Smiling with relief, Vivienne rocked back on her heels and adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “Yes. This is my . . . research assistant.” She jerked a thumb at Rhys, and he looked up at the ancient woman behind the desk, wondering if this would actually work. If she was a witch and worked at Penhaven, there was a good chance she might know who he was.
But the woman at the desk didn’t seem to care much. She barely gave Rhys a cursory glance before nodding and typing something out on a computer in front of her.
“Two hours,” she said, and there was a little whir as a machine printed out a sticker, which she handed to Vivienne, who turned and handed it to Rhys.
v. jones guest, it read, a little time stamp underneath, and Rhys frowned.
“This is . . . a lot more prosaic than I was expecting.”
“We live in the twenty-first century,” Dr. Fulke said from her perch, folding her arms over her narrow chest. “Forgive us for not scratching your name on vellum with a quill.”
“Well, I don’t need vellum, but the odd quill would be—”
“Thank you, Dr. Fulke,” Vivienne said quickly, pulling Rhys away.
“Your research assistant?” he asked as they moved deeper into the stacks.
“It was the first thing I could think of,” she whispered back. “And, I mean. It’s not completely untrue.”
She stopped as they reached the back of the room, nodding at a row of doors. “Take anything you find into one of those rooms, and I’ll meet you back here in an hour or so, as soon as I get out of class. You can ask Dr. Fulke or any of the other librarians if you need help, but don’t—”
“Vivienne.” He stopped her by stepping closer, reaching out to put his hands on her shoulders before he thought better of it and stepped back again. “I am a grown, adult man,” he said instead. “I think I can manage asking for help without giving away the whole plot.”
Her pursed lips told him she might not actually believe that, but she gave a nod anyway. “Good. I’ll help once I’m back.”
With that, she was turning away in a swirl of golden hair and black skirt, leaving Rhys alone in her deeply creepy library.
Not just creepy, but heavy. Ancient magic, the truly old, deep stuff, hummed through the room like a current of electricity, the kind of magic that made you feel a little uncomfortable, skin suddenly too sensitive, teeth aching slightly.
Grimacing, Rhys rolled his shoulders and stepped farther into the breach.
Fifteen minutes later—and with no assistance at all, thank you very much, Vivienne Jones—Rhys had a stack of books and made his way to one of the doors in the back.
The study room was tiny, nearly claustrophobic with no windows, the only light from a heavy glass lamp overhead, and nothing more than a large wooden table in the middle, an ancient slab of oak that also seemed to hold some magical properties. When Rhys put his hand flat on the top, he could feel a slight vibration.
Sighing, he opened the first book from the stack.
It was mostly in Latin, and Rhys felt that part of his brain creak slowly into life as he read. Hadn’t had much use for Latin since school, and had taken something of a perverse pleasure in not being as fluent in it as his father and brothers, insisting any magic that required this much work wasn’t worth it.
He maybe regretted that now.
Just a smidgen.
And as he read, he couldn’t stop thinking about his father, whom he definitely should be calling, right now, this minute, actually several hours ago.
Simon would know what to do. He always did. But that didn’t mean Rhys was ready to talk to him about this yet.
Was that because he was afraid of his father’s reaction when he learned he’d actually been wrong about something?