The Department of Historicity was cozy. It felt far enough removed from the fire and the violence and the evil that I almost felt like we’d left Hell altogether. It was a proper library, complete with warm atmosphere and reverent silence.
We were standing near what looked strikingly similar to a check-out counter compete with computers and barcode scanners. A frail-looking demon the color of chalk was standing behind it, looking at us expectantly. “Can I help you folks with something?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, trying not to gawk like a tourist at the sight of the numerous rows of monstrous bookshelves in the next room. “Have you seen Sebrev?”
“Sebrev?” the librarian answered. “I don’t—”
“There he is,” Jaelin said sharply, pointing toward the stacks where a muscled jet-black demon was emerging from the end of one aisle and disappearing into another. “That’s Sebrev.”
“Really? That was a lucky coincidence,” Sylnie commented.
“Now we go over there and tear his arms off until he tells me where Torvin is,” Jaelin announced through gritted teeth.
“What’s to stop him from teleporting away as soon as we approach him?” I asked. “He’s a demon. Getting him to talk will be harder than it was with Niven.”
“So we take him by surprise,” Jaelin said impatiently.
“Then what’s to stop him from teleporting away as soon as we take him by surprise?” Sylnie asked. “He can escape at any time.”
“Not unless we strip him of his ability to teleport,” I said, thinking back to Azraal. “Jaelin? Can you get me another sword? And please don’t just grab the one that’s still sticking out of Niven’s chest cavity, that one’s all messy.”
She grinned, nodded, and disappeared.
Then the pallid librarian spoke up. “I’m afraid we don’t permit weapons in the Department of Historicity,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I told him. “I own the place.”