The books had overtaken the house.
       I do not mean it as poetical hyperbole (though there was a good deal of poetry), but as a fundament of the abode before me.
       The rambling house had been converted into a bookshop; the sign on the glass door said CLOSED in firm black letters. The scent of old paper fluttered outside: there was certainly mouldering among the pages that stacked and shifted and slumped against the walls, on every stair, on tables and chairs. All types of bindings, all types of manuscripts. Scrolls and missives and stitched chapbooks as well as heavy leather volumes; carved wooden covers clenched around their pulped paper cousins.
       I stood on the porch, staring at this spectacle through the large windows, picking out titles I recognized, too fascinated to knock. I had a tentative offer of employment here -- which I desperately needed -- contingent upon meeting the proprietress.
       I might have hovered upon the doorframe interminably, but a wisp of a girlchild came down the stairs, tripping practicedly over the manifold manuscripts. She opened the door.
       "Hello," she said. Tiny, spritely, already grinning, she had a glow about her that sparked and shifted within her hair.
       I responded in kind, warming despite my general resistance to impish youngsters.
       "Are you Rukmini?" she asked, as though there was a lively stream of visitors who could have been anyone else and also me.
       I admitted I was.
       "I am Saffron," she informed me solemnly. "This way." She led me deeper into the maw of book-teeth, their white edges glinting.
       The hallway was shadowed, and the room beyond it darker still. There was an ancient till in one corner upon a counter made of books. Perhaps at some point, the books had been kept to the shelves, but now they spilled to the floor and into precariously tall stacks. High windows did little to brighten the place -- and then I realized they weren't high windows, but only the very tops were left unblocked.
       Books.
       Everywhere.
       It was claustrophobic, cluttered, unbearable. I itched to sort, catalogue, and chuck the junk. I could see tomes discarded from the library at High Verite and the bookboat at Little Kettleford, books that had been shared hundreds of times already.
       "Let me see if she's ready for you." Fey Saffron zipped across the room, bolting through a door on the far end of a narrow passageway created by oversized atlases lapping one over another.
       I spun in place, trying to see it all. (And, if I am honest, trying not to turn my back on it: an impossibility now that I was within it.)
       "She'll see you now, Rukmini." Saffron hovered like a lantern before the door.
       I followed her down a steep and dark staircase. Books spilled down the first few stairs, old water-stained paperbacks with torn covers and warped pages. But soon the steps cleared of their papery debris, and down one story, changed from wooden to stone.
       We descended perhaps three flights in a straight, narrow passage. There was no light beyond Saffron, but she opened a door and golden light came glowing through, warm and gentle.
       I stepped into another room of books, utterly different from the chaos above.
       Each book rested on the edge of its shelf, aligned with its neighbors. Crisp labels were categorizing each section. There was breathing space at the end of each shelf. This room, though far underground, had an airy quality, lit by high chandeliers glowing a steady, soothing gold. The floor was carpeted in a soft wheat hue, cleared except for a large desk and a larger work table.
       This was a room in which I could stay forever.
       There was a globe as big as the span of my arms beside the table. It was not the world as I knew it, and I turned it slowly on its axis, studying unfamiliar continents and oceans and islands, marked in a language I did not know. As I leaned closer, the globe grew more detailed, mountains appearing on its many land masses, rivers rushing to their valleys.
       Behind me, the grumbling cough of a throat clearing.
       I jumped and found the Aurelian watching me. Her hair was smooth and black, with hints of grey twining through her braids. Her face was ruddy, lined but not deeply; her complexion was darker brown than my own.
       "Hello," she said, in a voice like smoke, burning and coiling through the air.
       "You're Mrs. Aurelian?"
       She wore a human shape, though she was taller and thicker than any other woman I knew. "Miz." She leaned on the Z as she paced a circle around me. Her steps fell heavily, though her movements were graceful.
       "I am Rukmini Amari." I kept my hands clutched together because I had nothing to hold. I had never met so old a Dragon before; I could feel power rippling off her like heat.
       "I know." She finished her cycle and stood, arms crossed expectantly.
       "You have work for me?" My ragged, often abused hopefulness kindled.
       "I have work. Whether or not you can do it remains to be seen."
       "I can." My confidence was not feigned.
