“It's nice to meet you, Aish,” Kage offered, pushing his smile upward until his thin cheeks pressed their way against his hooded eyelids.
“You too,” I replied. My smile, contrary to Kage’s, lessened.
Since I could read neither of them, I could only assume that they both came from the same bloodline . . . or origins, as Cian had explained it. Considering what Nira had shared regarding Cian being reserved and rarely engaging with anyone other than his brother, I found myself wondering how Kage fit into the picture. However, recalling that Grams taught me to be polite, I wouldn't be asking. At least, not in front of him.
“What brings you two crazy kids to the library?” I asked instead.
“Would you believe me if I said homework?” Cian joked.
“Meh. Maybe. Though, ya don’t strike me as the homework on the weekend type. Ya know . . . like me,” I teased and waved my hand out over the array of books spread in front of me. “Did ya even give Kage here an option?”
Kage laughed quietly. “It was actually my idea,” he claimed.
I wanted to be nosey. Nosey was kind of my natural tendency. Occupational hazard. But I also didn’t want to be obvious. Besides, the best way to get someone to tell you what you want to know is to make them feel comfortable first.
“Chicks do like the studious type,” I said instead of so what are you here looking for? It was a solid non-nosey response.
“Do they?” Cian asked.
“I mean, that’s what I hear.” I shrugged one shoulder.
“Yeah,” Kage added, playing along. “I’ve heard that too. What rock have you been hiding under, bruh?” he elbowed Cian.
“So, not to be nosey—” I was totally about to be nosey. “But do you live in Pyreshore, Kage? I’m new to town and haven’t met all the locals.”
“No. Just visiting.”
“Kage and my brother, Brenhin, work together. They’re meeting up here before heading out on their next assignment,” Cian explained.
“Oh? What do you do?” I turned my attention to Kage for a reply.
“I’m a photojournalist.”
“Ohhh . . . explains the camera bag. So, are you responsible for all the amazing photos hanging up at the café?” I questioned.
“No. No. Those were all taken by Brenhin and Cian, here,” Kage explained.
My attention turned to Cian, and I crooked my head curiously at him and smiled. “Is that so?” With raised eyebrows, his smile morphed into a smirk. He was chock-full of surprises, it would seem.
I turned my focus back to Kage who was carefully watching our non-verbal exchange unfold. “I’m going to go find that book I’m looking for,” he remarked. “It was nice to meet you, Aish.”
“Likewise,” I returned.
Kage nodded politely and disappeared into the stacks.
“He seems . . .” I began.
“Like he’s not being forthcoming?” Cian finished my sentence.
“Nay. That would be you. Fine, him too.”
Cian feigned shock and laid his hand over his chest like he was offended, but then his stare grew serious. “Do ya really think I’m not being upfront with you?”
“Well . . . do ya really expect me t’ believe he’s a photojournalist who only travels the world t’ take pictures?” I challenged.
“Touché.”
“So, are ya going t’ tell me why he's really here? Is he also Davar Magén?”
Cian settled one leg on the corner of the desk and looked down at me with a snarky grin. “Depends. Are ya goin’ t’ tell me what you hid under the book there when we walked up?”
I thought for a moment, trying to decide if I should share anything about the weapon I had seen end his life. I had already told him more than he should probably know, but I had assumed he knew about the vision before he’d given it to me.
“So, that’s a no then?” Cian confirmed.
“It’s just . . .” I wanted to explain, but I wasn’t sure how. I watched the expression on his chiseled features soften with disappointment. That’s when I could almost hear Grams’ voice in my ear telling me to just spit it out, like she used to say when I was hesitating. I forewent the paper and slid the Keeper’s journal on the Tartaros Blade from beneath its hiding place. “Do you know anything about this?” I asked and handed it to him.
A noticeable tension tightened his jaw. “Aye.” He stared at the journal for several seconds. His eyes remained as immobile as the rest of his face. When his gaze returned to his usual softness, he looked at me with concern. “The question is, how do you know about it?” he asked—as if knowledge of the artifact was classified information and I didn’t have clearance.
“I didn't realize it was top secret,” I countered.
He glanced between me and the journal before opening it to the first page. To my surprise, it was blank.
“Well, there you have it. Looks like it is top secret.” He tossed the journal across the desk in my direction. “How did you find out about this?”
I glared down at the journal, contemplating my response. I did trust Cian, within reason. But a lifetime of keeping secrets was a hard habit to break. I had offered him an olive branch by sharing what I had hidden. I needed something in return. Trust is a give and take.
“Before I answer that, I believe we had a deal. I shared what I was hiding, now you share the truth about Kage. Is he Davar Magén, too? And is your brother?”
“Ahh . . . see, you only get one question. Tit for tat,” he asserted.
“We are going t’ have t’ stop this,” I contended with a heavy sigh. “We might not have much time, and this back and forth will get us no place fast.”
“What do ya suggest, lass?”
“A truth truce.”
He covered his mouth to stifle his amusement.
“Why is that funny? It was not meant t’ be funny.”
“I'm only laughing because a truth truce would mean we don't tell the truth, right? And I don't think that's what ya mean.”
“Well, if ya know what I mean, then I guess we're good. I like alliteration. And ya can stop laughing now.”
He didn’t stop laughing.
“I’m sorry, Aish. Truth truce it is.”
I steeled my eyes in his direction and furrowed my brow. He just winked then leaned over the desk to pick up the journal on the Tartaros Blade. “Ya sure are cute when you’re irritated,” he whispered before pushing back to a seated position on the corner of the desk.
And the tingling resumed. He hadn’t even physically touched me, and I was humming like a live wire. I tried to shake it off and get back on track.
