by J L Collins
“Good morning, Uncle.” I knew he’d tell me whatever he had found out in his own time.
He pointed down at the book, gesturing for me to take a look. “One of the Books of Fates.”
My eyes widened. The Books of Fates were some of the most powerful spell books in the library. I’d personally never seen one up-close like this.
“Wow,” I whispered, struck by the gold-gilded writing that almost flowed off the paper in a watery-effect. The book was opened to a page full of words in a language I didn’t understand. “What is this? Mermish?”
He shook his head. “No, Mermish is only a spoken language—the merfolk have no need for written language underwater, after all. This is something else, something I’ve not seen before.” He ran his thumb along the edge of the paper where the writing gave the melting effect. “But it’s a good guess, nonetheless. I was down here looking to see if I could find any older or additional maps of the Athenaeum that weren’t known about.”
“Secret maps? Wait, was that what they—I mean, the Shadow Hands—were doing upstairs? It looked like they were combing over a map.”
“Yes, I have them working on the main map that we had Zoya pull down from its hanging. We need to become very familiar with the place if we’re to scour every inch of it.”
I let out a whistle. “It’s a pretty big place. I don’t even think Erie and I have ever seen all of it.”
“Well, you wouldn’t have. Even as much as you were here as children. It was Rourke’s duty to protect whole sections of it from prying eyes.” There was an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes that made me wonder if he had been paying more attention to me and his youngest daughter when we were kids.
He carefully closed the book, fixing its metal clasp with a satisfying click before moving it back into the pile with the others. “I’ve gone through the archives to the best of my ability. No secret maps, I’m afraid. It’s quite possible that any hidden parts of the Athenaeum were only known to Rourke. And if he didn’t have a map drawn out, then it’s also quite possible that these places were only accessible to him.”
“Do you really think he’d do that? I mean, what about when it’s eventually time for a new Keeper of the Pages? How would he give them that information?” I asked.
The truth of the matter was that I had no idea how the elders passed on information between one another. It was one of the best-guarded secrets in Spell Haven. And as old as I felt half the time (especially when trying to chase after Jax in the backyard), I still wasn’t anywhere near being considered an elder.
“I’m sure there are ways to do it that we don’t know about. The fact is that there aren’t any ways to find any potential spots that Rourke had hidden. So, onto the next thing.”
I nearly missed the cue to follow after him as he summoned his own torch that had been sitting in a wooden sconce away from the books, heading back to the steps.
Once we’d made our way back up to the main floor, Uncle G took both the flaming torches and put them back in their respective places, gesturing for me to continue over to the oracle desk. “We’ve been combing every bit of the Athenaeum we’re privy to at least, and I’m afraid we haven’t found much to go on. It was determined by Health Maester Goodwing that his cause of death was a broken neck. Due to the bruising and indentations on the body and the neck, it looks as though someone snapped it. Someone with rather large hands.”
“Large hands? In comparison to what?”
He held his up as a demonstration. “The remaining finger marks slightly longer than mine. And almost twice as wide.”
So, if it were another Witch, at least we knew the killer had some big hands… it was a good start at least, at narrowing down the suspects.
Uncle G seemed to be following my thoughts, watching me intently. “Perhaps a Witch, but there are many creatures in our realm that fit the description. And it’s from them we’ll have to go on.”
Speaking of realms… something popped into my head that made me nearly bite my own tongue trying to get out the words. “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you, uncle. There’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you. I haven’t had the chance with the investigation and all going on, but I think it’s pretty urgent.”
He leaned forward. “And that is?”
“Before I came back the day of Rourke’s murder, something very odd happened at my house. There’s been unexplained instances of magic—all contained within my home from what I’ve noticed—almost like magic leaks of some kind. I know there’s been a lot of ongoing legislation changes being made on our links between the two realms, and I thought maybe that might have something to do with it. Do you know anything about this?”