       Her smile was slight. "Perhaps."
       I had received her missive only a week past: an envelope of thick cream paper, gilt with my name and address. Inside, a single fold of satin-smooth stationery with directions to the Dragon's Lair Bookshop and a request for an interview. The description of the job had been limited in both the advertisement and her invitation. "I have worked as both a librarian and archivist, and I spent the summer after my majority working in Klangington-on-Whitefall Bookshop as a sales assistant. Whatever you need, I can do it."
       Her eyes lit at my bravado. "I shall give you a trial. I need a dedicated researcher. Saffron needs occasional help with the shop upstairs. If we suit each other there may be opportunities for travel, your own research, that sort of thing."
       "I have excellent organizational skills. Any of my references will tell you so." Some of them wouldn't even need to lie about our association.
       She waved a hand, dismissing this; her nails were sharp and tipped with gold. "If you meet my requirements, and if the books like you as well as you seem to like them, we shall extend our contract. Is that acceptable?"
       It was irregular. Everything about it. (But I did not have options, not if I wanted to repay Jaxo.) At least, this would be bookish work. "I agree."
       She waved again, and another sheet of her extraordinary paper appeared at her fingertips. She handed it to me, the dates of my trial period already inked. I felt a rush of relief as I penned my name.
       The paper disappeared with another casual gesture. It was astonishing and a bit infuriating to consider the amount of skill it must take to make the magic look so utterly effortless.
       My first assignment was to pull all references to Quindellious Quincannon, the ArchAlchemist of the Duneval era. I did not see Aurelian exit the library, already engrossed in searching through the shelves, familiarizing myself with the local organizational principles, and pulling books and documents onto the large worktable for her later perusal.
       It was the work of two full weeks to scour the collection for every mention and cross-reference to Quincannon, and I found several obscure writings, anonymously published, but an article in an old issue of Hedgewizardry Hedgefunds attributed them to the ArchAlchemist, so I pulled them as well, with a note about the attribution.
       I left that evening feeling satisfied -- and making a mental note to check another possible anonymous article in the morning -- even though I had not made the slightest progress in the assignment Jaxo had given me. "The Golden Dragon has to have gold, Mini," he'd said, fist clenched around the imagined wealth. "They hoard. It's what they do. Get your hands on that for me, and we'll be square. I swear it." I shivered, wincing as though I could avoid the memory from inside my own head. Saffron had already absented herself from the Bookshop rooms above, and I made my way out in semi-darkness.
       The residence I'd found in Stillglow was unlovely but clean and safe: double lock on the door and windows too small for a human to pass through. I had a bed beneath the eaves and a tiny desk facing into a blank corner of the room. The peeling, smoke-grey wallpaper gave my mind nothing to flit to so I could attend to my own writing and research without distraction. The lamp was not particularly bright, so I went to bed early and woke refreshed and ready to return to Ms. Aurelian's reading room the next morning.
       She was sitting behind her desk and wearing half-moon spectacles, over which she regarded me with some interest. I hesitated and waited.
       She sniffed and flipped one of the papers before her: a list of references in her hand.
       "You've done well," Aurelian said, her voice filled with passionless smoke. "Better than I expected. You missed one of the anonymous articles, but you found the others. You didn't miss anything obvious."
       My face grew hot. "You already had a list?"
       "It wouldn't have been an assessment if I couldn't. . . assess you." She straightened the stack of books I had pulled.
       "Well, certainly." I felt a bit stung. "But I could have simply given you notes. There was no need to make a mess if you weren't going to read the material."
       She raised a heavy eyebrow. "I hope you don't mind putting it all away."
       I forbore to roll my eyes and nodded meekly.
       "Your work is sufficient," she said. "I will draw up a contract, and you shall remain for as long as we both find it agreeable."
       My heart hammered in relief. One step done. I agreed, and she gave me a greater salary than I expected to be paid every new moon.
       It didn't take the full morning to put everything away, and I spent the rest of the time before lunch browsing the shelves, making mental notes for future cross-referencing.
       At noon I found Saffron perched on the counter by the till, counting heavy coins of bronze and tantalum into the drawer. She smiled when she saw me.
       "Do you have a sandwich?" she asked.
