Page 56 of Enthralled

And when it does, the children need to be far from this place.

The wraith’s footsteps echo away into the distance. I force myself to breathe out slowly, closing my eyes.Castien,I think, and even let my lips whisper his name. I’m more tempted than I like to admit to call his true name, his fae name. He would come for me in an instant if I did. And oh! How I need him! Need his strength, his comfort, his reassurance. But my needs aren’t what’s important right now. I must get to the low temple, and I must—

Silence.

It’s so sudden, so absolute, it knocks the breath from my lungs. The city was quiet before, caught in the stillness of shivering terror. Now it is truly silent, like a smothering blanket has fallen across this street, blocking out all sound. My other senses are dulled as well; my skin feels heavy, my eyesight blurred, my tongue sluggish and thick in my mouth. I recognize this sensation. All around me the shadows writhe with the living energy of the Nightmare Realm. A Noswraith stalks me, is even now closing in.

Slowly I turn, peer through threads of my shelteringgubdagogback up the street. There it is—the Silence, crawling along the walls, slithering over and under and aroundgubdagogsas though they aren’t even there. I don’t see it so much asfeelit, an impression of existence. Long, jointed limbs, a smooth flat forehead, no eyes. Great curving horns and batlike ears, and long claws which pierce through stone like silk.

“Nahual.”I mouth the name, unable to produce sound as the wraith skitters ever nearer. It’s the old Vaalyun word forsilence, and this is an old Vaalyun Noswraith brought into being. I’ve encountered him before and survived. He’s not terribly strong, despite his size. I slide Dasyra’s quill and a book from my satchel, preparing to write a binding. I can deal with this monster. A few quick strokes of my pen, and suddenly I stand in the street with a sword in hand, braced, prepared for battle. I’ll trap this nightmare in the pages where he belongs, and then I’ll—

Prrrrlt.

I whip my head to the right. A pair of glowing green eyes blink up at me. I only just have time to register that I heard that sound, that it should not have been able to penetrate Nahual’s silence.

Then Bheluphnu, the Black Cat, launches straight at me.

I turn, raising my sword, but the wraith hits me in the chest with all four paws. Though he’s the size of a housecat, the force of that blow knocks me to the ground. My weapon falls from my hands and clatters in the street, further breaking the silence of Nahual. Bheluphnu stares down at me, his demonic eyes spinning in his head. He utters a deep yeowl, and his mouth opens wider, wider, a cavernous maw, big enough to swallow me whole. A serpentine tongue licks at my face, and thegubdagogoverhead vibrates uselessly. I scream, throwing up my hands.

White fire flashes. For a moment, I don’t understand what I’m seeing; it all happens too fast. A brilliant, burning cord wraps around the Black Cat, snakelike coils constricting. Bheluphnu’s huge mouth shrinks, and he utters a startled,Mew?Then he’s yanked off me in a blur of light and yeowling.

I push myself upright, shaking strands of hair out of my eye. “Mixael!” I cry.

He’s there—Mixael Silveri, the head librarian of Vespre, standing beneath thegubdagog, grasping the handle of a long snake whip. The Black Cat struggles in its coils, but Mixael has it well in hand. He casts me a quick look and flashes an incongruous grin. “Get behind me, Miss Darlington!” he cries. His voice sounds soft and faraway, and I’m obliged to read his lips to understand him, for the Silence is suddenly deafening once more. I scramble to my feet, but rather than do as he said, I cast about for my dropped sword. It lies in the middle of the street. I reach for it.

In that same moment, Nahual, clinging to the side of a building partway down the street, turns his bony head and fixes all his sightless attention on me. He spreads his wings, leaps. I haven’t time enough to react, to raise any defense. But it doesn’t matter, for another figure steps into the space between me and the approaching nightmare. Light from a moonfire lantern glints off his spectacles as he plants his feet, aims a crossbow and, with an absolute coolness that borders on uncaring, fires off a silver-headed missile. The bolt flies true, piercing straight through Nahual’s protruding breastbone. The nightmare crashes to the road, cracking stone where it lands.

