I stood on the rolling ladder in the Restricted Section, three days after our last meeting, clutching a leather-bound grimoire to my chest. The air smelled of decay and ink, a dry, choking scent that usually settled into my pores and made me feel like part of the furniture.
But tonight, my skin was prickling.
Every creak of the floorboards sounded like a footstep. Every gust of wind rattling the high, leaded windows sounded like a voice.
I was supposed to be cataloging the Maleficia section. Dark curses, blood binds, the kind of magic that stained your fingers if you touched the pages too long. But I wasn't reading. I was listening.
A soft sound. Not the wind. It came from the service door behind the tapestry.
I didn't call out this time. I didn't ask if it was an Elder. I knew who it
