Page 116 of Ink Blood Sister Scribe

“That was an experience I’d like never to repeat,” she said, and unbuckled her seat belt, looking out through the windshield. They were in what seemed to be a garage, somewhere windowless and dim and concrete. Another big black car was parked along one wall, identical to the one they sat in now. Collins had already hopped out and come around to open her door, offering her a hand out, which she took because she still felt a bit shaky.

The passage from the garage was so dark and musty that Joanna paused, disoriented, when Collins opened the door onto a white marble floor and ushered them into an enormous, gleaming room. Huge windows framed the countryside they’d just been driving through—the rolling hills, hedges like stitches on a quilt, a minnowy sky. In the distance, Joanna could see a still, dark lake and an old greenhouse, the glass broken, the inside a tangle of winter-dead vines.

A click-click of little nails on marble made her look up right as Sir Kiwi pranced into the room, Nicholas a few paces behind her wearing very blue shoes and very pressed trousers. Joanna had seen him just yesterday, but here in his grand home she felt suddenly shy, out of place. She crossed her arms as he came toward them and the grin he’d been wearing faded into sudden diffidence, as if her reserve was contagious.

“Hello,” he said formally. “You made it.”

“We did,” she said. “Thank you for having me.”

Tentatively he reached out like he was going to pat her shoulder, but seemed to change his mind halfway through and pulled her into a hug instead, wrapping his arms tightly around her. After a moment she hugged him back, feeling graceless and very pleased. Aside from Collins, she’d never been hugged by anyone outside her family, and certainly never by anyone who smelled this expensive, like a department store.

“Your sweater’s soft,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “I can’t believe you’re standing here. Your first flight! How was it? Come on, I put your things in your room, I’ll show you to it. Esther insisted you two share because she’s frightened of the dark—”

“I’m not frightened of the dark, I’m frightened of your giant haunted murder house, thank you—”

“—But if you want your own space, we’ve got plenty of it, so just say the word. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Dinner’s in an hour, but I thought maybe cocktails in the Winter Drawing Room first?”

“Nicholas,” said Collins.

“What? The breakfast room instead?”

“No, no. No more rooms. Maybe let them sit down for a second before you talk their faces off.”

“I’ve never had guests before,” Nicholas said. “Excuse me if I’m a little overexcited. This is the ballroom, obviously, and there, that’s the Winter Drawing Room. Ink-making kitchen to your right, staff kitchen farther down that hall. You two will be upstairs in the East Wing.”

Joanna’s neck was already starting to hurt from craning and staring; even the ceilings were elaborate, high and carved and limned in gold. The polished stone floors barely registered their feet, swallowing the sound, but as they ascended the curving staircase their steps began to echo faintly. And there was another sound making itself known, as well: a vast, churning hum.

Without meaning to, Joanna had slowed behind the other three, looking back the way they’d come. The Library’s books were below her, she could feel them as clearly as she felt her own hands hanging by her sides. It was like standing over an enormous beehive, honeyed vibrations slowly dripping down her body, all her senses stroked by a hot wind, and she closed her eyes, overwhelmed.

“You get used to it,” Collins said, close by. She opened her eyes again to find him waiting with her. “There are bedrooms on the top floor if it’s too much for you.”

“No,” Joanna said quickly, because it wasn’t a bad feeling, it was almost soothing, like fingers in her hair. “But I want to see them.”

“Now?”

She nodded. Nicholas, who’d been listening from down the hall, doubled back, his steps quick and anticipatory. “Down,” he said, though Joanna didn’t need him to tell her that, nor to lead her back through the marble-floored hall and down a long hallway carpeted in robin’s-egg blue and lined with massive oil paintings, all the way to an enormous metal door. She could have found this door with her eyes shut and her hands tied behind her back, following only that ocean of not-quite-sound, and whenNicholas opened it with a whir of gears and swept an arm for her to enter first, she did so eagerly.

She stepped into a dream. Lights flickered on as she moved inside and the crystal chandelier above her flared to life, illuminating the ornate ceiling and curving walls, the heavy brocade drapes, richly patterned carpet, dark coruscating wood, velvet-cushioned chairs, shining bronze. And the books. Books on every single wall, shelf after towering glass-doored shelf arranged in twisting, mazy rows, books staring at her from every direction, behind glass doors, propped on stands, their covers facing out, neat placards at every base.

Joanna thought of her basement at home and the pride with which she’d always cared for her own meager collection: dusting their pages, memorizing their words, all the while believing she and Abe were unique in their purpose and chosen in their isolation. Abe had always known this place existed and still he had encouraged those beliefs. Was it to keep her safe, or to keep her stationary, or both? She would never be able to ask him.

At her elbow, Esther said quietly, “Are you thinking about Dad?”

Joanna turned to her, a lump in her throat. She nodded. “How did you know?”

“Because I think of him whenever I’m in here, too.”

There were many conversations Joanna would never get to have with Abe, but just as many that she wanted to have with her sister, and even after several months of having Esther back in her life, it still felt like a miracle to think she might be able to. There was so much yet unsaid between them, so much they didn’t know about one another, and so much time in which to learn. She leaned into her sister’s shoulder and let the sturdy warmth of it ground her.

“What will you do with all of this?” she asked.

“That’s a recent matter of debate,” Nicholas said, and Esther let out a snort. “As the largest concentrated base of magical knowledge in the world,” he continued, shooting Esther a sharp look, “I do think we have some responsibility to ensure it’s properly archived and maintained. Ihave lots of money, I have a full staff, and the house is massive enough to hold a million guests—”

“Twenty-five guests,” said Collins. “Thirty tops.”

“—so, I was thinking, I don’t know, maybe... a school?”

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