Page 16 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

The one she might not be allowed to use anymore.

The porter stationed there blinked at her. “Miss Cavendish?”

Pippa forced a smile. “Happy solstice, Lavender.”

Lavender was approximately four feet tall, thanks to her sprite mother, and stronger than three witches three times her size. A fact that never failed to delight Pippa, especially when visitors new to Hallow underestimated her. She looked tiny and angelic—until she opened her mouth. While her voice was soft and melodious, her teeth were sharpened like needles.

“Good solstice, Miss Cavendish. Shouldn’t you be waiting for the sun somewhere far more convivial?” She narrowed one eye pointedly. It was tradition to wait for the dawn at the family hearth, or up at one of the stone circles that crowned the hills of Lyonesse’s island.

Pippa shrugged. “I prefer the Library.”

“It’s long past midnight.”

“Yes.” A cheerful song broke out from one of the nearby taverns. A dog barked in accompaniment. Beyond that, a coin floated in the Wishing Well.

“And you’re not on the roster again for another”—Lavender checked her leather-bound book, even though she knew the schedule by heart and everyone knew she knew the schedule by heart—“two hours.”

Not any longer. Mrs. Pettigrew must not have informed anyone yet of the change in Pippa’s station. That was something to be grateful for. A tiny reprieve. “It’s so lovely here at night. Especially for the solstice.”

Lavender grumbled, but Pippa knew she agreed. She knew it because they had had a version of this conversation many times before. “You Librarians,” was all she said.

Pippa handed her a bag of salted chestnuts. Lavender’s black eyes brightened. “Happy solstice.”

“Don’t think I don’t know a bribe when I see one.” Lavender waved her through. “But I don’t want to see you here tomorrow night. You need to sleep sometimes.”

“Thank you, Lavender.”

“Watch out for that poltergeist on the fourth floor. You know how he gets when people are cheerful.”

“Will do.”

Pippa ducked inside. Candle sconces were adorned with pine boughs and red ribbons, as were the many marble statues. It was quiet, but the kind of quiet that breathed all on its own. Paper, dust, words reading themselves, spells trying to wriggle free, characters shouting from between novel covers.

And the thundering of hooves.

That was new.

Frowning, Pippa glanced out of a round stained glass rose window to the side courtyard. It was empty. She even looked over her shoulder, half expecting that a unicorn had found a way inside. It had only happened once, but it had certainly been memorable.

Unicorns were not gentle creatures.

There was no unicorn, but when Pippa turned, there was a blast of icy wind in her face and pale white teeth clamped in a peevish grimace, far too close for comfort. She yelped, rearing back, before realizing it was just Librarian Brackenberry.

Not the Fae come to claim her for the Tithe. Just a ghost.

Her hair stirred, the ends icing. Her breath froze for a moment. Ghosts had the tendency to leach heat from anything in their vicinity. And it was not uncommon for ghosts of Librarians to linger in order to harass people into turning the pages of books for them so that they might continue reading. Something as paltry as death did not stop a reader. And nothing stopped a Librarian in Hallow.

“Did you hear that?” Pippa asked.

“Hear what?” Mr. Brackenberry shouted. “Are you trying to be funny?”

“No, of course not. Apologies, Mr. Brackenberry. I thought I heard horses. Silly of me.”

Mr. Brackenberry glowed a faintly acidic green when peevish, which was often, and he used a curled brass ear trumpet to hear better. He had used it for the last fifteen years of his life and saw no need to give it up in death. “Hmph.” He eyed her sharply as if weighing whether she was mocking him. The air grew sharp and cold. Pippa stood very still, with an exceedingly polite and patient smile as she suppressed a chatter of her teeth. He had funded an entire wing for the preservation of rare grimoires of love spells, and so everyone was on strict orders to humor him. That, and Pippa was fond of him. He liked to read to the Library cats when he thought no one was looking. Cheese, the Library’s main cat, was particularly fond of Dwarven love poetry.

Mr. Brackenberry blinked at Pippa now, his glower softening. “My wife had hair just that color.”

“Yes, Mr. Brackenberry.”