by Sarah Piper
“No, but you are.”
Baz winks at me again, his smile maddening. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Anyway,” Ani says, “Kirin mentioned you’re pretty new to all this, so if you need help with anything, just ask us. Well, not Baz.” He shoves Baz in the shoulder, but both are laughing, their affection for each other obvious. “But Kirin and I have your back.”
“And I’ve got your front,” Baz says, “so you’re covered all the way around.”
“Seriously?” Now I give him a shove, too. “Do you ever let an innuendo pass by unsaid?”
“Is that like the whole tree-falling-in-the-forest thing?” Baz strokes his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “If an innuendo passes by unsaid, does anyone ever really get laid? I think not, Little Bird. I think not.”
“Yeah, I’m beginning to sense that about you,” I say. “The whole not-thinking part.”
Ani cracks up. “What’s your next class, Stevie?”
“I’m meeting Kirin, actually. He’s supposed to show me—” I cut myself off abruptly, remembering what Trello told me about the delicate nature of our work. Ani is so open and easy-going, I almost can’t help but trust him. I’ll have to be on guard for that, lest I start spilling state secrets about my mother’s research and whip the whole place into a panic.
“He wants to show me around the library,” I say, leaving it at that.
“Cool,” Ani says. “I’ve got a fire potions class in that direction. I’ll walk with you.”
“And I’ll just be over here,” Baz says, “playing with myself.”
“Have fun with that,” I say with a smile, deciding Baz isn’t such a bad guy. He’s certainly amusing, anyway.
“Always do, Little Bird.”
After waving goodbye to our hot third wheel, Ani and I fall into an easy conversation, chatting a bit more about classes and campus life. He’s fire-blessed, originally from northern California, but he lives at the Academy year-round. Before I get the chance to ask him more about that, we’ve arrived at the library building.
“So listen,” he says, leading me to a side door that goes to Kirin’s office. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Right now my big plans consist of making a pot of lemon ginger hibiscus tea and reading a few dozen books.”
Ani’s brow creases as if I’ve just made a major faux pas. “Seriously? It’s only the first day.”
“I have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Plenty of time for that later. Tonight’s the annual Back-to-School Blood and Sorrow Soirée.”
I laugh. “Well as fun as that sounds, it’s a school night. I need to be up early tomorrow.”
“It’s tradition. Every year, the water-blessed throw a big bash to welcome everyone back and show the new recruits how it’s done. We took a vote, and it was unanimously decided that your attendance is mandatory.”
“Hmm. Who’s we?”
“Me and Baz.” Ani knocks once on the door, then pushes it open. Kirin’s sitting at a massive, L-shaped oak desk scattered with books and papers and various computer monitors. “But if Kirin ever left the library, he’d vote yes, too.”
“Vote yes on what?” Kirin glances up from his keyboard, his dark hair disheveled, glasses crooked on his nose.
Alert! Alert! Quintessential hot nerd on the premises!
A smile spreads across my face. I’ve never seen Kirin in his element before. It suits him.
“So?” Ani asks. “Is that a yes?”
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
“Awesome. I’ll bug you about it at least eight more times throughout the day.”
I laugh. “Sounds good, Ani.”
“What was that all about?” Kirin asks as Ani heads off to his next class.
“I think he just asked me out.”
“He… what?” Kirin blinks rapidly, the muscles in his jaw ticking.
I was half-kidding about the date, but the force of Kirin’s emotions hits hard and fast anyway.
He’s jealous. And a little bit pissed.
“Just a party,” I say. “I’m probably not going, anyway. I’ve got so much reading to do.”
“Good. I mean, not that you shouldn’t have fun, but… Well… Okay, then!” He hops up from behind the desk and gestures toward a second door on the interior side of the room. “This way to the library.”
There’s a stained-glass window at the top of the door, and through it, I can just make out a few pillars and bookshelves. My heart flutters, knowing that what lies beyond the door is so much more than a collection of magickal books and manuscripts.
Beyond that door lies my mother’s life’s work—as much as she was able to accomplish before she left the Academy.
Beyond that door lies the reason I’m here.
And—if Dr. Devane, Anna Trello, and whoever else is involved in this is right—beyond that door lies the key to stopping unspeakable horrors against the magickal community…
If I can crack the code.
I look up into Kirin’s pale green eyes, my hands trembling as I reach for the doorknob. “Now or never, right?”
Twenty-Five
STEVIE
When I was a freshman in high school, my parents and I took a road trip to the Grand Canyon. I didn’t want to go—why did I need to see some stupid hole in the ground when I could be staying home, climbing up to the top of the world with Luke and Jessa in the Santa Clarita?
But they dragged me anyway, as parents often do. We got out of the car at the visitor center, and while my parents went to use the restroom, I plodded over to the railing where people were crowded around with cameras and selfie sticks, eager to see what all the fuss was about and prove my point that we’d wasted our time.
