Page 46 of Liminal
Not for the first time, I silently beg it to tell me why.
“I had no choice,” Dakari finally answers, as we scale the stairs, following the floating cart. “The book wasn’t there, and I wasn’t about to just leave him. He’s been missing foryears. I thought he was dead.”
Understandable, given the condition of the man. Jasper McKinley might once have been a powerful arcanist, but he’s currently in terrible shape. Even without the obvious signs of liver damage, his body is thin, his skin dirty, and there are bruises on his abdomen like he’s been beaten recently. There’s a duelling scar on his left cheek, though I didn’t realise that was still a practice, and more circling his throat, like he was once collared.
At the top of the stairs, the door marked ‘no entry’ opens onto the parapet wall, and Dakari’s footsteps start to slow. He’s looking over the edge, at the interminable foggy landscape beyond. I glazed the windows to prevent the arcanists from seeing this.
It’s disquieting.
Nothing in all directions but dense, cold mist. Like we’ve entered the Niflheim of Norse mythology. The Arcanaeum once stood proud on cobbled streets, surrounded by university buildings and bustling with life. Now it exists in this dead in-between, where even sound is muffled.
“Come,” I murmur, drifting back to him when he stops completely. “Do not stare at the mist. It will drive you mad.”
He jerks, eyes fixing on me. “Really?”
I nod. “Episodes of psychosis are common after staying up here for too long. It is not a place meant for the living.”
That Lambert, Northcliff, and Galileo managed to ignore its pull when they sought me out is a small miracle, but then again, if the Arcanaeum was nudging them along like the interfering building it is, then I suppose it knew to keep them safe.
Dakari follows the stretcher, and I keep a careful gap between us to avoid accidentally touching him. My distance means I don’t see the Arcanaeum transfer Jasper onto the bed, but I do catch sight of the cart—returned to normal size—as it trundles happily through my ghostly form on its exit from the room, leaving me standing in the doorway.
Dakari has collapsed into the armchair beside the bed, and I take a deep breath as I walk over to him.
“I’ll heal the worst.” It’s the least I can do, given that the Arcanaeum, and by extension myself, is what got him into this mess.
“Him first,” Dakari grunts.
There’s a depth of concern there I wouldn’t expect for a stranger, and I frown.
Are they friends? They seem roughly the same age, so I suppose it’s possible. They must at least know each other, given his concern.
Huffing my acquiescence, I abandon him and head for the new arcanist, taking his wrist in my hands.
Only to drop it instantly as tingles engulf my palm.
Another heir with the power to hurt me. How marvellous.
“That makes things more challenging,” I murmur under my breath.
And I’ve granted him—both of them—Sanctuary. Magic only knows how long they’ll be here, with all the risk that entails.
“Librarian?”
“It’s nothing.”
Shaking my head, I hold my hands over the skin and dig deep into the Vault for the grimoires I need.
It has been so long since I had to heal anyone. Restoration magic used to repair the spines of books is a far cry from the spells needed to heal a body, and then there’s the divination magic required to look beneath the skin and diagnose whatever other problems might be lurking…
I’m getting ahead of myself. Bruises and lacerations first, so I can see what I’m dealing with.
“Hiel braosi.”
Deep, deep below, a grimoire flashes with power, a runeform lighting up with the glow of magic as I channel the spell through my palm and into Jasper’s chest.
Purple splodges disappear slowly, wiped away like they were never there. His skin glows, and I move onto the marks at his wrists, muttering more incantations under my breath.
Soon only old scars remain. I’ll deal with them later.
