Chapter Text
The bottom floor of the library could’ve been mistaken for a tomb, with how silent and empty it was. Gideon felt both the reverence for ancient materials -- journals filled with theses of past students long forgotten, old newspapers ready to crumble into dust, and the dreaded microfiche that she could only hope had been digitized -- and the unmistakable chill of someone watching her every step. The last time she’d felt both was when Cam had pushed her into the Catacombs of Paris during their semester studying abroad. As Jeannemary would’ve said, bad vibes all around.
Letting out a shaky breath and squaring her shoulders, Gideon checked her left palm for the shelf number she’d scribbled there in Sharpie. The digits had all smudged together, a mix of sweat and the condensation from a Big Gulp ruining her chances of finding this article easily. She looked at the drink in her other hand accusingly. “Traitor. You’re a beautiful, tasty traitor.” The ice clinked together in agreement; it felt no remorse.
She hadn’t wanted to come to the library anyway. The sources that were found at the bottom of each Wikipedia article should have been sufficient, as they had been for the past three years of her writing papers. But no, Professor Quinque had demanded each of his student’s use a journal source for this paper in addition to the rest. It was a clear ploy to demand funding for this area of the library; Gideon had seen the potential plans to turn the basement into a computer lab equipped with 3D printing.
The school website bragged about being able to offer PDFs of any articles students requested -- provided they could give page numbers needed and it was less than 10% of the book, for copyright reasons -- but that turned out to be total bullshit. The ginger had emailed no less than three times in the past week and received jack in response. Not even a bounceback or an automated email letting her know that it was a joke; no one monitored the crypts of the library.
Gideon leaned back against a wooden bookcase, kicking one knee up to rest the sole of her sneaker against the bottom shelf. She tried to make out the markings on her palm. The first had to be an o, right? Or 0? No, she decided, it couldn’t be a 0. The books on the shelf each had a little tag, most peeling up, with a code starting with a letter. Chewing her lip, Gideon raised her hand close to her eyes and squinted, trying to cheat on this already-doomed eye exam. As she was about to decide that it actually was a Q all along, her shoe slipped off the shelf and sent her tumbling forward. Quick reflexes snapped to attention and both hands thrust forward to catch herself.
Gravity, however, was the biggest bitch of all. Gideon didn’t know what she did in the past to offend gravity, but torturing her seemed to be the force’s favorite hobby. This was the worst payback though. If it was a choice between laying against the concrete flooring with a broken arm or watching the grape soda from her Big Gulp drip down three shelves of journals, Gideon knew which she’d have chosen. Gravity chose the opposite.
“Fuck,” she shouted, dropping the now empty cup to the ground and trying to sweep the sticky liquid off of the shelves. All it served to do was create a worse mess, the soda oozing its way through pages and the sleeves of her sweatshirt alike. Gideon tore her hoodie off and started using the fabric as a towel. Once she had sopped up as much as she could, she let the sweatshirt drop to the ground with a wet slap.
With sticky fingers, she reached out to grab one of the journals. The cover had been a red fabric, coarse to the touch and now dyed closer to blue at the bottom. She tried flipping through pages with fingertips, leaving little identifying stains as she did so. It was no use. The pages at the bottom soaked the color like the best tie-dye. The paper had become flimsy and soft, tearing at the smallest tug. Gideon knew the rest of the journals would be similar. Fuck gravity, fuck 7-Eleven Big Gulps, and fuck Professor Quinque for demanding such an outdated source. Maybe if she convinced everyone to sign a petition for the new computer lab, the administration would never realize that the books had been destroyed. It wasn’t like there was anyone who saw her here anyway. The entire place was empty of living creatures.
“What have you done,” shrieked a voice behind her. Gideon spun around on her heel, still holding the evidence of her destruction. With how loud and deep the voice had echoed through the concrete halls, she had anticipated a towering figure -- the protector of the library dungeon. Instead, her gaze had to tilt downward before she saw the cryptkeeper.