       "No," I said. "Leftover bread from breakfast this morning."
       "That's not much."
       "It will do."
       "I have pears and soup," she said. "Come eat with me."
       She led me to the porch, idly flipping the sign to say CLOSED as it had when I first arrived.
       "Aurelian doesn't mind?" Not that there were customers waiting. I had seen only a few since I'd started.
       "She doesn't care about the store," Saffron said. "We could burn the house down, and she wouldn't give a damn as long as none of the flames spread into her hoard."
       "I see." That word, "hoard," sent my pulse racing. "How do you make any profit?"
       She grinned, splitting the soup into two bowls. I had not seen anything at all in her hands until that moment. "We don't." She laughed at my expression. "Oh, the business scrapes by and doesn't lose too much money. We have very low overhead. The books are all discards, and the house is owned outright."
       After a less-meager-than-expected lunch, I returned to the library but found it still vacant. As I had no further assignment, I wandered upstairs to see what I could make of the shop. Saffron did not look up from her book as I perused.
       Biographies mingled freely with poetry and plays. I found a clump of fantasy adventure novels mixed thoroughly with mountaineer romances. A few books on dogs shepherded a collection of children's picture books. Decrepit paperback store-rack novels were crammed side by side with ancient leatherbound editions. In the front room -- it might have been a parlor at some point before it was overtaken -- I sat on the floor and began to sort my way through the vast heaps. After two hours, I was astonished to discover a marble coffee table beneath the books.
       "If you find a book about a boy who turns into a cat and time travels, let me know," Saffron said from the doorway. "I set it somewhere four years ago and I haven't been able to find it since."
       I suppressed a shudder. I had never before considered the thought of too many books.
       Eventually I became entranced reading a novel of a woman who went to the far south and fell in love with a bear, but they were separated before she could change herself into a bear to be with him. I jumped when the lights rushed to brightness; I had grown accustomed as the day had dimmed.
       Aurelian stood watching me, expressionless.
       "I'm sorry." I stood and dusted my knees. "I wasn't certain what you wanted me to do, so I began sorting through things here. Then I got. . ." I trailed off, reluctant to set the book down -- lest I lose it.
       "Don't apologize for reading when I have no task for you." She started to turn but stopped and added, "Do apologize if you get sidetracked from one of my tasks."

       Over the next weeks, I delved into the life history and work of two other magicians, one of whom I had never even heard of: Catichus the Bold, a Calcian who believed she could properly realign the moon after it got off track. Perhaps she had; it was still there.
       I did search for Aurelian's hoard, of course, the gold that was rumored to be hidden in her abode. Whenever she was gone, I scrounged around the edges of the library, looking for secret passages or hideaways. I could not say for certain that she noticed, but she set me to pulling dozens of books on commutative theory, some of which had to be transformed in order to be carried to the worktable. When I merely made note of their locations, she taught me the knack of it, and to my surprise, I caught onto this simple magic quickly. It was really more a matter of letting the books act according to their nature, but the trick was in convincing them they already wanted to.
       I received my first pay and went after work for provisions. I bought mangos and celery and avocados and greened cheese, all of it sold at the narrow little shop across from the town square. Saffron had recommended it with a comment that the prices were better than the grocer's and the produce fresher. The shopkeeper was a tall, plump woman with long dark hair who smelled strongly of fresh-cut grass and wore a skirt the color of seaweed that flowed all the way to the floor. Her eyes were brilliantly green; she smiled easily, chatting about the weather as though it were a brand-new topic. Her teeth were very white against her dark skin, and I liked her very much.
       "Call me Em," she introduced herself. "You work for the Aurelian?" she asked when I told her I'd come from the bookshop.
       I nodded.
       "She has a pretty collection," she said. "Not as palatable as mine, but to each her own."
       "It seems very fine to me." I certainly did not have enough information to argue.
       "You are a woman of good tastes, I think." Then, she certainly undercharged me for the produce. I passed her a paper note and wished her a good evening. When I glanced back, the paper had disappeared, and three verdigrised copper coins danced over her fingers.
       I had two days free, and planned to spend them all in my room doing my own research; I had borrowed several books from the local academy and had much reading to finish in order to return them timely. However, the next morning, my landlady knocked at my door before I dressed.