But when the crowd parted and I got my first glimpse of the Canyon, I was instantly overcome. The people faded away, the sounds drifted into nothingness, and suddenly I was standing on the edge of the world, gazing into the most beautiful, breathtaking, awesome wonder I’d ever seen. A condor soared overhead, and as I looked down at the red and purple layers of rock and mud and bone, I felt as though I could see the entire history of Earth, of life, of existence.
By the time my parents found me, I was shaking; tears streamed down my cheeks.
“It’s just so beautiful,” I whispered, and Mom kissed my face and said, “I know, baby. I know.”
Now, walking into the library with Kirin, I’m overcome with that exact same feeling. Awe and wonder, a sense of absolute timelessness, utter amazement that something so beautiful even exists in my world. I blink away the tears, trying to take in the splendor that seems to stretch out in all directions, all the way up to the heavens.
The library is built in a spiral around a circular marble floor in deep shades of blue, with four massive pillars—two stationed at each side of the space, almost like gateways. Shelves upon shelves climb so high along the spiral I lose sight of them, even as I tip my head all the way back. The ceiling is domed, but there are no wooden beams or angelic paintings. Only the sky itself, bright blue in the autumn afternoon, sun gleaming through the glass.
“The pillars are reminiscent of those in the High Priestess and Hierophant cards,” Kirin says, “symbolizing gateways to inner and outer knowledge. The sky was left visible, representing the clarity and insight we strive to attain through learning, questioning, reasoning, and wonder. The floor mimics the ocean—the depths of our souls and deepest intuitive selves.”
Looking down at the floor, I see now that the marble isn’t just blue, but shot through with swirls of violet and green and black, everything changing in the light.
Kirin leads me through the pillars on the north side of the space onto what I now realize is a wide wooden staircase that spirals all the way up to the top.
“Stairs or elevator?” he asks.
“You’re talking to a climber.”
“First day on the job, and you’re already giving me a workout.”
“You’ll than
k me one day. Stamina’s a good quality in a man.” Oh, Stevie. You continue to amaze us with your verbal prowess.
My cheeks flame with heat, my stupid mouth getting ahead of my brain once again.
But unlike Baz, Kirin is a gentleman, and lets the innuendo pass with no more than a raised eyebrow.
We ascend together, my eyes growing wider with every step as we pass by towering shelves of books. There are sections on amulets and charms, plants and herbcraft, animal familiars, conjuring benevolent as well as evil spirits, communicating with the dead, crystals, elemental magicks, Tarot history, Tarot theory, Tarot spellcraft… Wow. The “T” section is the largest by far.
I read every sign out loud, excited laughter bubbling out of me. “I want to learn all of it!”
Kirin laughs. “You’ve got at least four years to accomplish that goal, six or eight if you stay on to do graduate work.”
“That feels too far away.”
“In the meantime, if there are any books you’d like, you can put in a request on your phone. They’ll be delivered to your door within an hour.”
“Seriously? How is that even possible?”
“Magickal library, remember?” Kirin winks, then says, “Here we are. This way.”
Halfway up the endlessly winding stairs, Kirin puts a hand on the small of my back and leads me into an open space with gleaming hardwood floors. Several students are working at tables in the center, every flat surface stacked with books and scrolls and laptops, the only sounds the clack of keyboards and the swish of pages turning. Along with the unmistakable scent of old books, a faint hint of lemon oil hangs in the air, probably from whatever they use to polish the wooden shelves and floors.
On the back wall is an ornately-carved oak door with a plaque that reads, ARCHIVES - AUTHORIZED ACCESS ONLY.
“We’ll be working in here,” Kirin says, pressing his hand to the scanner outside the door. It looks a lot like the one at my suite. Once we’re inside, he shuts the door behind us and presses his hand to another scanner just like the first. The door beeps, then latches, locking us in.
We’re standing in a nondescript room the size of my bathroom, with a tall, phone-booth-looking machine at the other end in front of another door.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“You know the scanners at airport security?”
“I’ve never flown.”
“Really? Wow. Okay, well, this machine scans your magickal signature and matches it to your Academy records, making sure you’re authorized to enter. Only one person at a time can enter. If the scanner picks up anyone else’s signature along with yours, it won’t grant access. It’s to ensure no one is coerced to let someone inside, or tries to smuggle them in. You have your phone on you, right?”
I pat my back pocket and nod.
“Good. Go on ahead.”
I step inside the booth and stand on the footprints helpfully painted on the platform, holding my breath. After a brief moment, the machine beeps and the lights inside turn green, a disembodied voice telling me to step forward.
Inside my back pocket, my phone buzzes with a text.
“That’s your security code,” he says. “Enter it on the touchscreen outside the door.”
I pull out my phone and tap in the ten-digit number.
“Is that it?” I ask. “No blood samples, social security number, signing away my firstborn, stuff like that?”
Still on the other side of the booth, Kirin laughs. “Your magickal signature is all we really need to identify you. The rest is just another layer of security. Go on in—I’m right behind you.”
I open what I hope is the last door on this little adventure and step inside. Seconds later, Kirin follows me in.
