Cary did not mind the tuxedo, or serving food to the mortals. She had undertaken far more objectionable tasks working under Elelele. Nor did she mind the kitchen matron, Yorabeth and her gruff commands. She did not even mind the fact that the institute had set her to labor the day she arrived.
However, Cary despised the fact that she was not permitted extended contact with Emilia. Grigo had relished assigning her a dingy room in one of the back closets of the demon tent. He had practically moaned in pleasure as he directed her to the kitchen for her work. But the smug way he had related the rule forbidding contact between magicians and their demonic servants had nearly been enough for Cary to pull the odious little Imp’s head right off. In another life, she would not have given murdering him a second’s consideration and carried it out with relish. But, according to Grigo, Emilia’s evaluations depended in part on Cary’s performance. If she killed Grigo, Cary bet the administration would mark Emilia down for the affront.
It might still be worth it.
Cary removed her tuxedo and set the rest of her server’s wear into the appropriate laundry bin and slipped away from the kitchens as soon as she could. Yorabeth paid no attention to Cary’s departure, the large demoness was too involved with ordering the kitchen Squills to finish cleaning to take note of her.
Emilia had left the dining hall a few hours before Cary’s shift ended. Despite the extra-dimensionality of the institute, she could still track Emilia through the grounds. Based on the the fact she had been stationary for the last two hours, Emilia had found her bedroom. Following the gentle tug at her center to Emilia was second nature to Cary, but navigating the foreign tent city was not.
As a result, she missed the enrobed demoness lurking behind a tall white tent when she passed. “Cary, right?”
Cary stiffened and rose to her full height. “Yes?”
She turned and found the same Temptress from earlier, Esme, standing with her hands gripping her robe shut. “You were in Grigo’s office earlier, right?”
Looking around, Cary nodded. She would rather not be caught out in the open here. In fact, as she studied the white tent where Esme had appeared, Cary felt certain that the Temptress had to have been waiting for her, or tracking her over the fields to catch Cary out like this. Cary said, “Yes, I was in Grigo’s office earlier. I arrived today and accepted my assignment from him.” Cary had also tried to choke this demoness out, in her place, Cary would have remembered herself, even without her perfect recollection.
“I am so sorry you had to witness our little tiff.” Esme stretched and released the sides of her robes. Where she’d worn shear fabrics before, now Esme bared her entire body. Her plump breasts, wide hips, and spot of shock white hair in the center of her legs were all on full display. She closed with Cary, who scanned left and right quickly and darted out of the Temptress’s grasp.
“What did you want?”
“Oh, I only wished to greet the newcomers and try to make them feel at home.” This time, Esme pushed her robes out of the way and over her shoulders. Not one stitch of clothing covered her body and an intense musk emanated from the woman. At the first whiff, Cary sealed her own nasal passages and glared at Esme.
“Thank you, but I am not interested.” She stepped into full view of the rest of the camp, but Esme followed.
“Oh, but I think you are. I can sense your lust and the interests of your heart.” Running a hand down her side, Esme rumbled at Cary. “You prefer the feminine form, and none is more feminine than mine.”
Gritting her teeth as the enchantment tried to collect over her mind, Cary brushed it away with an act of will. Esme mistook her for a mark, an easy target in which to provoke the Temptress lust. But Elelele had long since flogged such base weaknesses out of Cary. She might not have had much resistance to standard magics, but magical attractions as weak as Esme’s wielded rolled off of Cary’s mind like a light rainfall. It helped that Cary could seal her nose and mouth against the cloud of pheromones the Temptress exuded. “Regardless of my basic attractions, you do not interest me.”
At those words, Esme’s eyes flashed with fury. Cary shifted her weight to her back foot as she prepared for the enraged Temptress to pounce on her. But then a masculine voice called out to them from the distance. Its nasal quality and the way it ground between Cary’s eyes identified the speaker as Grigo. “There you are my lovely wife!”
With a quick motion, Esme flipped her robes closed and turned to face the Imp. “Beloved! I am so pleased to see you here.”
Cary studied the woman’s expression and the set of her jaw. It would almost certainly prove useful to know how she lied.
Grigo started when he glanced at Cary, as if he only had eyes for the voluptuous Temptress. “You! What are you doing out here unescorted?”