       "Someone asking to see you, Miss Rukmini." Her voice was gruff, though I did not think she was put out. She was not friendly, but she was always polite.
       I dressed, tied my hair back, and hurried down the stairs, a knot of anxiety relaxing when it was not Jaxo and reblooming in my stomach when I saw it was Ms. Aurelian.
       "Good morning, Ms. Rukmini," she said when I reached the door. "You are not obligated, but I wondered if you would be interested in accompanying me to Telamuk today."
       I blinked several times before I found the wits to ask, "For how long?"
       "Today," she repeated. "I shan't take your whole weekend." Her eyes darted. "For a diversion," she clarified. "It is not work."
       Telamuk was a sixteen-hour journey by the fastest conveyance I knew. If she was having sport with me, it was at least original.
       "All right," I agreed, to see what would happen.
       She smiled her sharp smile and we went outside.
       There was no car or plane; I had half-expected to find a heliprop in the street. Aurelian held out a hand to me, and I took it, not knowing what to expect but certainly not expecting the rush of wings and heat blazing over my skin in a rush like the turning of a page. I thought I saw a giant wing furl into her tawny dress, but then it was the woman standing beside me once more. She released my hand.
       We were in the middle of Telamuk.
       I caught my breath, whirling. I had heard of this kind of travel, but even immediately after experiencing it, I could scarcely believe it. The cacophony of voices and bells and chugging engines made it real to me in a way that sight alone could not have.
       And the scent! We stood in the busy shopping district I'd been to once before as a child. I recognized the pastry shop on the corner; I had visited it every day during our week-long stay years before. I could as easily have stepped back in time as made the journey to Telamuk, except I was grown, with Aurelian at my side. She waited out my astonishment as I sniffed the air, full of spice and the yeasty smell of fresh bread.
       We lunched at that very shop. The soup was hot and thick with lentils; the bread was crusty and delicious.
       Aurelian paid for our meals with a smattering of tiny gold coins that appeared in her fingers by magic.
       All I needed was a fistful of them, and I could be free of Jaxo forever.
       "This way." Aurelian took a side street, buildings looming above; a cart could hardly have passed through the space, which was thick with shoppers, sellers, and children playing some madscrabble game ducking in and out of doorways.
       The whole street was lined with bookshops.
       "In here." Aurelian stopped abruptly in front of a shop with a simple sign in the window: "Exquisite Book Collectors."
       I immediately spotted a first edition Shea Diviti on display in a glass case, the cover imprinted with the famous Lovers and Cherry Blossoms, which had become a popular art piece a decade ago. My roommate at Klangington-on-Whitefall had had a print.
       The proprietor beamed at Aurelian. He was a wizened little man with pale skin and a wispy white beard that matched his eyebrows. "Doña Aurelian! How surpassingly lovely to see you!"
       "You as well, Hernando," she said. "My assistant, Ms. Amari."
       He bowed to me; I nodded in return.
       "Do you have the Scriptorio for me yet?" she asked.
       "The Scriptorio! Yes! I do, Madame. Please, come this way." His accent was heavy on the S's.
       (Surely, she did not mean the Scriptorio. She must mean an early edition. The book was reputedly made from silver, sapphire and vellum and contained the earliest invocations of summoning known to the world. They could not be speaking of that Scriptorio.)
       Yet when he showed us the book, it certainly looked mineral-rich. The binding was soft golden leather and shone in the light coming through the tall windows of Hernando's workroom.
       "Rebound, as you asked." He tutted and shook his head after unwrapping it for her inspection. "I saved the old cover for you as well. A valuable artifact itself. Historical!"
       "You may keep it." Her eyes gleamed gold to match the new cover.
       Hernando's mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a moment before he said, "Thank you, Madame!"
       "Carry this, Rukmini." Aurelian turned toward the front of the shop.
       I rewrapped it gingerly, folding the book entirely into its cloth before hefting it into my arms. I felt a surge of strange joy as I cradled it.
       Aurelian browsed her way to the front of the store. I trailed her, hardly able to keep my eyes in my head for all they wanted to wander around the shelves and glory in the truly exquisite collection. She took her time paying, and I took advantage by standing in front of a shelf of first-edition Keetzigs and breathing deeply of the gentle smell of must.