Rather than the dark, dusty room I associate with a word like archives, we’re standing in a large, bright white room that looks like a high-tech science lab, with gleaming metal tables, lightboxes, microscopes, and other equipment I can’t even begin to identify. Two of the four walls are lined with glass-walled chambers full of file cabinets in all shapes and sizes.
“The documents kept in the archives are extremely rare, extremely valuable, and most importantly, extremely dangerous. Everything is stored in environmentally-controlled file cabinets behind the glass, taken out only for an hour or two at a time. The documents stored in the red cabinets can only be handled while wearing a mask and gloves, which can be found in the supply closet over there. We won’t need those today, though.”
He invites me to take a seat at one of the tables, then heads into one of the glass rooms and retrieves a stack of thin, leather-bound notebooks.
“All our work must be completed here,” he says. “We won’t be able to remove anything from the archives—not even your mother’s notes and sketchbooks. You’ll also need to lock up any translations you’ve made in the black cabinets over there. You’ll see the drawers with your name on them—you’ll be asked to set a password on the touch screen the first time you use it.”
“More security?”
“The archives house some of the rarest magickal documents in existence. We get visiting professors from all over the world, along with our own graduate students and professors. A lot of witches and mages come through here, Stevie. We can never be too careful.”
“I can understand keeping the antiquities safe, but my mom’s stuff? My own translations?”
“Think about it,” he says, keeping his voice low even though we’re alone. “If the prophecies are true, anything you translate will put you on the map of whoever’s behind the attacks. They’ll know you’re onto them—or at least working on it. Even if the prophecies aren’t true, your mother believed something terrible was coming. If her work or your notes fall into the wrong hands, it could either put you in danger or cause a mass panic, and we’re not going to risk either of those things. Not when witches are being targeted all across the country right now—and that’s not even taking into consideration what’s happening overseas.”
Kirin sets the stack of notebooks on the table and turns away from me, blowing out a sigh. The muscles beneath his shirt bunch with tension.
I rise from the table, place a hand between his shoulder blades. “Kirin, is something wrong?”
He turns to face me again, his eyes full of concern. “There was another attack last night. In New York, a small town just a few hours north of Manhattan.”
“What happened?”
“A house fire—four people dead. From the few details available online, I’d say it was caused by magelight. But they arrested the witch who lives next door—she’s claiming she and the family were close friends, that she’s devastated about the news. Down in the city, they’ve already started protesting—some of them for her freedom, but a good majority for stricter penalties and additional sanctions against witchcraft.”
“How can you get any stricter than execution?”
Kirin holds my gaze, all the unspoken fears hanging in the air between us.
Sometimes, there are a lot worse fates than death.
“I need to get to work,” I say.
Kirin nods solemnly, but a faint smile touches his lips. “Just remember, Stevie. You’re not alone in this. We’re a team, okay?”
We get situated at the table, Kirin taking the chair across from me. He slides the stack of notebooks toward me and says, “This is some of your mother’s earliest research, dating back to her second-year studies. Professor Phaines and I feel you should start here. The more recent writing is a lot more… convoluted.”
“How so?”
“Witches and mages gifted with foresight typically develop their own symbolic language and metaphor families. Sometimes it’s clear-cut and closely follows the known symbology of the Tarot—things like pillars representing gateways, animals for intuition and guidance, white lilies for purity, along with basic astrological and numerological correspondences. But as a witch advances in her practice, she often delves deeper into her own internal meanings and symbols, relying
on this much more personalized language system to communicate with the universe. Now, many divinatory witches will attempt to provide more generalized translations after recording their initial interpretations of a reading—this way, others can better understand and take action on any important prophecies. But Headmistress Trello said that toward the end of her time here, your mother was so engrossed in her work, so frenetic about the prophecies, she didn’t stop to process it or translate it. She simply channeled the messages straight from the cards through her personal symbology and onto the page.”
“Her grimoire is like that too,” I say. “You probably saw it—a lot of it reads like the rantings of a madwoman.”
Kirin shakes his head. “I didn’t read it, Stevie. I wouldn’t—not unless you wanted to share it.”
I smile, grateful for his thoughtfulness. “So her initial work is a little less crazypants?”
Kirin laughs. “If that’s what you want to call it, yes. Plus, looking at the earlier stuff might help you develop an eye and ear for her symbology—the more personalized language that comes through later. Our scholars—myself and Professor Phaines included—haven’t been able to do that yet. I also developed a computer program that models spoken and written language development across all known human languages and cross-referenced that against your mother’s work, but so far, that’s been a dead end too.”
“Um, what?” I gape at Kirin, my head already spinning. “And you think I’m going to be able to figure this out, genius-boy? I hope you’re not placing any bets on me.”
Kirin taps the notebooks between us and shrugs. “You’re her daughter, Stevie. There’s a deep connection there—a bond we can’t simulate, not even with the most advanced magick and technology available.”
Goosebumps tighten across my arms, my eyes filling with tears. Kirin’s right. And now I’m sitting in this room, my mother’s work at my fingertips, the dream-visit still lingering in my mind. I feel closer to her in this moment than I have at any time since the day she spoke her final, ominous words.