He got a faraway look in his eyes as if he was searching his own mind for something, before he snapped to, meeting my gaze again. “The legislation is still in works, and may be for some time. A magic leak, you say? What kind of magic, exactly?”
I launched into a detailed explanation of the weird cloud in our kitchen, and the other smaller bits of magic that had been turning up, gesturing animatedly and ultimately finishing with, “but luckily like I said, this has only been in our house. That I know of.” The row of floating busts beside us seemed to be mocking me with their blank stares.
He frowned. “Are you sure? Could it be possible that this is happening elsewhere and you just aren’t aware of it yet?” He turned on his heel and strode toward a hovering wooden cart of sorts, holding a book titled Wraps for Witches: Eat Your Way to Health, before calling out over his shoulder, “I said maps, not wraps! How on Danann’s green pastures would a cookbook help us right now?”
I blinked. “Er . . . I mean, I suppose it’s possible. I can’t exactly see into everyone else’s homes or anything, but I feel like in the Human Realm at least, the discovery of magic wouldn’t stay quiet. Someone would tell, and the news would spread like dragon fire. Not that that’s a good thing, of course,” I quickly added, seeing the lines in his brow as he turned back to face me.
“No,” he said, uncrossing his broad arms, “it would most certainly not be. I can get in touch with the gateway team at MARC. They’d know more about this offhand than I would. It’s definitely something to stay on top up, at any rate.” He glanced at a marble-veined statue of a handsome Fairy knight wielding a short sword, a look of stubborn pride on the knight’s face. “Also, Erie should be on her way. She mentioned dropping by today, last night at dinner.”
“Oh. Okay, I’ll just—” I said, sighing as he dismissed me to walk back over to his group of Shadow Hands. They easily parted in the middle for him to assume his commanding position over the map of the Athenaeum, each of their heads bent over in quiet discussion. It took many years to get over his sudden appearance and disappearance in a conversation, but that was just how he operated.
“I’ll just wait for her outside then, I guess,” I said to no one in particular.
Uncle Gardner’s concern about the magic leaks wasn’t as extreme as I thought it would be. My stomach still felt unsettled at the thought of being wrong about the leaks only happening in my house. There wasn’t a way to check for magic in the Human Realm without using some. And since that was pretty much impossible…
Figuring there was nothing more to do inside the library with everyone else on top of it, I decided to go check the grounds. The back gardens and lawn of the Athenaeum was a well-known beautiful space. Erie and I used to go get some sun in between our many hours at the library, sometimes nabbing dragon fruit from the nearby tree.
The grass was soft and springy, reminding me of the spongy material on the playground at Fiona-Leigh’s old elementary school. I was of half a mind to take a seat and relax for a bit, but I checked along the property line for evidence instead.
Nothing was out of place. Every weed had been pulled no-doubtfully by Zoya in her never-ending quest to keep the Athenaeum pristine and beautiful. The shrubbery looked like it needed some tending to, but even the tropical-colored flowers there were in full
bloom. I was just about to go take a seat under the lone maple tree, when something caught my eye under one of the more overgrown bushes.
At first, I thought it was a fallen silverfyre flower from the bush, with their diaphanous petals resembling seamless metal. But it was much too solid for that. I bent down to brush it off, running my hand along the edge of it and gasped.
It was the rounded edge of a sword hilt.
Immediately I unearthed the rest of it, my eyes widening as I sat back on my heels and took in the short sword lying in the shallow grave. “What the heck are you doing out here?” I wondered aloud, surprised at how light the weapon was as I picked it up and weighed it in my hands. As Witches, we didn’t have much use for weapons since our minds did the work for us, but as a fully-trained Shadow Hand I had an earned respect for them.
“I didn’t realize the grounds were off-limits,” a soft voice responded behind me.
Erie dropped down to sit next to me, giving me a small smile as her gaze dropped to the dirt-covered sword I was holding.
