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If she responds, it’s lost in the echoing hisses of the books. Ah, fuck. Here they come. A rumble of clawing, growling cursed paper and parchment crashes through the stacks. My rings flare gold and I spread my fingers wide. Threads explode out, weaving together like a net just in time. A small army of smaller books collide into it. They hiss and squeal in rage while they writhe in my trap. I ripple my fingers, my rings warm and tingly, as I secure the ends of the net to the walls, floor, and ceiling to create a barrier.

I’ve bought myself precious minutes. I run to check the back room to make sure she’s not hiding in the basement, the silk curtain long gone, and skid to a stop with a groan. I cannot catch a break.

Dangerous book two out of three stands before me. The grimoire beast is as large as a bear with the jaws of a croc. It hisses, eyes glowing the signature gold of Creation. Its maw chomps loudly on dried herbs as it drops an empty drawer from Tor’s potion ingredients cabinet with a loud clatter.

I dart a quick glance to where the basement iron door is hidden. About fifteen books are crawling along the perimeter of it, suckling at the illusion hungrily. Maybe I’ll come back if I don’t find Tori at the park. The iron will hold strong and keep her safe if she is down there.

A loud thud has my attention snapping back to the grimoire. Its massive paws have hit the ground, and its crocodilian tail swishes as it rumbles, gold eyes trained on me. I back up slowly, speaking lowly to the book.

“Remember me? I was the one who wrecked your nest in that village. Don’t I look tasty? Come on, now. Follow me…”

Maybe I can lure it outside for the Magistrate to deal with. I back into the foyer, not taking my eyes off the grimoire with each slow step. My threads slither out of my rings to circle me like a nest of floating snakes.

Clicking from the darkness of the stacks raises the hairs on the back of my neck. Ah, fuck me. Here comes the third book to ruin my plan. Typical. I hit the ground when it rips through my net like it was made of nothing more than wet paper. The mass of black smoke collides with the walls, and I roll as it tries to launch itself at me again.

My threads smack it, and it crashes into the bear grimoire. But they’re not distracted by each other. Why would they be? It would mean I’d have some luck left, and I fear that my well has run dry.

Well, nothing left to do. I scramble to my feet and bolt into the stacks. The two books give chase, crashing and thundering behind me. The final dangerous volume, a ghostly book, has me worried. There’s no way my attack will work a second time. When I hunted it down for Tori, I had a chalice that she procured for me to subdue it back into book form.

Of course, she didn’t tell me where she put the chalice after I secured the book. Oh no. That would be too easy.

I dodge and slap books out of my way. Claws slice down my spine, my back arching and feet stumbling, but the magic Tori wove into my jacket flares to life again to protect me. My threads crack against the errant spell book and slice clean through the grimoire. That’s the second time my jacket has saved my ass. Fuck, I do love my sweet Torment. Now where is she?

“Tor!” I try yelling, but there’s no response over the chaos. My only hope is to make it to her loft and check the park. If she’s missing, I’ll come back with a plan.

I turn and double back when the black smoke surges forward. My threads pass through it uselessly, and I yell, “Oh come on!” Tor’s wrath be damned, my threads crack together, and fire ignites, forcing it back. Fucking books. Why couldn’t Tor like something docile? Like kittens. What I wouldn’t give to be fighting a shop full of kittens right now.

Jinx would probably kill them all. She gets jealous like that.

I take off again. The spiral iron staircase comes into view. I grab the railing and launch myself over it, but something grabs my boot and yanks. My ribs crack into the iron hard, and I tumble to the ground. Turning, I drag myself to my knees before freezing. Dark green vines slither along the ground, wrapping around smaller grimoires and dragging them back into the shadows. My jaw drops as I follow the vines. A ghastly carnivorous plant grows from a splayed-open book, its bulbous head opening to reveal a pool of sizzling liquid within. A tendril drips liquid, the wood sizzling upon impact.

Oh, hell no. I launch off the ground, my hands gripping the railing to heave the rest of myself up and over, but it’s no use. A thorned vine wriggles out and grips my boot. I grit my teeth and dangle from the iron railing, captured leg pulled towards the hungry bulb.

Panting, I calculate my odds of being able to crack my threads together fast enough to ignite before losing my foot. I don’t recognize this book. It must be from before Tori and I were partners. For all I know, it could consume me before I have time to piss myself.

My rings spill forth threads, but their lights splutter and go dark. The damn iron of the handrail is interfering with my magic. I’ll need to let go with one hand, but the plant won’t release me.

Fuck it. I release my left arm, my right aching from the vine’s strength. Threads burst from my left hand’s rings like they were waiting for this moment. They dive towards the tendril on my boot, slipping under its grip. With a gasp, I whip my arm up in a clenching motion as hard as I can. The vine shreds and my legs swing hard back to the iron to collide kneecap first.

Pain explodes where my body collided, weakening my grip. Somehow, I manage to heave myself over the railing.

I crawl my way up the stairs and let out a long breath when I find the loft’s door still intact. Finally, a good sign. The door unlocks, and I stumble in before slamming it closed behind me. The tamer books along Tor’s shelves sing their greeting, but I ignore them, hollering, “Tor! Jinx!”

Silence. I flop back against the door. Of course they’re not in here. I try to swallow down the surge of dark thoughts threatening to break me, but it doesn’t work. They grow louder and louder, and I brace myself. They’re already dead. You’re too late. This is your fault. You’ve failed them all. They’d still be alive if it wasn’t for you.

I gasp, chest pumping to fight against the growing tightness. My shoulders are curling, and I force them back against the door so I can breathe easier. I rub my chest where my scar hides beneath Tori’s glamour. My rings hum softly, tingling as my threads inspect my sweet Torment’s magic. It’s still there, as strong as ever, which means Tori is still alive. It’s not too late to help her.

But first, I need to fix my leg so I can get to her.

With a groan, I lean over to assess my swollen knee. What I wouldn’t give to have Nora nearby to patch me up. My threads slip out to wrap around the joint. I close my eyes and concentrate as I weave a brace for myself. It will hold up for a bit. Hopefully, that’s plenty of time to find Tori and start a new life as fugitives.

I scrub my face before pushing off the door. The rug that usually covers Tori’s slate floor is rolled back and a chalked circle sits neatly in the middle. My knee twinges under my brace when I step over the chalk. Wasting no time, I withdraw my handy notebook from my jacket’s inner pocket and jot down the rune Tori used to anchor the circle to her loft. She changes it every time she returns so that no one can ever slip through her wards. As long as she doesn’t beat me back here and wipe the chalk clean, I can use it to come back.

Tucking away my notebook, I reach out and flex my fingers. My threads wind along the chalk, powering it like a weaver would. I breathe slowly, careful to ensure each etching is perfectly lit so not one dust of limestone is left untraced.

I say the ancient word for travel, and the magic consumes me.

CHAPTER 9