through a tree to get here. ‘Nature motifs are in right now,’ I said with dignity. You try to climb a tree with a staff in your hand and see how well you look afterwards.

‘Motifs. Not actual nature.’

I brushed the twigs off.

Thomas claimed the bookcase for himself, which left Kai and me to toss a coin for the more embarrassing tasks of sniffing around under the bed and rifling through a young lady’s underwear. Kai lost; he got the wardrobe.

I delayed the inevitable by investigating the desk first. That turned out to be a waste of time, because Emily kept almost nothing in it. Empty paper, a spare inkwell, and a half-finished note to a friend thanking her for the recommendation of a good glover. I could tell she had pretty handwriting, but it didn’t tell me something useful. Like where she’d hidden her stolen literature. Or who was potentially blackmailing her into attacking her colleagues. Or how she’d got the power to attack said colleagues successfully.

The space under the bed proved equally fruitless. I rooted around under there like a pig after truffles, but the floorboards were all tight, and knocking proved the absence of hollow spaces under it.

I was still up to the waist under the bed when an unknown cultured voice remarked: ‘I say, what has my sister got involved in now?’

I bumped my head on the bed.

Seeing stars – and not the embroidered sort – I crawled back out, just in time to hear Thomas explain unconvincingly that this wasn’t what it looked like.

‘Well, Mr Raith, as of yet I am undecided as to what it appears like,’ the newcomer said mildly. ‘Though, if I were to hazard a guess, I should say that it seems that you are engaged in the act of searching my sister’s chamber. Dare I ask what she has done this time?’

I stood up and looked at the owner of the voice: a tall young man with red hair whose many freckles preceded him into the room. Like everyone of the higher classes, he went around impeccably dressed. His pale green suit featured a subtle leaf motif around the hems. I noticed no one had tried to smother him in embroidered stars.

I studied the scene. Thomas came out looking the best. He only rifled through the books. I didn’t emerge nearly so well, what with my proximity to the bed. Kai, however, took the cake. In the process of searching the wardrobe he’d had to remove several of the clothes in it, and now stood, like a deer caught in the headlights, with a lady’s nightdress over his arm.

I wondered how I got involved in this again, realised it was Bradamant’s fault, and happily heaped all the blame on her deserving head.

Thomas tried to stall. ‘What makes you think she’s done anything?’

‘Apart from the fact that I find you and your… compatriots turning over her room, you mean?’ the stranger asked, warm brown eyes twinkling in badly contained amusement. Not the usual response when I got caught somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be. ‘Emily is always in some sort of trouble. Only the depth varies.’ He sighed. ‘So, I shall ask again: what has she done this time?’

He stepped into the room properly, closed the door behind him and leaned against it in a would-be casual way. The three of us could fight him to the side and force passage easily. We could possibly climb out the still open window without much trouble if we needed to. Running away is usually my go-to method when I’m caught out somewhere forbidden. But Emily’s brother’s reaction to our presence here was strange enough to keep us all in place.

‘Theft,’ Thomas said. ‘And assault. Of myself and Miss Adams.’

‘Good grief! How did she do that?’

‘With the invaluable help of Mr Shakespeare,’ Thomas replied wryly. ‘And his collected works.’

The brother winced in sympathy. ‘I take it this incident is the reason that she returned home so unexpectedly?’

‘You don’t sound surprised,’ I observed. Not at finding us in his sister’s room, not at discovering Emily was up to her ears in hot water, and not even at learning she had committed several crimes. Growing up with her must have been interesting.

He shrugged. ‘When you have known Emily for as long as I have, nothing much will surprise you.’ He turned back to Thomas. ‘Perhaps, Mr Raith, you could perform the introductions, albeit somewhat late in the conversation.’ He shrugged. ‘A breach of etiquette, perhaps, but I think we can all agree that there are extenuating circumstances.’

Thomas did as asked: ‘Mr Ashwood, may I introduce my good friends? Mr Kai Strongrock…’ Kai quickly stuffed the nightdress back where it came from and performed an impeccable bow. ‘And Mr Harry Dresden, a wizard of no modest skill.’

I imitated the bow, but without Kai’s natural elegance.

‘My friends, may I introduce you to Mr William Ashwood, son and heir to Sir Henry Ashwood…’

‘… And brother to the most devious debutante to ever grace the streets of London,’ William Ashwood finished, bowing too. ‘A pleasure to meet such fine upstanding gentlemen.’

I know when I’m getting mocked.

William studied us all in turn. His gaze lingered on the glove on my left hand, and he raised his eyebrows in a silent question, which I chose not to answer. William considered this, then shrugged and moved on. You could almost see the cogs in motion behind his eyes. I had a feeling that he had no intention of ratting us out to the servants or the Greencoats. And if he sided with complete strangers against his own sister, then goodness knew what their relationship must be like.

‘So,’ he said, drawing the word out, ‘perhaps you’d do me the kindness of explaining the situation so that I may determine what I can do to assist you.’

‘You’d turn against your own family?’ Kai asked incredulously.

William sighed wearily. ‘Mr Strongrock, I have lost count of the times I’ve had to step in to stop my sister from fulfilling her life’s ambition of plunging the family into scandal and utter ruin. I had hoped to be rid of that responsibility when Mrs Smith engaged her as a companion.’ He sent Thomas a pointed look.