“Oh beloved one, I caught her myself and was just informing her of her duties.” Esme bent down and kissed Grigo on the cheek. “You want her in the library, do you not?”
“Right! Now that dinner is over, you need to shake your ass over to the archivists and report for duty there!” Cary could not tell if those orders had been Grigo’s original intent or if Esme had suggested that course to him. The Temptress licked her lips and sneered at Cary, as if she had achieved vengeance for Cary’s refusal. “Hey, hop to! Your work is important, toots!”
If I rip his head off, Emilia may suffer for it.
Cary nodded to the two and walked away, in the direction the Imp had pointed. Only one squat brown tent lay in that direction. Its single peak rose barely taller than Cary’s head and its canvas appeared to suffer for the lack of maintenance. Sighing as she grabbed the flap, she stepped into the tent.
For a second, Cary couldn’t move. Shock and pleasure ripped the nervous control from her muscles as she stared out at the short hall in which she stood. It proceeded forward only a few yards, but then gave way to a massive cylindrical chamber that rose to empyrean heights. Dozens upon dozens of dancing magical lights illuminated the room, but those only gave Cary the visual acuity to marvel at the sight.
Every shelf, every surface of this place from the tables at the end of the hallway, contained a piece of writing material. Demons, otherworlders, and people floated by supported on wings or pillows where they wrote or read, absorbed by their craft. This was a treasure house of writing, the likes of which Elelele would have mortgaged his demiplane for, possibly for nothing more than a short glimpse into the wonders contained herein.
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Cary’s feet finally broke free from the shock of the place and she stumbled forward. Her mind reeled as floating researchers in the distance gave a sense of scale to the place. This was wider than two mortal football fields with hundreds, possibly thousands of short branches radiating out from the central hub. Her mouth went dry and she had to lick her lips to keep from having her mouth cemented together.
Leaning against the shelf, Cary had to take a deep breath and pinch her skin to convince herself that she had not fallen asleep somewhere between the tongue lashing from Grigo and this library. The word might not fit this place truly. To encompass the grand scale of this building, of this dimension, Cary searched for a new word. Archive, athenaeum, none of them fit the grandeur and size of this vast repository of knowledge. Struggling with awe and her own lexical musings, Cary once again missed the approach of a creature right outside her field of view.
“Cary?” For a moment, Cary’s ire rose in her gut as she thought she detected Esme’s voice. Instead, Esme’s twin Dorcas stood at the end of the row. Unlike the indecent Temptress, Dorcas wore the same conservative outfit she’d worn in Grigo’s office. She cocked her head and beckoned Cary forward. “Master Alshin mentioned a new staff member would be joining us today. I didn’t think it would be you!”
It was the most enthusiasm Cary had seen from the Temptress. As if she had belatedly realized her own exuberance, Dorcas retreated into herself, lowering her head and mouthing words Cary was sure were intended as self-chastisement. The mannerisms tickled places deep within Cary’s midsection; they reminded her of Emilia. Nonetheless, this woman was a Temptress, so Cary once again sealed her breathing passages against Dorcas’s pheromonal discharge. Surprisingly, the Temptress did not release her cloud of attraction odors over Cary and simply waited for her to speak. The longer Cary remained silent, the most nervous and withdrawn Dorcas grew.
“Well, it is me indeed. And you work here too? I thought you were Grigo’s secretary?” Cary smiled as she spoke, but Dorcas flushed a darker mauve at Cary’s question.
Frowning, Dorcas said, “The… little Imp requests me whenever he needs the services of someone from the Scriptorium.”
Based on her pause, Dorcas stopped herself from saying something venomous about Grigo. In a way, it made her even cuter. “Well, I am glad I got assigned here. What do you think Master Alshin will have me doing? Should I go speak to him now?”
Dorcas smiled like a set of golden petals opening into the sun. “Oh no, Master Alshin doesn’t see anyone. He sent me to find you and make sure you didn’t get lost in the stacks.”
“All right. Then lead the way, Ms Dorcas.” Cary bowed to the woman who blushed even deeper purple at the words.
As enchanting as the Temptress was — purely figurative — the Scriptorium commanded Cary’s attentions. She had never seen the like and drank it in, thankful for her perfect recall for one of the few times in her life.