The tiny goth was nearly frothing in fury. She was a black blot, screeching and trying to push the larger girl aside to get to the books. “Oh, fuck it all,” Gideon said, taking a step back from it all, “I’ve awoken a damn library banshee. I’ve incited a curse that I will never be free from. My student loans will end before this jinx lets me loose.” Out of habit, she ran her fingers through her bright hair before realizing she had just rubbed soda syrup through all the strands. It was only appropriate; it wasn’t like the day could get any worse at this point.
The books were being torn off the shelves with an intense frenzy by the gremlin, each placed gently onto clean concrete a few steps farther than the outline of the spill. Gideon watched in rapt attention for just a few moments. With closer inspection, it wasn’t a wraith -- just a girl trying to mimic one. Between the black hair, black clothes, black eyes, and the bags underneath to match, Gideon couldn’t be blamed for the mistake.
She cleared her throat. “It looks like you have this under control. I’m sure you just want me out of your hair at this point.” One step back, then a second. She was in the middle of raising her arm to point towards the exit. “I’ll be heading --”
“Stay where you are.” The same dark voice threatening earthquakes and avalanches erupted out of the tiny woman, stopping Gideon’s escape attempt before she could even try. Dark eyes swung up to meet hers. Gideon couldn’t help but gulp; the scowl was one that could strike fear into the most brave of hearts and here she was, just a junior in college trying to get by. “How the hell did you manage to do this,” she asked, gesturing to the pile of books drying on the floor. Disgust dripped off the last word, as if she was describing the massacre of two hundred children when it was a simple soda spill.
“Who said it was me?”
Gideon watched disgust turn to apoplectic rage on her face, thin black eyebrows raising and mouth pursing almost small enough to become a black hole and suck everything else into its depths. Heh, she thought to herself, being sucked into that mouth wouldn’t be the worst way to die. From the look on her face, it might not be too long before Gideon was facing down death.
She let out a tiny huff before shoving Gideon with the force of all of her weight. It wasn’t enough to send the older girl tumbling to the floor, but it had her stumbling back. “Of course it was you! You are the only one here; you have been the only one here since my shift started. Do you truly believe me so foolish to believe you came across this organically? That this liquid materialized on its own and you altruistically stopped to save the journals?”
Gideon sure as fuck didn’t expect anyone to believe that, but it was her new cover story. The Big Gulp was never hers. She found it here already dripping over the books. Who cared that her mouth was stained purple from the soda; correlation doesn’t equal causation.
“What are you going to do, draw a chalk outline around it, darth detective? They’re just books; there’s no body to autopsy.” She went down to scoop her hoodie back into her arms, but the brat got to it before she could. There had to be some benefits to being closer to the ground, after all. Nimble fingers searched her pockets, pulling out the leather wallet, and dropping the sweatshirt back to the ground. “Hey! Are you trying to mug me or something?”
Gideon reached out to snatch her wallet out of the thief’s fingers, but her school ID was already confiscated before she could. The rest of her wallet was dropped to the ground, landing directly in the sticky puddle of grape soda.
“Gideon. Nav,” she said, emphasizing each syllable while she read the name out. She tilted her pointy chin up at Gideon and glared directly into her eyes. “I’m charging you with destruction of property.”
The ginger spluttered. “You don’t have the authority to charge me with anything,” she argued. “You’re just a power-hungry microbot.” Screw the ID; they only cost $8 to replace anyway. Gideon scooped up her hoodie, her wallet, and her dignity off the floor and turned to head out.
“I am in charge of this department,” she screeched. A small hand reached up to grab Gideon by the back of her tank top, but missed a bit and ended up pulling her back by the strap of her bra. “I am the ultimate authority of these materials and you have destroyed hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars worth.”
While Gideon very much doubted that this pint-sized pipsqueak was put in charge for any reason but to shut her up, she did need assistance. “Oh, you’re in charge? You’re the one who has been ignoring my emails requesting an article for the last week?”
The glower that she received back was enough to smite smaller creatures, but Gideon refused to waver. She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms, inadvertently wringing the soda out of her hoodie when it crushed to her front. Now that would be two shirts ruined. “Oh, I should have expected that was you,” she sneered. “Only graduate students are entitled to free electronic copies of articles that are not already in the multiple databases we offer. Undergraduates are expected to use the library as intended.”
