Elara ran her fingers over a stone tablet hidden behind a fake shelf labeled Obsolete Tax Codes . The tablet was warm. It shouldn't have been. “The Spear New isn't a weapon, Leo. It’s a first edition.”
Beneath the yew, the soil gave like wet cloth. Her fingers struck wood; a coffin of planks lay there, embedded like a secret in the roots' embrace. Mira worked carefully until she freed it. Inside lay an object wrapped in oilcloth: a spearhead, not long or ostentatious but forged with a steady hand—iron dark as coal, inlaid with a single thread of silver that ran like a seam through the metal. the librarian quest for the spear new
Violently, if necessary.