Alistair Blackstar awoke in Solaria with a pounding headache.

The previous night had been overwhelming, starting with Felix’s masquerade and the chaotic events at the Undergast mansion, where he acquired the Umi Hoshi Kraken card that used to belong to the iniquitous late Professor Humboldt. The night spiraled further with Senka, the fight, her death, and the aftermath to the tune of bury or burn.

Now, a pounding headache. Borderline migraine.

Now, a message already coming in from Kanda telling him that Felix accepted her explanation of why they had attacked the masquerade, that he had seen the light and that he had personally thanked her.

Finally, the cards.

Kanda: I’ve looked through the cards you took from the Undergasts. They’re good. But we won’t be able to divvy them up until we reach the Academy. I’d say let’s do it on the rune railpath, but Melissa will probably be with me. So tonight, Resonant Rooms. You want to test your new summon anyway, right? We’ll do that too. Also. Do you know what happened to Kanda? Felix mentioned she didn’t return.

Alistair: She got in the way.

Kanda: You mean you—?

Alistair: I had to. Juno and Zola were there. She threatened them.

Kanda: Fucking hell, Alistair. How?

Alistair: I got lucky.

Kanda: You got more than lucky if you killed Senka. Did your summons help you?

Alistair: Sure.

Kanda: Care to elaborate?

Alistair figured it wouldn’t hurt to lie in this regard. As his head continued throbbing, he came up with an easy answer.

Alistair: It was all Ziggy. Saved by the slime. Again.

Kanda: Craziness. That slime never fails to impress. I won’t tell a soul, promise. I’d rather leave my uncle guessing anyway. The more paranoid, the better. But I will say this: if people knew that you were the one that killed Senka, you would suddenly have a slew of new enemies and new admirers. Your name would be whispered among those that operate in the shadows. My uncle would go apeshit if he knew it was you. Apeshit in a good way. He’d recruit you. Felix has despised Senka for years now.

Alistair shook his head as a message from Ghost came in.

Ghost: You should be up.

“Why?” Alistair whispered.

Ghost: Because you are still a guest at the Stonewind’s house and you need to be presentable. I know we got in late, even later after stashing our weapons back at the Academy, but that’s no excuse. Punctuality is the mark of a good assassin.

Alistair placed his pillow over his face.

Ghost: If you are attempting to kill yourself, know there are easier ways, and know that I can assist you in undertaking them. But let’s not resort to those. Yet. There are three more people on my list of betrayers. In order we’ll deal with Goran, then Kang, and finally Felix, or we let Felix’s own people deal with him.

Alistair groaned.

Ghost: Good. Let it all out and then suck it up. The shitshow isn’t over yet.

****

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Alistair’s head was clear by the time he boarded the rune railpath heading back to Lumina. It was due to his friends, Juno with his humor and the firm, but nice ways Zola seemed to cheer Alistair up.

“I can’t wait to get back,” she said before burying herself in some book that she had borrowed from the Stonewind’s estate.

“You read, I sleep,” Juno told her.

“In that order, huh?” she smirked over at the two of them as the mana-powered train picked up speed.

The trip itself turned out to be a godsend, Juno passing out, snoring with his mouth open, and Alistair eventually doing the same but with his mouth shut. This made arrival in Lumina that much better, Alistair coming awake as if he had just finished a satisfactory nap, not too long and not too short.

By the time they reached the academy, Alistair was raring to go. He left his friends and headed straight to the Wraithen Archives. From there, it was to the top floor, the rare manuscript collection, where he was greeted by a mousy Mageling girl.

“Your name?”

“Alistair Blackstar.”

She squinted at him. “Ah, you’re the one who checked out a copy of Calista Halor’s autobiography. I was wondering about that. I had to ask for the copy back from the Provost. Talk about awkward. She has had it for a while now. If I were head historian, I would fine her.”

“Good to know.”

The girl gave Alistair a funny look. “What do you mean by that?”

Ghost: Ah, this type. This job is her only chance to be important in her little world. Thank Nosey, agree with her, and don’t say casual shit like ‘good to know.’ Make her feel appreciated, desired, even. Or I’ll do it.

Alistair: You are such a creep.

Ghost: If ‘creep’ is your definition of ‘realist,’ then so be it.

“I appreciate all you do,” Alistair told the Mageling girl, who continued to gawk at him. “I bet this job can be annoying.”

“Um, you have no idea. It can be super annoying. Especially when people turn in books that have been elf-eared. It’s so disrespectful! Then I have to use a spell I have called Straighten to fix it.”

“There’s an ability that lets you straighten things?”

“There is. If you get an actual job here, they give you access to it. Volunteers don’t get it though. Were you looking to get a job at the Archives?”

Ghost: No.

“Definitely not.”

“Wait, you volunteered in the Underhall, didn’t you? That’s where I know you. And your golden eye. I’ve seen you in the dining hall before.”

“I did volunteer in the Achives, mostly in the Underhall, like you said.”

“I hate it down there.”

“It’s different.” Alistair puffed his cheeks out. Not sure what else to say.

The girl looked at the book. “And you want Calista’s biography.”

“Yes, Provost Weaver recommended it to me.”

“But she had it checked out.”

“I’m just now starting to wonder about that part myself,” Alistair told the girl.

“Did you find something weird in the Underhall?”

Alistair’s voice cracked. “Who, Me? Of course, not.”

Ghost: Wow, that didn’t sound suspicious at all. Don’t mention the Card of Rumors. Obviously. And you shouldn’t have mentioned your conversation with the Provost. That’s what’s known as a need-to-know basis. Wrap this up, Alistair. Nosey, here, doesn’t need to know any of our business. Compliment her again.

Alistair: Compliment her? How? Also, do you really think that’s all women want, compliments?

Ghost: No, of course they want more than that. But they do like them. Women like compliments, men like compliments. Flattery is one of the better ways to slit someone’s throat.

Alistair: Fuck, you’re grim.

“Ummm, yeah,” Alistair told the Mageling, “I think I need to go soon. To study.”

“Okay.” She swallowed and her lips formed into a thin line.

Ghost: The awkwardness. I could cover my hand over its mouth, stab it in the back fifteen times, and it would still mock me.

The girl cleared her throat. “Anyway, here’s your book.”

She slid the book over to Alistair.

About the size of a novella, the biography was bound in white leather that had aged to a grimoire yellow, Calista Halor’s name displayed in a simple red text, which had begun to chip at the corners.

“Thanks—”

Alistair was just about to stuff the book in his bag when Mageling gasped.

“Careful, it’s the only copy! You need a manuscript tote for it. I’ll get you one.” The girl returned moments later with a leather bag with a huge flap over the front, the leather with a seal etched into it. “Please, take care of the book. You are only able to check it out a week at a time.”

“Can’t I check it out next week?”

“No, you cannot. Someone has already requested to borrow it.”

“Who?”

“Funny you should ask that,” the girl said as she flipped through a scroll with names on it. She scanned the page, and confirmed her earlier statement with a curt nod. “Just as I thought. Provost Weaver. Weird, it’s like she wants you to have the book, but only for one week.”