       Once she had paid, she took the book back from my hands. "Pick one."
       "Oh." My face heated with desire and the excessive disappointment of the world as it is. "I can't afford any of these."
       "I know." She sharpened her teeth on my anguish. "But pick one."
       There was a kind of test here, too.
       I did not rush, though the light in the street was growing slanted and blue. Bright brass lanterns around the room illuminated the manuscripts. Most were lettered on their spines for easier reference, though some folios had to be tipped onto their backsides to be identified with letters sunken into leather bindings.
       There were histories and plays, romances and diaries. The masters great and obscure of the literary landscape through all of time were represented, if not completely, on the shelves here. The organization scheme, I noticed, was similar to Ms. Aurelian's.
       I was drawn to a biography of Akiko Titan -- the woman who'd invented Conflagrarchania -- the bold crimson of the cover still pristine and bright as fire. There was a treatise by Reginald Hypatian on the growth of lunar aloe, and I actually opened that one, skimming the production information to discover it was a fifth edition and marked by a former owner; still old, still priceless, but my interest waned.
       Then I saw a slim volume, the blank cover a faded jade. My fingers itched as they traced over it. I opened it to the frontispiece and found a delicate wood print: a likeness of a woman with dark skin, her hair knotted with a white cloth, her hand posed at her chin in thought, a pen hovering over paper on the desk in front of her.
       The Poems of Esi.
       Incredibly old, incredibly rare in any edition, and here was a first edition, first printing.
       I gulped and set it down as though my very touch could destroy it.
       Aurelian approached. "Very nice. Unusual to find a book older than me here." She glanced at Hernando, who had watched my search with mild interest.
       He shrugged. "This place is full of treasures. Even I can't remember all of them."
       "Wrap it up," Aurelian said, and Hernando wrapped the book in soft, undyed linen.
       "Don't let Em see that," Aurelian said to me. "She covets green things, you know."
       "I can't possibly. . ." I said when Hernando put the parcel into my hands.
       "There is nothing so beautiful as the right book to the right person," he said over my protests. "That person who truly treasures its worth."
       "Keep it," Aurelian said. "You chose well."
       I nodded, unable to put the parcel back on the table, though I felt I should.
       I was still bemused when we returned to my rental, again in a whirl and rush of Aurelian's magic. It hardly phased me this time, I was so shocked by the value of the thing in my hands.
       I must never, ever tell Jaxo about it.
       Aurelian departed with scant courtesy. I stumbled to my room and found two pieces of post on the shelf by my door. I grabbed them and locked myself inside.
       I centered the book on the desk. It was a shock to see it in my mundane surroundings. I sat and stared at the slim green volume until the only light in the room was the flickering lantern above my desk.
       That little book could solve all my problems, and a thousandfold more.
       If I could bear to part with it.
       The first piece of mail was from Diehl Solutions Solicitors. I sighed and set it aside. Of course, they had found my new address without difficulty.
       The second was from Jaxo. I read:
       
       Mini,
        So you've done it, have you? The actual Golden Aurelian of High Verite. I knew you could get in with the old bat. Get me the gold, scoot out of there, and she'll be none the wiser.
        Don't disappoint me, Mini.
        J
       
       (What an idiot. He didn't think Aurelian would suspect me if I disappeared at the same time as a heap of her hoard?)
       I lay on my bed for the rest of the evening, thinking. Finally, I wrote him a response:
       
       Jaxo,
        It's not what we thought. The hoard of gold is an idiot rumor. Or, rather, a misinterpretation. The bookshop IS the hoard. Dragon or no, she's a terrible clutterhound.
       
       Of course, I had seen those flashing golden coins. She must have riches somewhere. But I had seen no more of those than the glimmer as they passed into a merchant's hands. I had nothing to give Jaxo.
       And. . . I did not want to leave my job. My glorious job. For the first time in my life, I loved what I was doing.
       
        However, I DO have the job. I WILL pay you back. I'm enclosing my first payment.
        Rukmini
       
       I put the remainder of my pay in an envelope and double-sealed it. (I had subsisted on the breakfast that came with my room before; I could do it a while longer.)