Gideon gave a little bow. “And here I am, your liege, ready to use the library as intended. Look where that has gotten us. Just tell me what Dewey Decimal number the biology books are and I’ll leave you to rot here in peace.” For a moment, it looked like she wasn’t going to tell Gideon a single helpful thing. She glanced back at the books that were slowly drying, their pages no doubt sticking together, then swung her gaze back to the red-haired fool in front of her.
“570. Not that it will help. Academic libraries are primarily sorted with the Library of Congress Classification method. Follow me.”
For someone whose legs were so short, the goth was swiftly advancing ahead. Her black boots barely touched the ground before she was taking the next step. Gideon had to power-walk to keep up, lest she lose her guide. There was no way she would have found the appropriate journals on her own; she hadn’t even been in the right room. What even was the Library of Congress Classification? Wasn’t the Dewey Decimal System pretentious enough? Finally they stopped in the middle of an aisle. The girl eyed Gideon’s arms, shifting from one tattoo to the next; she couldn’t be an art connoisseur from the way her lip twisted up and her nose crinkled. When Gideon flexed, she shifted her attention back to the shelves.
One book was plucked off the shelf by the witch. Gideon didn’t even have to check to know it was the copy she’d been requesting. “Don’t touch it,” she warned. “You’re still covered in filth.” Nails covered in chipped black polish started flipping through the journal.
“I’m not dirty! They’re just tattoos.” It wasn’t the first time that someone had insulted her ink, but filth was going a bit far. From how much skin the other girl had covered, Gideon wouldn’t have been surprised if the ghoul pulled a bright red A patch out of her pocket and pinned it to the ginger’s chest for the sin of showing off her ankles.
“I am not referring to your tattoos, you delusional moron. Though you should feel depraved, showing them off. Those aren’t meant for everyone to see.”
“There was a lot of money spent getting this art onto my skin and I’ll be damned before I start hiding it to please anyone else. What the hell is your problem anyway; everyone has at least one.” Gideon looked her up and down once more. “Humans, at least. Did the mud puddle that spit you out from hell forget to brand you? I guess you would have to have a soul to have a soulmark.”
“My soulmark is reserved for my soulmate; it doesn’t belong to the world and no one else deserves to see it.” She swung the book around, revealing the article that Gideon needed to finish her paper. “This is what you were seeking, yes?” Gideon nodded and reached out, expecting to have her hand slapped away like a chastised child. The goth let it go easily, going far enough to push it into Gideon’s arms. The residue from her hands wiped onto the book, smudging the words under purple fingerprints. “Oh, no,” the girl drawled, exaggerating each vowel, “another book ruined. No matter. I will invoice you for each of the books destroyed this evening, Nav.” She reached forward and slipped the stolen ID card directly into Gideon’s front pocket while her hands were still full.
With that, the gloomy menace started walking away, just as fast as before. “Do not touch anything on your way out. I will be checking later tonight to see if anything else needs to be added to your bill.”
The scent of grease and melted cheese was wafting through the entire apartment when Gideon got out of the shower. She quickly toweled her hair off, brushing it back and shooting herself finger-guns in the mirror. The banshee was wrong; her tats were meant to be enjoyed by all. From the dice going down her left forearm to the colorful ghost bumblebees on her right bicep, each tattoo brought back good memories. And if the small skull with sunglasses just above her abs that she was born with was her favorite, no one needed to know. She showed it off at the gym with the rest. Her soulmate wouldn’t mind; it was just those prudish purity cults that insisted that having other tattoos were bad luck. There were people like that who chose to comment on her photos whenever she posted one to Twitter, letting her know that her soulmate would never be found. That they would never match since the rest of the ink had cluttered up her body. It was a stupid argument.
She threw on an oversized band shirt and a pair of boxers before exiting the steam-filled bathroom.
“Oh, good, you’re out. I ordered pizza,” called Ducie from the kitchen. What a sweetheart, always knowing the days that Gideon needed a good pick-me-up.
