The Librarian: A Remnants of Magic Novel (The Librarian of Alexandria Book 2) by Casey White (reading list txt) 📗

Something flashed by his hood, close enough to rip the fabric.  He twisted, more out of shock than anything, and bit back a yelp as hot fires tore across his arm.

Knives.  He caught sight of them as they flew past into the study ahead—and then froze, hovering in midair.  They flipped back around, their tips pointing ominously back at him.

Shit.  Owl threw himself to the side as they burst back into motion, ducking behind a bookshelf.  They hit the wood with an almighty thunk,wobbling gently.  Even as he watched, they quivered, as though an invisible hand was trying to yank them free.

Owl looked to the far side of the wing, eyes widening.  A man stood there, his posture decidedly more comfortable than the two men he’d fought thus far.  His hand was out, fingers curled.  With a creak of splintering wood, the two knives ripped free, sailing back toward him.

Magic.  And...Owl swallowed, staring at the figure.  This didn’t feel like Alexandria’s magic.  This was something else—this man was too comfortable, too poised.  There was none of the hesitation of his last opponent.  He’d only used those knives, but...he’d used them with such confidence.

Mage.  The word echoed through Owl’s skull like a warning bell.  That was the true danger of allowing mages into Alexandria, wasn’t it?  Sure, they might find information that they shouldn’t, and the risk was always there of them finding the Librarian’s identity.

But more than that, they had magic.  They could use it, they were comfortable with it.  And even if their magic didn’t follow them into Alexandria, they’d already trained themselves to use it.  They had faith.  They believed.

Cries still filtered out from the man frozen to the ground, rising off the brick walls of the cell he’d made, but Owl’s gaze was glued to that mage.  That demi.  The whole building around them shook with Alexandria’s anger.

Fine, then.  Owl gritted his teeth, ignoring the rush of pain from his leg and his arm, and lashed his arm across his front.  The amassed waters surged, rising from the stone floor to spray at the mage.

Who broke into a run, still perfectly casual, and darted behind a bookshelf.  At the last, his hand swung out.  The knives twitched at the motion, flying out again.  This time, though, they split apart, arcing through the air in a pair of wild curves.

Owl lurched, snapping his hand up.  A wall of stone rose from the ground, and he let himself tumble forward.  The knives sang past, right over his head.

“H-Hey!” the frozen man cried.  He was starting to wrench himself free, a plume of fire coursing down from his hand.  Owl’s stomach tightened at the sight.  “We’re not supposed to-”

The demi leaned out from behind his bookshelf cover, eyes narrowed.  The whistling shriek of the knives accelerated again.

Enough, Owl willed.  He flipped himself over, grimacing, in time to see the silvery darts shoot toward his chest.

A smile flickered at the corners of his lips—and his mind latched onto the image of them flying through the air, graceful and swift.

The knives froze, a few feet away, then shimmered.  White shapes burst from their metal confines, flapping madly.  In a heartbeat, the knives were gone, leaving only a pair of birds that vanished into the rafters.

Grabbing hold of his stonework shelter, Owl hoisted himself aloft, turning back to face the mage.  The man was scowling, his face red and his eyebrows drawn together.  Owl grinned, fighting to catch his breath.  “Not so good without your weapons, are you?” he whispered under his breath.

The demi took a step to the side, though, his face distorting further, and raised his hand again.  Books flew from their shelves, tumbling around him.

“Like hell,” Owl spat.  He brought his hands together, twisting the heels of both palms into each other.

Across the wing, the bookshelves on either side of the demi shuddered—then slammed together.  Screams split the quiet.

Not too hard, Owl whispered silently.  Don’t kill him.  I don’t want to kill him.  Just...hold him, right there.  His head spun.  He lurched forward, bracing his elbows off the stone, and cursed under his breath.  He’d been keeping it together so well.  If he could just hold on a little longer.

“M-Move!” he heard someone else cry—and looked back to the once-frozen man in time to see a cloud of icicles shoot toward his face.

It was too easy to drop to the ground, giving in to his exhaustion, and let the blades of ice shoot by overhead.  He forced himself back to his feet, though, collecting his strength for another push.

When he steadied himself, facing back toward the two intruders, he saw the bookshelves creaking apart.  The man in the hallway skipped back behind a wall, dripping with bits of ice and rime.  His friend stumbled away from the bookshelves, limping badly.

“Not so fast,” Owl hissed, bring his hands up again, and-

The demi didn’t even turn.  He just flicked his fingers.  Owl’s hood twisted, moving of its own accord, and yanked forward hard enough to drag his whole head down.

He yelped, wrenching it free with both hands. But by the time he lifted his head, panting behind his mask, the two were gone.  Distantly, the thud of running footsteps grew quieter.

Owl stood heavily, leaning on the stone half-wall, and straightened his hood.  The world shifted around him, but he gritted his teeth.  He was the Librarian.  He’d do his duty, a bit of vertigo or no.

He couldn’t kill them.  And he couldn’t make them leave.  But by god, he’d make them fight for every inch of ground they took—and he wouldn’t give them anything that counted.  He’d hold them, here and now.

Taking a deep breath, he trudged forward past the brick-lined cell toward the door they’d fled through.

Someone pounded a fist on the inside of the makeshift prison.  “H-Hey.  Is- Is anyone there?  Uh.  It’s, uh.  It’s dark.  Could you-”

Owl hit the wall as he walked past, and the knocking stopped.  “Settle down for