       I did not know if that would discourage him -- leaving had not been enough. But I could certainly show him evidence of the junk bookshop should he look into the matter more closely, if he bothered. I hoped giving him a steady stream of income he didn't have to work for would keep him lazy.

       Of course, it was foolish to believe my small stipend would content Jaxo. It was not yet my next pay date before he found me outside of Emerald's Market, my arms loaded with broccoli, cheese, and onions for soup and an exquisite bouquet of greenery in all soft, subtle shades.
       "There you are, Mini." His arm landed round my shoulders before I could process the hated diminutive of my name.
       I lurched away, whirling to put my back to the nearby stone wall.
       "Jaxo." Naming him did not give me control over him. "What are you doing here? Did you receive my letter?"
       "Of course I did." He grinned and held it out to me, tapping the postmark. "That's how I found you."
       I sighed. "Then you know she's not a treasure dragon. I will pay you back, Jaxo. I just need time."
       His grip on my arm was sudden and fierce, and for a moment, I knew a bleak despair: I had not escaped, I would never escape him.
       "I think you're lying," he hissed. "All dragons are rich."
       My thoughts flitted to Em, her tiny shop, full of luscious produce and thick with the scent of fresh flowers and fruit. If she was rich, it was not in the way Jaxo would recognize.
       He prodded me down the street. I jerked my wrist out of his grasp and hissed, "This way," before he could draw further attention.
       He grimaced. "No, Mini, not your rooms. Take me to the lair."

       "Is this some kind of a lark?" Jaxo stood, arms akimbo, a stain of greed in the middle of the softly golden room.
       "I told you," I murmured, "she doesn't have a hoard of gold."
       He walked to the nearest shelf, studying the neatly aligned book spines. "I can see why you'd want to stay, all these beautiful books." His familiarity was worse than a cut. For one jagged moment, I remembered admiring him. He traced fingertips over the spines, and I inhaled an objection.
       His smile suggested he knew all I was thinking.
       Or perhaps that had always been the illusion.
       He grabbed a book, flipping carelessly through the pages. "Never understood how you could waste so much time reading."
       I couldn't watch, mouth dry as paper, as though I had already seen the pages rip and flutter to the ground, as though Aurelian were standing before me, demanding an explanation.
       Somehow, the thought of her annoyance was worse than anything Jaxo had ever said.
       Somehow, that gave me courage.
       "Stop it," I hissed. "Put that away right now."
       Jaxo stilled, no doubt in surprise rather than intimidation, but he put the book conscientiously in its place. He strode to me, hands held aloft. "No harm done, Mini."
       "Don't call me that," I said. "I hate it. My name is Rukmini."
       He stopped, inches away, all hot pressure against my soul. "Rukmini." He spat every word. "You. Owe. Me." Then he smiled and leaned against the table, harmless and charming. "After all, if it weren't for me, you'd be jailed. Or maybe hanged by now?" His expression turned scholarly.
       "If it weren't for you," I ground each word out, "I wouldn't have been in that vault in the first place."
       He leaned closer. "Never asked you to kill anyone, did I, though, Mini?"
       I unfisted my hands and stepped away from him, staring at the books piled on the table. All their gilt shadows and perfect golden bindings: they could have been a heap of gold, transformed into books only if I squinted my eyes.
       "Of course," Jaxo drawled, "these would fetch a handsome price, wouldn't they?"
       "Of course," I agreed.
       "Really, it's quite a hoard, isn't it?" His eyes shone. "People like you will pay stupid amounts of money for books like these."
       "Too bad the dragon would notice if anything was missing." My throat was dry as desert sand.
       Jaxo hummed thoughtfully, looking hungrily at the nearest books, the stack about transformation I'd gathered for Aurelian. "Which ones are the most valuable? Surely, you know." He reached forward, fingers closing around Leopold's Metamorphosis and Renewal.
       It didn't like to be moved; I felt the spike of magic and irritation as its spine prickled.
       "I do," I admitted.
       He petted the book in his hands, which writhed in his grip. He looked at it in surprise.
       A gesture, a whisper, and the magic twisted through my mind. He had an instant to look at me, eyes going wide --
        -- and then he was supple leather and soft linen pages thumping to the floor, bouncing once on the golden carpet before lying there, as harmless as any book could be.
