Bloodlines: Ichor || [2]

CXXV. The Snow Returns Just as the Summer

IT WAS SAFE TO SAY, with absolute certainty, that they had found literally nothing. Two days in the world's largest library had yielded nothing, and they were still at square one.

Nira sat on the ground, crisscross, a dozen books around her. She had a piece of paper and a pen right next to her she was using to make notes, but Ophelia had seen them. They both knew they were good as useless.

There was a pile of books next to Ophelia. She waved her hand, golden energy surrounding it, and any book in the room that she desired flew to her hand. It was a strange magic that Circe and her book had taught her, but a useful one—and one she was sure she should have always known.

There was a speed reading spell in her book, and all Ophelia had to do was run a finger over the pages to absorb the words. There were plenty of books that mentioned Setne, but they all conflicted. Some described him as the benevolent son of a pharaoh, some as a grave robbing lunatic. Some as both.

Suddenly, something slammed into her back, and Ophelia spun around. One book was now missing from Nira's circle and there was one right at her feet. "Hey!"

We need some air, Nira signed. She looked exhausted and bored out of her mind. We'll think better that way.

Ophelia knew she was right, but she wasn't happy about it. She had spent three years here, and there were certain people she'd love to avoid. Not because she hated them or anything, but she couldn't let her get in their way.

"Alright," she said. "Let me try something."

She hadn't wanted to try the librarian shabti, worried they'd spill their plans to anyone who cared to find out, but she had another alternative. An annoying one, but it was usually reliable.

She opened her bag and sat on the floor with Nira. She took out everything but a small figure of wax.

What's that thing?

"A shabti—answerer," Ophelia said. "Hopefully, he'll be able to help us."

He?

He was a tiny little man, crudely fashioned. His arms were crossed over his chest, his mouth was open, and his legs were cut off at the knees. A lock of human hair was wrapped around his waist like a belt.

She held the wax man in her palm. "What do you know about Setne?"

The clay became soft and warm like flesh. He said, "I answer the call."

Nira leaned away like he was spraying skunk shit.

"Hello, Gingerbread Man," Ophelia said. Melody named him.

He crossed his arms tightly. "Oh. It's you."

"It's you what?"

He scowled. "It's you, Master."

"Thank you." It was fun bossing this guy around—especially because he'd tried to kill her. That led to the knee decapitation. "Now, my order. What do you know about Setne?"

For a second he was stunned. Then his face broke open into a grin so wide she thought the wax would break. "You're going after Setne! Oh, this is wonderful! Master is dead and I am free!"

He jumped out of her hands and hit the floor, but he didn't seem to care. "Free!" He cried. "Free!" He got away a centimeter or two, dragging himself by his hands, before Nira picked him up and dropped him back in Ophelia's hands. She slipped him into her satchel bag, the rim just high enough to keep him trapped inside. She'd cut off his legs to fit exactly. "Trapped! Trapped!"

Ophelia narrowed her eyes. "My order, Gingerbread Man."

He huffed. "Fine. Setne is an Egyptian magician. He was born the...." He went on about a lot of things they already knew, but Ophelia still listened, fearing she'd miss something important. But there wasn't much of value.