Doubting the wisdom of it, she nonetheless consigned herself once more to Casa’s guidance. Soon, Casa had led her down to the first floor and into the rear of the house.
Elsa rounded the corner and stopped dead in her tracks. A short stretch of hallway ended in a broad, arched doorframe—to the library—but between her and the doors stood Porzia, Leo, and Faraz, casually conversing. Casa had once again delivered her, probably quite deliberately, into the company of the other residents. Elsa’s first instinct was to back around the corner before any of them noticed she was there. And she would have—except for the allure of the fascinating creature perched on Faraz’s shoulder.
Elsa had never seen an alchemically fabricated life-form before, but she knew it instantly for what it was. Most of its mass appeared to be tentacles (of which there were at least ten, Elsa estimated) and large, hairless bat-wings (of which there were, sensibly, only two). One enormous eye shone wetly in the center of its body, and if it had a mouth, Elsa couldn’t see where.
“What a curious creature!” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
They all turned to look at her—Porzia with a little jump of surprise, and Leo with a cool insouciance, as if he’d known she was there all along. “Elsa,” he said, “I see our newest scriptologist has found her way to the library.” There was something odd about the way he emphasized scriptologist, but Elsa couldn’t focus on that with such a diverting specimen in front of her.
She stepped forward for a closer look, and the creature reached one tentacle out to her curiously. Faraz gently batted away the tentacle before it could touch her, admonishing, “Manners, now. No grabbing, you know that frightens the girls.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” Elsa said. “I don’t mind creatures. Whenever there’s an expansion in Veldana, I try to sketch all the new species. Or I used to, anyway.”
“Do you … want to hold it?” he asked, sounding abashed, as if he were bracing himself for her to respond with disgust.
Elsa held out her arm, but Leo said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Sometimes it strangles people for no reason. And it’s got these little poisonous fangs—”
“Don’t listen to him,” Faraz said, unperturbed by his friend’s unflattering descriptions. “He’s a lying liar who lies.”
To the creature, Elsa said, “Don’t worry, little darling—I don’t believe him for a second.”
It crawled with a sort of undulating motion, its wings spread wide for balance as it moved down Faraz’s arm and transferred itself to her shoulder. Slowly, Elsa lifted a hand to stroke it. She’d expected slime, but its skin was dry and slightly bumpy beneath her fingers. It snaked one tentacle down the back of her dress, the suckers clinging to her skin for stability, and though the suction force was surprisingly strong, Elsa didn’t find the sensation disquieting. The tip of another tentacle brushed her cheek tentatively, as if saying hello.
“Hi,” Elsa cooed. “What’s your name?”
“Skandar,” offered Faraz.
“Well. Pleased to meet you, Skandar. Aren’t you a sweet little thing?”
Porzia made a gagging sound. “Is it really necessary to coddle Faraz’s disgusting tentacle monster like a newborn babe?”
Faraz sniffed. “Just because you convinced Gia to ban Skandar from the dining table doesn’t mean the rest of us have to share your squeamishness.”
“And with an attitude like that, it’s no wonder you have to fend off all your adoring female suitors with a stick,” Porzia said sarcastically.
“Well, I think Skandar’s wonderful,” Elsa offered.
“And I think,” said Leo, “that we should stop loitering in the hall when there are perfectly comfortable seats inside.” He led the way, apparently confident the rest of them would follow.
The library was a cavernous eight-sided room three stories tall and topped with a domed roof. The books were shelved along the walls, with two floors of balcony running around the circumference for perusing the upper bookshelves. Four tall windows were spaced around the third story. On the main floor, clusters of couches and armchairs, tables and reading lamps occupied the center of the space.
Aside from the four of them and Skandar, the library had only one occupant, a boy of eight or nine years with a large book open on the table in front of him. He swung his legs against the rungs of the chair while he read, too short for his feet to touch the floor.
“Ah,” said Porzia, following Elsa’s gaze. “My youngest brother. Say hello, Aldo!”
“Don’t bother me, I’m reading!” he shouted back.
Leo flopped down on a couch and sprawled over it as if it were a much-battled-over hill and he was planting a flag.
Porzia sighed, looking first at Aldo and then at Leo dominating the couch. “Sometimes I think Casa takes the right approach with the children, treating them like a pack of feral animals. No manners.”
Porzia and Faraz found armchairs, and Elsa took a chair beside Faraz. She tried to hand the creature back to him, but it held on rather firmly.
“Looks as if someone’s made a new friend,” Faraz said, surprised. “Skandar doesn’t usually like other people.”
Leo said, “Yes, that is curious. I’ve never seen Skandar take to someone who wasn’t an alchemist before.”
Was he trying to goad her into revealing her secret? Elsa struggled to keep her expression neutral. She never should have trusted him.
Elsa had little experience with alchemy, and she wasn’t sure how much affinity she might have for it. Except she had felt an instant fascination with Faraz’s alchemical creation, hadn’t she? And she’d always loved the creatures of Veldana, even if they were prickly or slimy or had too many legs, even when no one else appreciated them.
Stroking her fingers down one of Skandar’s leathery wings, she replied, “Well, if I were Skandar, I certainly wouldn’t take to anyone who thought I was a hideous tentacle monster, either. It’s hardly Skandar’s fault.”
Aldo stomped over, holding the large volume tight against his chest, and gave them all a severe look. “Libraries,” he pronounced, “are supposed to be quiet.” Then he turned on his heel and left the room in a huff.
Porzia watched him go. “With the way he clutches at books, he’s going to break Mamma’s heart.”
“What do you mean?” said Elsa, thankful for any distraction from the topic of alchemy.
“He’s sure to turn out another scriptologist,” Porzia explained.
“Yes, I understood that part,” she said. “But is that a bad thing?”
“To keep the house in the Pisano family, there must be a mechanist in every generation—someone capable of maintaining Casa’s exceedingly complex systems. That’s why Papa married Mamma, you know. Poor grandmamma had six children and none of them a mechanist. It was apparently quite the scandal, and now here we are again, with two scriptologists and two children who haven’t settled on a field yet. If Sante and Olivia don’t settle soon, I’ll have to start courting mechanists.”