Paper and Fire (The Great Library #2)(46)

Too quiet, he thought, for Neksa and Brendan to be here. And then he sensed movement and ducked instinctively into a crouch. Just in time for the club to crash into the wall behind where his head would have been. Jess lunged forward in the next second and found himself pushing a strong, lithe, curved body back against the wall.

He immediately moved his hands to more neutral territory and said, “Neksa? Neksa, it’s Jess! Jess! I’m not going to hurt you!”

She went still for a few seconds, and then he heard the sound of the club hitting the tiled floor and a trembling intake of breath. “Jess?” Then he actually felt her steady herself and her voice grew firm. “Let me go!”

“All right,” he said, and made sure to kick the club away into the dark before he did let her loose. That had been a very respectable attempt to kill him. “I’m looking for my brother.”

“By sneaking in the side door?”

“You didn’t answer the front.”

“He’s not here,” she said, and turned a switch on the wall at her back. Lights hissed on, gradually brightening. She left them low, for which Jess was thankful, and he saw the swollen redness of her eyes and nose. For all her bravado, she looked devastated. “He left this morning.”

“Left,” Jess repeated. “Are you sure?”

“I found this when I got up this morning.” She silently reached into a pocket of her dress and handed him a folded sheet of paper. Jess took it and held it up to the light. He recognized his brother’s hand, the jagged points and long loops. It was a terse message, saying he’d had enough, he was going home, and that he’d send for the rest of his things soon. No affection. Only the vaguest of good-byes. Even for Brendan, it seemed abrupt and cold.

“It’s from him, isn’t it?” she asked, and he slowly nodded. “Why? Why would he leave so suddenly? Why would he not talk to me first? I would have gone with him. I love him! He knows that!”

He doesn’t love you, Jess wanted to tell her, but that seemed cruel. He wanted to be relieved, but the timing couldn’t have been worse; he needed Brendan. No, you don’t, the old cold part of him told him. You need her. And you can still use her. His father wouldn’t have hesitated. He’d have threatened exposure, pushed past Neksa’s shock and anger and tears, and made her into a tool to be used as needed. That was what Brendan had been intent on doing. That was the Brightwell way.

She can help you get to Thomas! Scholar Prakesh died for this. The least you can do is do what has to be done.

He stood there for a long moment, the note in his hand, and just looked at her. At the undeniable heartbreak in her, and the dignity and the vulnerability.

Then he pressed the note into Neksa’s hand and said, “Lesson learned. You shouldn’t trust either of us.”

He was gone before she spoke again.




Captain Niccolo Santi answered his door on the third volley of knocks with an expression Jess could only identify as irritated. Out of uniform, he still looked tall and imposing. “Are you insane? Go home.”

“No. I need to talk to you.” Jess heard the hard, bitter edge in his voice and the determination, and the captain must have, too. He stepped back and swung the door wider as he turned away.

“Close it behind you,” Santi said over his shoulder. “And lock it.” Which Jess would have done, anyway. “What happened? You look like something hell spit out.”

Hard to choose what to give him for an answer. My brother’s fled town without a word to me. Or, We caused the death of a Scholar. He couldn’t quite bring himself to say any of it.

Inside, the small house was clean, orderly, and comfortable. The main feature of the room was a table, with four chairs and bare of plates or glasses but loaded with a stack of Blank books, all open. Christopher Wolfe sat at that table in a dark red silk dressing gown with small reading glasses perched on the end of his nose as he compared one book to another. “Good evening. It is evening, isn’t it?”

“It’s the black middle of the night,” Santi said. “But close, I suppose.”

Wolfe folded the glasses, slotted them into the centerfold of an open book, and said, “You were told to stay away from us, I believe, Brightwell. It was very good advice.”

Santi sat down at the table beside Wolfe and put his head in his hands. “He’s as bad as you. Tell him to stay away, and he’ll do just the opposite. I don’t know why you pretend to be surprised. You should know them all better by now.”

When Wolfe didn’t answer, Jess did. “Captain, you heard about Scholar Prakesh?”

“Yes,” Santi said, and looked aside at Wolfe. “I meant to tell you, but you were busy, and—”

“What about Prakesh?”

“She’s dead,” Jess said, before Santi could reply. “It’s our fault. We asked her for information that could have led us to Thomas.”

Paralysis lasted for a few heartbeats, and then Wolfe angrily shoved the books in front of him off the table, onto the floor. Santi winced, and Jess quickly bent and rescued the volumes. He found Wolfe’s glasses and put them on the top of the stack.

By the time he’d finished, Wolfe had gotten to his feet and turned away to pace the end of the room. “I hope you realize what you’ve done. You’ve not just sacrificed Aadhya Prakesh, but yourselves as well. Every one of you will be picked off before you know what’s coming. What were you thinking?”