The next instant both Noswraiths vanish. I find myself standing in an empty street, beneath a canopy ofgubdagogthreads, between the last two remaining Vespre librarians. They are scribbling away in open books, Mixael with furious zeal, Andreas with a lazy, looping scrawl. They reach the end of their binding spells simultaneously and clap their books shut before lifting two pairs of eyes to focus on me. “Well,” Mixael says, lighting up the gloom with his enormous, heart-melting smile, “looks like we arrived just in time!”

He’s aged in the last seven years. The air of Eledria kept him forever young, but now that Vespre floats out into the Hinter. Time seems to be catching up to him along with the strain of his position. There’s gray in his hair, lines under his eyes, and grizzle on his cheeks. But when he smiles, his beauty shines through. “You seem to have gotten yourself into a bit of a pickle,” he says. “A little out of practice with the pen, are we?”

I shake my head and can only manage to answer, “What are you doing here?”

“No time to chat.” Mixael tucks the sealed book containing Bheluphnu’s new binding into the satchel at his side. “We’re close to the temple. Shall we go? I’ll tell you what I know on the way.”

I nod and fall into place between the two librarians. Mixael keeps up a steady stream of whispered talk: “Lir burst into our workroom and said you two were parted up at the palace. I confess, it was all a bit of a shock. But once she explained it, Andreas and I knew we’d all have a better shot at survival if you were alive, so we asked Anj to let us risk going back to fetch you. Old Anj didn’t want to let us go but technically he doesn’t have any right of rule over librarians, so . . . we came anyway.” He lifts an eyebrow, casting a wary glance back up the street, currently free of nightmare essence but crawling with shadows. “My wife might just kill me. But look! Here you are, and I barely had to step beyond the barriers. No harm done in the end.”

Andreas maintains his customary reserve throughout this speech, but when I turn his way, he smiles vaguely and offers a mild, “Welcome back, Miss . . . ?” He blinks uncertainly. He never could quite remember who I am.

“Darlington,” I supply. Then I bite my lip. “Actually, that’s not true. I’m not MissDarlington anymore. Technically speaking, I’m Mrs. Lodírith.”

Andreas’s brows rise slightly, but Mixael stops dead in his tracks and slaps a hand over his mouth as though to prevent an outcry. He swallows, blinks, then slowly drops his hand and says, “Are you kidding me? No, wait, don’t tell me now, Miss—Missus—Whatever you are! Let’s get you back to the temple before you go dropping anymore gob-smacking revelations. I can’t watch for Noswraiths and take in all this gossip at the same time.”

As it turns out, we weren’t more than a street away from the beginnings of thegubdagogbarrier. In my fear I hadn’t realized how close I was and might very well have missed the temple entirely. But Mixael and Andreas guide me through, and when we reach the courtyard on the far side, Lir is there to greet us.

“Mistress!” she cries and flings herself at me, catching me in her arms. “Oh, Mistress, I was so worried!”

“Did you know she’s Mrs. Lodírith now?” Mixael asks.

“Of course she is,” Lir snaps, glaring at him over my head. “Those of us with any sense saw it coming ages ago. Now go find your wife, Mister Silveri! I believe she’s currently arming herself to go out in search of you, and she might have found a helmet small enough to fit Sor’s little head.”

“Right.” Mixael grimaces and darts away at once, Andreas following behind at a leisurely stroll, as though we aren’t all in imminent peril.

I grasp Lir’s hands in mine. “Dig?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“He’s all right,” she assures me. “Umog Grush is with him, drawing poison from the wound. It’ll take a little spellwork to get it all out, but he should recover. He’s resting in the temple now, and the others are with him.”

Relief floods me in such a rush, I almost sink to my knees. Lir senses it and grasps my elbows, keeping me upright. “Are you hurt?” she asks.

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