Page 55 of Liminal
“You attack one another? Jesus, that’s nothing like volleyball!”
I clear my throat. “I’m sure North can learn this another time. Now, study the ball and copy the runeform.”
“Can’t we just use that one?” North asks, frowning at the one in the book.
Deep breaths, deep breaths. He knows nothing…
Thankfully, Leo takes this one.
“Grimoires are specially made to ensure they can withstand the flow of magic long enough to cast a spell. If you tried to cast using that book, it would burn up like a scrap and it wouldn’t last long enough to conjure anything. Even if that book was able to withstand the magic, your grimoire becomes attuned to you over time, which means that using another arcanist’s will drain you faster.”
North grumbles, pulling the sleek blue grimoire from the holster at his hip with a slowness born of lack of practice. From that fumbling alone, I can tell that this will be a long night.
Sixteen
Dakari
The second the clock strikes twelve, the door to our room snicks closed and the lock engages. Jasper doesn’t move, though his colour is rapidly improving. His skin normally holds more of his mother’s eastern Mediterranean tan, but right now he’s almost as pale as his Scottish father. At least he’s no longer such a sickly yellow.
Kyrith’s healing has done wonders already, but I need him to wake up so I can figure out how he got into this mess in the first place.
I’m so focused on the hypnotic pattern of his breathing that, at first, I miss the menacing chill that fills the space. It takes the hair on the back of my neck rising to alert me.
Something is wrong.
Alarm fills me, and I head towards the door instinctively.
Is this some attack by the Carltons? Repercussions for my getting caught? Is Kyrith facing it alone? Or worse, is it the Ó Rinn boy? That family can’t be trusted.
The handle won’t turn.
Drawing my grimoire, I let my magic rifle through the pages and chuck spell after spell at the stupid piece of wood between me and her. Nothing. It doesn’t unlock. Hell, I chuck a telekinetic wave at it, rattling the frame, but the thing won’t give an inch.
That should be impossible. I’m the Talcott heir because I’m a magical powerhouse. A simple door should not be able to defeat me.
If she’s in trouble, wasting her power to keep my door shut is a stupid move. The thought of her alone, in danger, makes my anger spike.
“Let me out!” I snarl at the door.
Yes, she gave us a curfew, and I would’ve respected that if not for the fact that the room is filling with smoke. No. Not smoke. Fog. Icy, cold, glowing fog. It swirls around my ankles, leeching the warmth from my bones.
I slam my fist against the wood, cursing, which achieves nothing beyond a bruised hand and the memory of my grandfather’s sharp voice in my head, reprimanding me for losing my temper.
Then I flinch backwards as the paint flakes away, forming a clear message.
“Do not interfere,” I read aloud. “With what?”
In answer, the lock flicks open.
Finally.
I tear across the parapet, still clutching my grimoire in one hand. But when I try to head down the stairs to the ground floor, they disappear entirely.
Cursing them, I tear through the stacks, heading for the balcony that overlooks the Botanical Hall. The mist below is so thick that I almost don’t notice the three figures crossing the foyer at first.
“Keep up, Kyrith,” a nasally old voice scolds. “We shan’t be late on account of you.”
I pause, wondering who would dare address the Librarian in such a demeaning manner. She’s at the back…but strangely, she looks less…jaded. Her eyes are wide, her expression open in a way I’ve never seen before, and her glow is dim.