“I can tell; it’s better than any Glade PlugIn. You get any good toppings this time?”
“Extra cheese is the best topping.” Dulcie tilted up her nose and clipped her words, trying to sound as prim and proper as she could. The giggle that forced its way out at the end didn’t keep up appearances though. Dulcie pulled her wheelchair back from the table to give her a hug.
“Extra boring, more like it. What did roasted garlic and jalapenos ever do to you?” Gideon grabbed two paper plates and put a slice on each, making sure to gather any cheese that spilled into the box onto her friend’s piece. She set one down in front of Dulcie and sat across from her. With just her pointer finger and thumb, she pulled off the entirety of cheese from her slice and lowered it into her mouth. Dulcie’s lips twisted downwards, her eyes softened, showing off the disgusted endearment a person had to come to terms with when loving Gideon Nav. Gideon shot her a cheesy douchebag grin. “You know, Cam and Pal don’t deserve you.”
Dulcie set her slice down and laced her hands together under her chin. “Well, of course not. I’m a luxury few can afford. But I’ll keep them for as long as they’ll have me.”
Gideon let out a chuckle and took a bite of the dough. “It’s all those medical bills,” she explained, mouth still full, “that’s the hard part about affording you. If Cam or Pal ever hurt you though?” she swallowed her bite and swiped across her throat with her thumb.
“Tell me more of your plan to kill us off,” said a dry voice from the hallway. Gideon spun around in her seat, pulling the slice of pizza close to her face as protection. Cam walked in casually, hands tucked into her pockets and just slightly out of place. She barely looked at Gideon; a soft smile graced her lips as she looked at Dulcie.
“I’ve told you before, Cam. Don’t bully me; I’ll cum,” Gideon threatened. Cam didn’t even have the graciousness to acknowledge the threat; she had expected an eye-roll at least. Instead, her friend leaned down to tilt Duclie’s chin towards her and kiss her deeply. A sharp tug could be felt in the middle of Gideon’s chest. Was it really fair that Cam not only had two soulmates, but had found them both, before Gideon was able to find her one? It wasn’t that she begrudged her friend happiness; hell, she’d kill to make sure Cam stayed happy. There had been a time in the very beginning when she thought that Cam may have the same mark as her, but the way Cam had greeted Palamedes at the end of the day put an end to that thought.
Gideon dropped the crust back onto her plate. “Gross. It’s like watching your parents make out.” She gagged a bit for show.
“Could be worse. You could be watching Pyrrha and Juno together.” Oh, woah, that was uncalled for. Even though Gideon would gladly watch a video of Pyrrha’s greatest hits of hitting on women rather than see her dad’s bootycall walk out of his bedroom again, seeing her stepmom with Palamedes’ mother had been revolting. Her mouth dropped open and she pointed at Cam accusingly.
“You’re just going to say that? In front of my pizza?”
“Technically it’s my pizza,” piped up Dulcie with a smile, taking another bite and humming with happiness. “And Juno and Pyrrha are a really cute couple. It’s nice that they were able to find each other, especially considering everything.”
Neither Gideon nor Cam wanted to consider the everything that Dulcie was implying. It was a nice sentiment, that much was true, but Dulcie’s reasons were always so obvious.
“Juno being with Pyrrha doesn’t make Wake any less her soulmate,” murmured Cam into Dulcie’s ear. Dulcie nodded and coughed lightly into her hand before responding. They both did their best to ignore the blood on the paper.
“I know that, honey. I’m not saying it doesn’t. There’s more to love than soulmates and it is good to remember that.” Her blue eyes were lit up and she hadn’t lost the small smile she had before.
Gideon stood up, stretching her arms tall over her head and listening to her bones pop. It was time to do what she did best -- change the damn subject. “You won’t believe the shit I went through today. Did you carve a cursed rune into the wax melts again?”
“No,” said Dulcie, dabbing her mouth with a napkin, “and Cytherea only did that once.”