       I dropped to my knees beside him. It. The book that had been Jaxo until an instant before.
       "Jaxo?" I murmured, reaching one cautious finger forward to touch the cover. It was plain brown, corners ragged, the edges of the pages foxed and folded.
       A Life of Skulduggery, read the title. By Jaxo Amari.
       I wondered, somewhat hysterically, if the title was a true reflection of his character, or merely my opinion.
       I was still there in the morning when Saffron and Aurelian arrived, still pouring through the Leopold, trying to find a way to reverse the magic.
       Aurelian lifted Jaxo without a word, flipping through the pages. Saffron peeked over her shoulder and raised a brow to look at me.
       "Amari?" she asked.
       I nodded, exhausted, eyes burning with the long night in the lamplight. "My older brother."
       "Skulduggery?" Saffron drew the word out, watching Aurelian, who still had not wavered in her expression as she studied the tome.
       I put my head in my hands on the table, curled around my miserable helplessness. "I hoped he would not follow me here."
       "Saffron, dearest," the warmth in Aurelian's voice surprised me, "would you find us some breakfast, and more importantly, some coffee?"
       "Of course." Saffron was gone without a sound.
       Aurelian set Jaxo down on the table next to my elbow.
       "You did this transformation by yourself?" she asked.
       I gestured helplessly toward the Leopold. "The book did it, mostly. He didn't ask permission before he grabbed it."
       "You don't think awfully much of yourself, do you, Rukmini Amari?"
       "I. . . don't. . . what?" I faltered.
       Aurelian closed the Leopold with a papery snap.
       I dragged myself to my feet. "Is. . . is he. . ."
       "Dead?" Aurelian supplied.
       I nodded, arms around my stomach.
       Aurelian did not answer immediately. She set Jaxo on a pile of books, straightening the ones he'd disarrayed earlier. "Difficult to say." She flicked her fingers, and a long loop of ribbon appeared in her hand. "I do not customarily recommend this type of transmutation because the life spark is not always maintained. But. . . no, I don't think he is dead. Perhaps," she gave the title a tap, "more useful in this form?" She glanced at my face. "I am kidding, Rukmini." Then she muttered, "Somewhat."
       "Can he be restored?"
       "Is that what you want?" She tied the book closed with a neat knot.
       My answer should have been a resounding yes, but. . .
       Saffron returned bearing a tray of freshly baked bread, marmalade, butter, and a heavy silver carafe. She set it on the table without a single clatter of cutlery and distributed cannikins of steaming coffee to us. She wandered away, disappearing into the aisles of golden books.
       Aurelian took the seat across from me. I had never seen her sit here; she always took her books elsewhere while she worked. She watched me, and I stared at the coffee between my hands.
       "Was this the only reason you applied to me for work?"
       "No!" I snapped, surprising myself. Hadn't it been? "He. . . paid a fine for me. I was caught. . . stealing something, and I. . . I still owe him a great deal of money." It was a ridiculously simplified version of the events that had brought me here. "But I wanted to come. I wanted to see the Aurelian's legendary library."
       The sound she made could have been a sigh of exasperation or a hiss of sympathy.
       "And he thought it was a good idea for you to come here?"
       I shrugged one shoulder wearily. "You are the golden dragon."
       Now she snorted, a sound that was neither delicate nor ambiguous: it was full of amusement. "Did it not occur to him that the actual gold would be in banks? It does a great deal more good compounding interest."
       I laughed weakly. "I do not think that ever occurred to him, no."
       Aurelian's nails clacked against the tabletop. "I suppose," her S's practically steamed, "I could let you stay and attempt to figure out how to reverse your spellwork."
       I stammered, unable to form a sentence of either bewilderment or gratitude.
       She waved a hand. "I'll still have work for you, too. But you've a real talent, and," she glanced toward the shelves in the direction Saffron had gone, "the books have clearly taken a liking to you."
       I nodded, biting my lips together.
       "Get some sleep, Rukmini. We shall discuss this more once you've rested."
       Eventually, I shelved Jaxo in a section of biographies of notorious pirates. I thought he would enjoy the company. I did not forget about him, but it was easier to put him out of my mind once he was neatly in place, and I had so many interesting things to think about each day.