‘Considering the circumstances, it seems unlikely Mrs Smith will welcome her again,’ Thomas said. He kept up the accent without any effort, and he had the lingo down too. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have taken him for a born and bred English gentleman myself.

‘And given her forceful application of the esteemed Mr Shakespeare to both yourself and the incomparable Miss Adams, I take it you yourselves are not terribly keen to take her back in either,’ William concluded, resigned but not surprised. ‘A pity. I had hoped some time away from a familiar environment might finally calm her down. Life is full of disappointments.’

‘You seem very calm about this all,’ I said.

‘You would be too, Mr Dresden, if you had known my sister as long as I have,’ William said. ‘Well, then, gentlemen, you mentioned something about a theft. I take it, in the light of your presence in this room, that you expect to find your stolen item here. Have you recovered it?’

We shook our heads in unison.

‘What is it, if I may be so bold to ask?’

‘A copy of Jane Austen’s Emma,’ Thomas replied frankly. He didn’t even blush.

‘The very same copy that so mysteriously vanished from my father’s library several days ago, during your previous visit to this house?’ William asked, amused. ‘Gracious, man, you have some nerve. Though, I take it, its acquisition had something to do with the institution that you work for, Mr Raith?’

For a supposedly secret institution, the Library appeared to be an open secret wherever I went. Perhaps Irene wasn’t the only Librarian who thought she’d get a bit further with candour than with secrecy. And I had never seen the point of it anyway; it wasn’t as if outsiders could get in without help.

‘It has,’ Thomas agreed. If he felt embarrassed at all about being revealed as a book thief, he didn’t show it. ‘I would apologise if your father had ever read any of the books on his shelf, but as things stand…’

William laughed openly. ‘A fair point. Though I harboured hopes of perusing its pages myself someday.’

‘I suppose we could come to some arrangement where, if we are successful in retrieving the book, a copy could find its way into your hands,’ Thomas suggested shrewdly. I had trouble remembering why I found his chosen career path so far-fetched at first; he acted like he had been born a Librarian. ‘If that is something you’d be interested in, of course.’

‘A very reasonable arrangement indeed,’ William said. Behind that affable façade lay a clever negotiator. Though I supposed he’d have to be. ‘Would the matter of the assault be as easily remedied, Mr Raith?’

‘The Library has questions,’ Thomas said bluntly. ‘When we find Emily, I am under obligation to take her back. Several of her earlier indiscretions have been graciously overlooked because of her tender age, but this attack was too severe to be swept away under the rug as if nothing had happened.’

‘Could you perhaps persuade them to release her into her family’s loving care?’ William suggested. ‘We agree that her sojourn with your organisation is at its end. Where else should she go?’

Thomas remained unmoved. ‘That is not for me to say. As I said, she has to answer for her actions, as well as explain where she learned a certain skillset.’ An edge of steel crept in his voice. ‘Are you aware Emily is capable of performing magic?’

I’d come to the same conclusion. Bradamant’s testimony and the fact that Emily had been able to knock Thomas out at all left little room for another interpretation. And then there was that strange situation where she had maybe opened a Library Traverse by herself.

Ordinarily, I’d have thought talent manifested sooner. According to Thomas, Emily was twenty-two. On average powers began rearing their heads during the teenage years. So maybe Emily had kept hers hidden. Maybe she trained herself. Or maybe, in this world, magic manifested at a later age.

What did I know?

But I recognise magic when I see it. And the kind of magic that is used to try and bash someone’s brains in is probably not the White Council approved sort.

William had nothing to say to that. He stared at Thomas. ‘You must be mistaken.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Yet you must be.’ William became agitated for the first time since this strange exchange began. ‘There has not been a wizard in this family. Not ever. I claim no great knowledge in this, but even I know that magic is passed down through blood.’

Unless Lady Ashwood had an adventure her husband never knew about.

‘You understand the problem, then,’ Thomas said.

‘This house is not equipped to contain those with magical talent,’ William acknowledged. ‘And if Emily indeed has gained powers, she must have used strange and dark means to acquire them.’

Like all the other allegations against his sister, he accepted this one surprisingly easy. I didn’t know Emily – except from certain tape recordings – but judging by her brother’s tired resignation, there were no depths she would not sink to. He must have a full-time job in damage control with a sister like that. Dragging this one into the Library against her will sounded almost as entertaining and uncomplicated as hauling Maeve back to Mab in a wire circle.

Especially since none of us had a clear idea of what exactly she could do.

William pondered in silence for a few moments. Thomas said nothing either. Kai and I just stood still and let them sort it out between them.

‘Very well.’ He came to a decision. ‘Mr Raith, do you vouch for your companions’ good behaviour?’

Thomas nodded. ‘I do.’

‘Then, gentlemen, you may count on my cooperation and assistance.’ The goofy grin made way for grim determination. ‘It seems to me that a quick resolution is of paramount importance, before my sister does any more harm to the family name. Or innocent bystanders,’ he added, almost as an afterthought.

Good to know where his priorities lay.

‘In exchange for a copy of Emma,’ Thomas agreed.

‘Indeed,’ said William. ‘Gentlemen, we have a deal. Now, here’s the plan…’