“They aren’t,” I said, reaching over to lightly squeeze her hand, knowing the sense of loss that Erie must’ve been carrying. She’d been much closer to Rourke, especially having lived here in Spell Haven while I was in the Human Realm. “I was actually referring to this thing.”
I flipped the short sword over in my palms, rubbing away dirt from the intricate detail-work of the hilt. “I guess the Shadow Hands haven’t done much searching of the grounds yet because I just found this under the silverfyre bushes here.”
“Hm. And something tells me that being the one to find it has somehow made your day,” Erie said, the amusement in her tone not so subtle. She stood up, dusting herself off, before offering me a hand. “But what in the world is it doing out here?”
I shrugged. “My thoughts exactly. Maybe one of the old relics?”
The corners of her eyes crinkled as she took and held the sword’s blade closer to eye-level. “I don’t know about that. It looks like underneath all the dirt, this thing’s practically new in comparison to the things they keep in the relics room.”
She was right. In some spots, the silver metal of the blade was gleaming under the sun.
“It kind of reminds me of something, though I don’t know why it would be here of all places,” she said, handing it back to me. “Don’t the Fae use these types of swords?”
I frowned. “I don’t really know. I try to keep my contact with Fairy Knights to a minimum. No offense to those Fairy Knights, obviously.”
“Obviously,” she repeated, the corner of her mouth barely curving upward. “Maybe Father will know something more about it. If anyone knows something about the weaponry the Fae use, it’ll be him.”
“True.”
My Uncle Gardner wasn’t necessarily a violent man—and in fact—he was one of the more peaceful heads of the MARC. But he wasn’t well-known for his patience with the Fae. Uncle G was the punctual, rigid side of the law, while the Fae Court was more aligned with a laissez-faire attitude and brutal honesty to a fault. Also, rigidly on the side of no rigidity—they saw Witches as a relatively young race of uptight wielders of magic. And the two did not always get along well.
The sprawling dome of the Athenaeum cast a long shadow that was starting to encompass us within it. I sighed with the sword’s hilt firmly in my grasp. “I guess we should see what he thinks.”
9
Under House Arrest
As anxious as I’d been to get the sword over to Uncle Gardner for him to look it over, I was more than a little surprised with his reaction.
He’d taken the short sword and after briefly inspecting it, handed it off to his new lead investigator, Rufio, to transport it back to MARC headquarters as potential evidence.
“Potential evidence?” I’d questioned him, almost immediately swearing under my breath as he’d raised his thick eyebrows at my tone.
According to him, it was mere decoration, though odd that it was lying out under the bushes. The short sword was too light and too old of a design to be a real Fairy Knight sword. He’d told Erie and I that he would look into it, though, and that had been that.
The short ride to Brady Manor was a quiet one. Erie’s gaze was focused on something outside, though I had a feeling it was more inside her head than anything else.
“Hey,” I said, nudging her elbow. “Are you okay?”
She ran her thumb along the bottom of the window glass, a sad smile crossing her face. “Not really. But you know me, Gwen. I . . . don’t really want to talk about it.”
And I did know her. Whenever my cousin was troubled about something, she used to do her best thinking on her own inside the small observatory at the manor house, situated right by her old bedroom. The balcony had a beautiful gazing glass, not unlike a telescope, and she would sit outside looking up at the night sky until dawn broke over the tree line. I hoped she had somewhere similar to go at her own place.
“Understood.”
“I’m not really in the mood to deal with everyone right now. I think I’ll head home first. I’ll see you later for dinner, though,” Erie said, throwing an arm around my shoulder as she commanded the transport to stop just short of the path leading up to Brady Manor. The carriage transport shuddered around us, not unlike a horse, the door on my side opening outward for me.
“Still doing the nightly dinners here with your parents, hm?” I asked, pasting on what could hopefully pass as a smile. “What happened to ‘no more long-tabled banquets that could feed a werewolf army?’”
