He points. “It’s called left, otherwise known as west.”
“I know that’s west,” she bristles. “I’ve taken this route a thousand times.”
“So have I, and the best way to access the Archives is my way.”
“We need to go east. The economy section—”
“What the fuck? You can’t be serious,” he whines, flipping his head toward her. “That passage is unreliable and too narrow for my testicles to fit through. And putting it mildly—”
“You consider this mild?”
“—it’s also the most boring area of the repository. A fucking snooze-fest of ledgers.”
“Are you an imbecile or an imbecile? That is precisely why it’s the most frequently unmanned section. Furthermore, it’s canopied by the most trees. Hence, it’s easier to breach the structure from there without being spotted. I know what I’m talking about.”
“Look at you. As ramrod as a cock.”
“I am not getting defensive!”
“No, you’re getting aroused. Don’t worry, competition does it for me, too.”
For Fate’s sake, he sniggers as if this is hilarious. It’s the most pretentious sound Wonder has ever heard, grating on her flesh as rivalry blasts up her veins. In the near future, she’ll need a ladle with which to scoop the memory from her temporal lobe.
On the flip side, he’s right. Blood courses through her scalp, prompting a heady rush.
Mmm, something we have in common.
Oh, he has no idea how much they have in common. Will she tell him? Malice has forfeited most of his rights, but not that one. He doesn’t seem to have a clue about his past life as a mortal, but he deserves to know.
Yet she’s dubious whether he should know. It might send him into a tailspin. By the same token, it will force Wonder to share the details of her role in his former life, which will make him despise her more than he already does, which will hardly induce him to be civil, much less cooperative.
The rivalry progresses during their quest, each of them quarreling over the subjects of research, clamoring for the last word. And when not sparring about that, they feud over an assortment of other logistics, like the best nooks to search within the Hollow Chamber’s forbidden channel.
They fling their expertise at one other like darts, aiming to strike true and get higher points. It’s a petty match to see who knows more, to win the game, to get the medal.
Huff. The only reward he’s going to earn is an honorable mention.
Then again, what’s become of her scholarly, investigative decorum?
Writing is universal. In retrospect, it’s been a foundation in the relationships of her peers, playing a role in the evolution of their stories: books and journals between Love and Andrew, neon words and lyrics between Anger and Merry, libraries and letters between Wonder and Malice.
Not that they’re a Wonder and Malice. The prospect greases her tongue with oil. She loved the boy he used to be, not the deviant he’s become. Thusly, they’ve joined the ranks of Envy and Sorrow, another temporary couple without definition or a promising future.
Birds shake their bejeweled plumage while chirping a spectral melody. The woodland splits, the branches unlacing to reveal a resplendent edifice. The sight quickens Wonder and Malice’s pace until they duck behind shrubbery.
Nestled within the beeches, the Archives rises from the earth, multiple levels of interconnected star-shaped towers shooting to the sky. Windows refract lights from the constellations. Exterior stairways soar along the stone fortification, and waterfalls course down the walls and grass-carpeted landings. The structure blends into the enshrouding boughs, coalescing with the trees like an extension of the celestial wild.
It’s a great library of forests and starlight.
Wonder’s mouth wreaths into a smile. From the corner of her eye, she notices Malice paying infuriating attention to her. In the piebald light, his jaw ticks as though her pleasure is contaminating his mood.
“What?” she blusters.
“Nothing.” He shifts expressions like he shifts moods, recklessly and with immediacy, his lips lifting. “Wandering Wonder. How do you like the western view?”
Damn him. She’s neglected to notice the direction in which they’d been trekking.
Then again, she takes a second look. Examining the gate bookended by tumbling mists of water, a smug giddiness brightens her evening. “I wouldn’t know. Would you?”
Frowning, Malice studies the façade and draws the same conclusion. She hadn’t been the only one not paying attention to their destination during the hike.
This is the north wing, the building’s very own northern star.
He curses, raking those talons through his hair. “I hate this entrance.”
That perks her up. “Suddenly, it’s growing on me. Why don’t you demonstrate how much you hate it by trespassing first? I know you like coming first. There’s something so—” she imitates him, flicking her fingers in rumination, “—so first about it.”
His face cinches into a scowl. “Very funny, Wildflower.”
“I like to think so, Demon.”
“What happened to ‘dearest’? Why does everyone else get ‘dearest,’ and I get its evil twin?”
“You wouldn’t know what to do with the alternative.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
He just hates this entrance because it’s not a challenge, even less so than the eastern gate. On this route, the only trial they’ll face is navigating a dizzying maze of corridors that no equilibrium stands a chance against. Easy.
Not that it used to be easy. Wonder has gotten lost there precisely two hundred times prior to mastering its path.
Although the east wing is their best option, the rotation of the Archive keepers—whichever dutiful ones remain here until cessation officially begins tomorrow—should prevent an altercation in the north entrance at this hour. Nonetheless, Malice is correct. It can’t be more than a few stragglers, and it’s a large structure, so any guardians will be painless to dodge.
One can hope.
They race across the lawn and pause beneath the misty waters flanking the gate, where Malice withdraws the Asterra Flora from his saddlebag, slathering the contents over the winding calligraphy of bars. It’s a clean rift, the bolt giving with a subtle tremor.
Slipping into the courtyard, they dash toward a pentagonal double door, where they apply another dose of the liquid. Just like that, they slip into the vestibule, where a procession of lanterns hangs overhead, each housing a single star. The encasements’ cutouts emit strands of rosemary green light that dimple the bookcase walls, while narrow windows exhibit violet twilight, the glass panes embroidered with leaves from outside.
Wonder reads Malice’s mind, and maybe he reads hers. Agreeing on a route is paramount, but before they do anything, they must tend to the basics. That includes reaching a safe zone until the building empties at dawn.
Demoted from a library maven to a library squatter. If she were alone, she would get cranky. Since Malice would feed on that emotion as if part of his diet, she pulls herself together.
“Whatever wardens are left, they’re already in vacation mode,” he murmurs. “I suggest we bunk in the southern dorms.”