“You’re sincerely interested in this place?” Dorcas stopped along curve of the inner cylinder. If not for the fact that Cary watched her out of the corner of her eyes, she would have run into the Temptress when she stopped. The stutter step and wind-milling of her arms brought a small giggle from Dorcas, who covered her mouth at the sound.
Blushing herself, Cary said, “I’ve truly never seen the like. In almost ten thousand years. This belongs to the Institute?”
“We share it the environs with several other organizations.” Rather than Dorcas’s voice, a floating ball of cogs and wires answered Cary’s question. It appeared as if from nowhere and bobbed next to the two women, hovering at the edge of the central library shaft. “Welcome to my domain, Ms Cary. I am Master of the Scriptorium, Alshin.” The ball of parts rotated in space as if bowing to Cary.
“Thank you, Master Alshin. It is my sincere pleasure…”
The ball cut her off. “Oh, I’ve overheard your conversation so far. According to Grigo’s report, you possess an eidetic memory and a previous recollection of various magical texts?”
“That is right, Master Alshin.”
At her affirmative response, the ball quivered in the air and glowed with a golden inner light. “That is excellent to hear.” It spun as if to face Dorcas. “Please have her head to the Archive and let’s get a list of the texts this fascinating woman possesses by morning.” It turned back to Cary. “Once again, it is a pleasure to have you join us. Be welcome.”
The floating ball darted away. Once it had retreated a sufficient distance, Cary said, “That was Master Alshin?”
Dorcas shrugged, her color having returned to normal. “As much as he appears, yes. Though, as I said, he does not receive guests. Based on my time here, he can perceive any event that occurs within the bounds of the Scriptorium.” Pointing to Cary, Dorcas grinned. “You must have fascinated him. He’d already told me to take you to the Archive, but he wanted to meet you himself.”
“I guess the perfect memory thing is not exactly common?”
Shaking her head, Dorcas motioned for Cary to follow. “Scholars debate whether or not such features exist outside of beings like Master Alshin and certain other Record Keepers such as digital devices or other artifice created to record data. And most of those are not intelligent enough to communicate on their own.”
Cary nodded, only realizing belatedly how little experience she had in these matters. Her former master trained her memory without ever suggesting that Cary’s ability was rare or precious. Of course, if he had informed her how valuable this skill was, it might have undermined his own torturous conditioning.
Dorcas motioned down several arms of the Scriptorium, indicating storage areas, paper manufactories, and other library-adjacent facilities. From the size alone, Cary should have guessed this place held more than mere books. But until Dorcas pointed them out, Cary had not given the matter any thought. Between the distraction of the gentle Temptress and the sheer size of the Scriptorium, Cary had not imagined how much of the Scriptorium would be devoted to something other than book or scroll storage.
As she pondered the scope of the place, an idea occurred to Cary for the first time. So far, she had managed to avoid letting anyone in the Institute from learning she could not use magic. Such a state of affairs would not last, could not last. But armed with the resources of this place, Cary might be able to discover what prevented her from using her magic, and possibly what Elelele had done to her that prevented her from shapeshifting.
A skip added itself to Cary’s stride as she raised her head and permitted herself a grin. Though much of her first few hours in this Institute had been filled with drudgery and the bother of obnoxious supervisors and traps from the other residents, the Scriptorium promised a solution to Cary’s biggest problems.
“You seem happier, Ms Cary.” Dorcas lowered her head as she proffered her observation. “Not that I, I mean… I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Grinning, Cary waved her off. “It just occurred to me that I could conduct some of my own research here. I had not thought of it until now.”
Pressing her lips together, Dorcas’s own smile lost a fraction of its size and Cary cursed herself for admitting her ambitions. “Well, demons must obtain special permission to use the stacks.” Seeing how her news made Cary frown, Dorcas followed her warning up quickly. “Not that such matters are difficult. I mean, Master Alshin is generous with permission to use the stacks. And you are performing a special service for the librarians and…”
Cary held her hand up and shook her head. “Thank you for letting me know. But don’t worry about it. If I have to, I will find something Master Alshin values enough to let me conduct my own research. I am certain of it.”
Squinting and bobbing her head, Dorcas said, “Good. I didn’t want to discourage you.” When she turned away from Cary, she hopped a short distance “Oh, we’re here!” Dorcas motioned to a tall wooden door with ill-fitted slats forming the surface. Flickering lights danced through the cracks between the planks of wood. “This is the Scribe’s chamber, welcome!”