“Working at the Mystical Menagerie may be my dream, but not because of the pay. And long-tabled banquets look mighty nice when all you have to eat at home is cat food and the occasional spider apple-cider.”
I gave a mocking gasp. “I didn’t know you had a cat!”
“Rude,” she said, nudging me. “I’ll be sure to pass along your sarcasm to Razzle, Binxley, Mr. Topham, Sir Merryweather, and Joe. And believe me when I say that Joe is not a fan of humor of any sort. Nasty temper, that one.”
I rolled my eyes as I slid out of the carriage transport, ducking to look back inside of it. “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever run into him.”
Erie gave a quick wave and the transport lurched forward, the wheels rolling over the uneven road as if it were paved gold. If only the shocks on my Jeep were anything like that…
Brady Manor was just as large and beautiful as ever, my former childhood home was like a permanent pillar in the Spell Haven community. Whatever that meant was different for everyone. Still, I couldn’t help but smile as the wrought-iron gates swung open to greet me. No matter what I did in life, it seemed like Brady Manor would always consider me worthy of its grandeur.
My sneakers squeaked across the floor until I’d had enough of the sound and kicked them off by the wide fireplace that spanned most of the far wall in the parlor room. If Aunt Ginevra had seen me do that…
Heavy footsteps thunked around the corner leading out from the back sun room. Tristan’s scruffy beard wasn’t that far of a stretch from when he was holed up in Sully’s garage months ago. An image of the bottle in Aunt Ginevra’s hand at the Apothecarium came rushing to the forefront of my brain. I scowled.
“Gwennie. I didn’t know we were expecting you,” he said, tripping over a few of the words. His lazy smile and unfocused gaze made me shake my head.
“Am I late to the day-drinking party already?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest. “Or are you still drunk from last night?”
“Hey—I object to that. I’m not day-drinking. I’m just a little woozy from that hangover cure Aunt Ginny brought me back. Side effects are pretty much the same as being just a little sloshed. Purely coincidental,” he said, holding his fingers an inch apart. “And just a little bit of the hair of the dog as well.”
I took a few steps forward, the smell wafting off of him hitting me square in the face. “You’re an idiot, Tristan. I hate to say that because you’re my baby brother and I l
ove you, but it’s true.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say,” he said with a frown.
“I came here to check up on you. I figured I might as well stay here at the manor house while I’m helping Uncle G. So as ridiculous as it feels to ask; how are you?” Gesturing to one of the stuffed armchairs by the fireplace for him to do the same, I took a seat.
Tristan blinked a moment before finally processing what I said, and sat down across from me. “I’m all right I suppose.”
Truth be told, the way his clothes were pulled tightly across what used to be well-defined stomach muscles, I had to wonder if maybe my aunt wasn’t taking too good of care of him. He crossed his ankle over his knee as if to hide this fact from me.
“Really? Because it looks like you’re going a little stir-crazy to me.”
With a sigh, he leaned forward. “Okay. Maybe I’m getting a little tired of being stuck here, yeah.”
“Well, at least you’re being truthful now. Listen, Tris, I know you hate being cooped up like this. But it’s for your own safety. Uncle Gardner has all sorts of wards on the grounds and the house itself now—anyone who isn’t a Brady can’t just come strolling in whenever they want anymore. The last thing we need are the Dark Market profiteers coming after you again.”
He groaned. “I know, I know! You aren’t telling me anything new here, sis. It’s just so frustrating. All I want to do is go back to living a normal life. Ride out to Amaranth Forest and do some camping. Work on some archery. Go spend some time with my girlfriend. Why is that so much to ask for?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Your girlfriend? Are you talking about Brennrie?”
“Of course I’m talking about Brennrie. I did say girlfriend, right?”
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t get the memo that you two were back together,” I replied in haste.
“What? What do you mean back together? We were never officially done. It was just a break while I was working out how to steer clear of Enoch’s guys that wanted my head on a pike. Correction—that still want my head on a pike.”