She pointed at her friend and narrowed her eyes. “And that’s exactly why your cousin can’t come back into this house. Who the fuck does that? Just goes around putting curses on strangers in their own home?” Honestly, she had thought it was sweet in the beginning when she caught Cytheria using a nail file to draw ‘helpful’ runes before breaking apart the wax melts and adding them to the pot. They were for good energy, protection, and, as a Google search revealed, a curse for broken bones.
“Strangers is one way to put it. You dated her for three months.” Cam took a bite of pizza and chewed slowly, leaning against the counter and staring Gideon down. “What happened today?”
Gideon scraped her fingertips down her face, purposely pulling her eyelids down to create a deranged look as she did so. With a long sigh, she started her story. “You know how the library gods were ignoring my emails about the article I need for Quinque’s class? I finally went down to confront them and get the book. They stuffed it into the dustiest corner of the basement. I had to fight back spiders and a whole-ass gremlin to get it, and I didn’t even get an achievement unlocked emblem above my head. So, I’m walking through the shelves, y’know, minding my own business. Then suddenly I see that there’s a spilled soda ruining, like, three big shelves. I start to clean it up, sacrificing my own damn shirt, when the gremlin pops out and starts attacking me. She’s claiming I have to pay for all the books. John’s gonna be pissed.”
Dulcie and Cam shot each other a look; they always assumed that their silent looks were a secret language developed over years of living and loving someone else. Sadly for them, Gideon had lived and loved them long enough to make the meaning obvious. “You doubt me? Me, the most honorable woman you know?”
Cam paused for a brief moment mid-chew, which was even better than how Dulcie spit out her Sprite and started giggling. The smile splitting her face couldn’t be stopped. “Who had the soda?”
Dark arms came back to tangle behind red hair and Gideon pushed her legs forward enough to tilt the chair, balancing it back on two legs instead of four. “The books, obviously. Didn’t you hear what I said? It doesn’t seem like they’ll be losing possession anytime soon; the soda and paper became one. Merged together in one final form.”
“Before that? Who brought it into the library?” Cam’s tone brooked no argument, though her expression was as even as ever. Her eyes, a muddled gray, stared right through Gideon’s story.
“If we want a full history of the soda, it was born at the 7-Eleven Big Gulp machines, it came to be in the library around 4, maybe 4:20 pm, and discovered its life’s passion as a stain around 4:40.”
Dulcie was covering her mouth, not even trying to hide her amusement. Her legs kicked up from her chair, one and then the other, as if she would be skipping if she was standing upright. One wrong kick was all it took to upset the precarious balance of Gideon’s chair, sending both her and it crashing to the floor. Ass over tit, Gideon fell slamming her elbow onto the tile of the kitchen. Cam stepped slightly to the right to avoid the entire mess. “What I’m hearing,” she started to say, offering Gideon a hand up and ignoring Dulcie’s unending apologies, “is that you brought pop into the library, spilled it over several journals, and upset Harrowhark in the process.”
Gideon accepted the hand up and waved Dulcie’s sorries away. She could admit it was her own fault; it wasn’t the first time that tilting a chair had left her landing on the ground and, if she was honest about it, it wouldn’t be the last. The whole grudge with gravity never worked in her favor. “There were no birds there, sparrows or hawks.”
“Harrowhark is the work-study student that runs the bottom floor of the library. She is the reason why the hours available are so limited.”
So the banshee babe had a name after all. Satan must’ve dubbed her right before tossing her out. “Harrowhark sounds like a disease you’d pick up from hanging out too long with the worse twin. It fits, I guess. She was a horror-show and a half.”
Dulcinea made a questioning noise, tilting her head to the side and wrapping a brown curl around her finger. She stared up with bright blue eyes, too wide to be innocent. “Really? I’ve met Harrow before and always thought she would be your type.”
Gideon blinked twice before looking away, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. Reaching up, she scratched the back of her neck awkwardly. “Eh, maybe she would be if she didn’t immediately slut-shame me for my tattoos. She’s planning on sending me an invoice tonight for the books.” The redhead looked back at her friend in the wheelchair and grinned. “Harrowhark’s about to make you look like a cheap date.”
She wasn’t even surprised when Cam came at her with a headlock from behind.