Page 44 of Twisted Magic

“They’re missing?” Alise tendered with mixed feelings. Disappointing not to find them, but also something of a relief to be vindicated in her own search results.

Cillian jumped at her question and turned on her in considerable surprise. “I forgot you were here.”

So much for the flattering fantasy that the eccentric librarian wizard was fascinated by her. Of course, having people forget her existence was pretty much standard for her, so she could hardly hold it against him.

“Still here,” she replied mildly. “No House Phel archives?”

“No.” He sounded personally offended, stabbing a finger toward the shelves. “These are House Xerograf archives and they were founded only 150 years ago and I know House Phel came and went before that. I’ve been wondering for a while now, thinking some of these houses had to be founded after Phel, but I wasn’t sure until now. Still, this is impossible.”

~15~

“Clearly not actually impossible,” Alise pointed out, not above enjoying turning a bit of pedantry back on Cillian, though he seemed oblivious. “I was willing to accept that I couldn’t find the House Phel archives, but if you can’t, then they must be missing. Simple logic.”

“There’s nothing logical about this. There must be some other explanation.” He sounded as if he were asking a question, but not of her. Instead, his accusing glare roved over the library at large, as if it had somehow failed him.

“Are any other house archives missing?” she asked.

Now he fastened his offended gaze on her. “Archives don’t go missing,” he answered crossly. “That’s the whole point of archives, to preserve and keep them.”

“But would you know if others were missing?” she persisted. “You didn’t know the House Phel archives were missing.”

He spread his hands wide in frustration. “How are you supposed to notice something that isn’t there? It’s not as if they left empty shelves behind, a big, glaring gap shouting ‘hey, look, stuff used to be here and it’s gone now…’” He trailed off, awful understanding dawning on his face.

“Who would ‘they’ be?” Alise asked, pouncing on the opportunity. When Cillian stared at her blankly, she waved a hand. “Who could do that? Who could remove the archives of an entire house and rearrange the shelves so no evidence remained that a significant number of documents had disappeared?”

“Nobody,” he answered, stricken. “I mean a librarian theoretically could have the access, but no one would. Certainly not anyone from Harahel. That goes against everything we stand for.”

Somehow, she absolutely believed him. That didn’t mean there weren’t wizards in his house who would act otherwise, but Cillian was totally earnest. “Would someone in Harahel have the knowledge in their heads? You know, memorized.”

He considered that, then shook his head. “Unlikely. The houses, especially high houses, tend to be proprietary about their records and don’t like anyone looking at them who isn’t properly authorized. Most of these are keyed to house members only,” he added sadly.

“I’d noticed that. Why store the records here at Convocation Center here if no one can read them?”

“Not no one,” he corrected in his pedantic way, but she found the trait charming enough that it didn’t bother her. “There are channels for authorization. When Lord Gabriel Phel registered to reinstate the house, he’d have received authorization, along with the ability to authorize others, which he could then convey as he saw fit. So we know the archives had to have been here when he received the Convocation blessing and…” Cillian trailed off, arrested by whatever he saw in Alise’s face. “The archives were not here then,” he said on a breath of realization.

Curse her transparent expressions. This would be tricky to navigate, but it was already too late. It wasn’t a question so much of trusting the librarian wizard as enlisting him to her cause at this point. Better to have his help than reporting back on her. “No, they weren’t. Almost certainly not,” she amended. “Gabriel—Lord Phel, I mean—wasn’t given access to the archives when he received the probationary reinstatement. He wasn’t raised in the Convocation so…”

“So he didn’t know to ask for them and it apparently didn’t occur to anyone to mention their existence—or lack thereof. How could that have happened?” He gazed around at the quiet shelves as if expecting an answer, before pinning Alise with a knowing stare. “You’re not surprised.”

“I’ve been searching for weeks now,” she replied, sounding defensive to her own ears.

“No, it’s more than that. You suspected the records had been taken and only asked me to help to corroborate your suspicions. Ohh,” he breathed, face lighting with understanding. “Nic Elal, erm, Lady Phel, that is—she told her wizard that he should’ve been given access to the Phel archives. They already suspect that he was deliberately diverted from them and asked you to ferret out the truth. You’re a spy!”

His voice rose so high with elated discovery that Alise wanted to shush him, even knowing that they remained inside the bubble of silence. “No, that’s not it,” she protested. “I was looking for my own curiosity and—”

“Oh, come now, Wizard Alise,” he chided in that schoolmarmish way that she found ridiculously engaging. “Let’s not play stupid among friends. You’ve been in here night after night, combing these archives, which have nothing to do with your rather crushing courseload, even with the flimsy excuse of that independent study. You haven’t been losing sleep for idle entertainment. You’re doing this for House Phel, to attempt to save them from their enemies.”

“Their enemies?” she echoed, feeling caught quite flatfooted. And she thought she’d been so subtle and discreet.

“Yes, yes, of course.” He waved away the prevarication like a stink in the air. “Everyone knows House Phel is teetering on the brink of collapse. They faced an uphill climb to begin with and, well, to extend the analogy, there’s a substantial legal avalanche poised just above. It doesn’t look good.”

Dread curled in Alise’s stomach, making her feel ill. “I don’t think it looks that bad,” she said weakly. She swayed on her feet, the edges of her vision darkening.

“Here now.” Cillian caught her by the arm, frowning. “You’re running on fumes. When was the last time you ate?”

“At dinner,” she answered indignantly, wanting to tear away from his supporting hand—she had her pride, after all—finding herself unable to muster the strength. It would be more humiliating if she fainted, so she didn’t dare try too hard.

“Which was easily twelve hours ago, and I doubt you ate much then,” he retorted, sounding most annoyed. “You never do.”

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