“How did you know my—” Kevin started to ask, and then stopped, mentally kicking himself. “Right. I guess Ferghal’s told you all about me.”
“As a matter of fact, he did not.” The man turned his attention back to the books piled around him. “Though I do know a great deal about you. More than you do yourself.”
“That’s not difficult,” Kevin muttered. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
“My name is Aodhan.” The man picked up another volume, opening it to study the front page. “And at the moment, what I want is to put things back in the right place. Tell that dratted animal to stop chewing on a previously mint condition copy of Yuna Lee’s The Moon Phoenix’s Mate. I haven’t read that one yet.”
The black dog dropped the book with a soggy thud, and guiltily sidled behind Kevin’s legs.
Kevin frowned down at the puppy. “So what’s his name?”
Aodhan shot him another of those brief, piercing looks. “You tell me. He’s your dog.”
“I don’t have a dog.”
Aodhan went back to his work, his expression as unreadable as a blank page. “Not quite accurate. You don’t remember having a dog. Nonetheless, there he is.”
Kevin shook his head, frustration welling inside his chest. “Who are you?”
“A librarian,” Aodhan replied, maddeningly. He made a tsk sound under his breath, running his thumb over a torn, battered volume. “Something this place sorely needs. Whoever last shelved these books organized them by color. The monster.”
“You aren’t just a librarian, though.”
“You learn how to organize all the knowledge that has ever existed in such a way that you can find whatever anyone requires in mere moments, and see if you refer to yourself as ‘just’ a librarian.” The man laid the damaged book to one side as carefully as if it was a sleeping baby. “But if you meant that I am not only a librarian, you are correct. I am also a mage.”
Kevin eyed the man, remembering how he’d caused a distraction earlier. “Is that how you were able to turn into an alicorn? Magic?”
“No. It’s how I’m able to turn into a man.”
Kevin stared. “Wait, you’re an actual alicorn? Like Eislyn?”
Aodhan snorted. “I very much doubt she would relish the comparison, but yes. In a strictly biological sense, at least.”
“Huh.” That explained one thing, at least. “So you must be the sorceress’s fated steed.”
The man twitched, his hand knocking into a stack of books. He caught them before they could topple. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, you don’t act like a servant, but you’re following her around.”
“By choice,” Aodhan said sharply. “Not magic. She has not bridled me. I do nothing that is not of my own free will.”
“Good for you.” Kevin folded his arms, scowling. “Some of us don’t have that option.”
“Indeed.” Aodhan leaned his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers together. “Which is in fact why we are here.”
Kevin tensed, mentally measuring the distance to the door. “You want to mess with my mind. Just like Ferghal.”
“The clanking oaf did indeed invite us here for that purpose, yes,” Aodhan said, unruffled. At Kevin’s wide-eyed stare, he added, “I’ve laid wards on this room. We may speak without fear of being overheard. Though not, unfortunately, completely freely. I expect you can work out why.”
“Because Ferghal might ask me about you,” Kevin said, working it out as he spoke. “And he can use glamour to force me to tell the truth.”
Aodhan nodded. “That cack-handed idiot may have the magical finesse of the average halibut, but he is still a Summer Knight. He has his steed’s strength to supplement his own innate abilities, and the arrogance to wield that power like a battering ram. If he becomes suspicious and uses glamour to question you, he will be able to learn everything you know. There are, therefore, things I cannot tell you, much as I would prefer otherwise.”
“Then what’s the point of this?” Kevin said, fists clenching in frustration. “Why are you even talking to me at all?”
“I have confidence in your ability to deduce that for yourself.” One of Aodhan’s eyebrows slanted up. “I am reliably informed that you are a bright boy.”
At the moment, he mostly felt like smashing something. That familiar tangle of anger and frustration boiled in his chest. He was so very sick of not knowing anything.