“Let’s talk about this blade for a minute, shall we?” Cian stated as he opened the journal. “You see how it’s blank?”
I nodded.
“That’s because knowledge of this blade isn’t easy to come by. Do you also see how dusty the top of this journal is?” He brushed it off to the side. “That is because so few people have even heard of it, that no one has even pulled this thing from the shelf in probably a hundred years. So, does that help you understand why I wanted to know how you knew about this particular artifact? I know about it because the Davar Magén have a written record on it that is not empty. And that record is over a thousand years old. So . . . Aisling O’Cléirigh, I believe we need to discuss your sources.”
I pursed my lips and darted my gaze from one side of the room to the other then craned my neck to make sure no one was approaching through the stacks of shelves. I stood and walked around the desk, leaning against it next to Cian so I could speak more freely but quietly. “I saw it in a dream.”
He tilted his head and regarded me through focused eyes. “A dream?”
“Aye.”
“And you learned enough through this dream t’ search it out?” he questioned.
“Obviously.”
“Hmm. Is this something you do often? Dream of artifacts?”
&nb
sp; “In the spirit of the truth truce . . . no. It’s not.”
A bright smile spread over his face, lighting his eyes. I made certain to maintain enough distance to keep the strange sensations at bay . . . for the moment.
“So, also in the spirit of the truth truce,” he laughed, “was there anything else in this dream that might be of importance or helpful?”
“Well, that depends. I also saw the Kanna Stone. I learned more about what it's capable of. And then there was a scroll. What do ya know about a scroll written in silver ink? And don’t tell me nothing, because I feel pretty confident that would be a betrayal of the truth truce.” I flashed him a mischievous grin. I wasn’t about to reveal that I had studied one Silver Scroll at length or that I suspected there were others. I wanted information I didn't already have. And I certainly didn't want to influence his response. Maybe he could tell me something I had not yet learned. In fact, I was counting on it.
“That must have been some dream. I do know about the Silver Scrolls,” he admitted.
Before he could answer further, I interrupted. “Scrolls? As in plural?”
“Aye. Plural. There are seven. The Davar Magén are in possession of one of the seven.”
“And the others?”
“Unknown,” he declared.
“What’s on the scroll you, the Davar Magén, have?” I pushed further.
“That I d’ not know. Why d’ ya ask?” Cian pushed back.
I pulled in a breath and laid my cards on the table. “Because I believe the Silver Scrolls could lead us to the Kanna Stone. Possibly even the Tartaros Blade.”
Cian eyed me suspiciously. “You’ve been holding out. Ya knew more than ya let on, trying to see what I knew. Sneaky . . . but smart.”
“Apologies. Just askin’ what you might know before I offered more.” I did feel a twinge of something, just wasn’t sure it was guilt.
“Fair. So, how is it you’ve come to think the scrolls might lead to the artifacts?”
“You say Davar Magén has one of the Silver Scrolls. Natra has another. I’ve studied it extensively. I suspected there were more, and I wanted to search for them, but funding for such a project was not high on the Natra priority list. No one high enough up was convinced there were more than one much less that they were worth looking for. They don’t understand the scrolls and just don’t interpret them the way I do. And so, I have never been given approval for an expedition.”
“But you can read them?” he asked.
“I think so. My first attempt took a while. I had no idea what I was dealing with or how to decipher it. It took a good amount of interpretation in areas and on certain phrases. But I’ve since come to understand the language a bit better. I believe I can read them more easily now. Have you seen the scroll Davar Magén has?”
“Only in passing.”
“Oh, so, can you read it?” I asked, knowing the answer would likely be no. Ruman had explained the language was in essence two languages rolled into one. And even with my understanding and experience with Aramaic and Hebrew, it had taken me years to decipher the Silver Scroll in Natra’s possession.
“I haven’t a clue, never had the chance. But I know who has.”
“Can we talk with them?” My tone grew excited. Even without the pressing need to find the Kanna Stone, the prospect of learning what was on yet another of the Silver Scrolls was thrilling. But finding the Kanna Stone was imperative.
Amusement flickered in his eyes. “I think that can be arranged,” he said. “I’ll give him a call.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket, and I grabbed the journal for the Kanna Stone and flipped through the pages while he maneuvered through his contacts. Anything to make myself look busy. However, Cian was smart. I had no doubt he knew what I was doing. He swiped a few times until he got to a number that simply said “L” and tapped the phone icon
I couldn't hear what was happening on the other end of the line, but introductions weren't necessary. Whoever he had called was familiar with him. Hearing only one side of the conversation meant piecing the rest together.
“We have some new information regarding the operation. Specifically, the scrolls,” Cian explained. “Yes, that too. I’m sure there will be other questions,” he continued. “Can you meet tonight?”
Cian placed his hand over the phone and held it to the side. He turned to me and said, “He wants to know if seven is still good for you.”
My initial reaction was confusion. I scrunched my nose and then realization set in.
Cian McCallister was on the phone with my uncle.
Fifteen
Cian stayed with me at the library even after Kage had left, and we searched through the journals and anything else we could find related to the Kanna Stone. Despite the Library’s reputation, and no matter how promising a lead seemed to be, it always led us to a dead end. We found absolutely nothing that might point us to the current location of the Kanna Stone. I even shared my notes and files from Natra, on both the stone and our Silver Scroll, in hopes that new information might provide Cian with new insights. A few loose end notations warranted looking into further, but there was nothing in the research stacks that helped.
We sat in silence, separated by the large table littered with documents and books. Light from the antique brass chandelier above played on Cian’s face as he read intently from the book before him. The door eased shut as the last person exited the room, leaving us alone. I decided it was time to bring up a few questions I’d been too rattled to think of asking during breakfast.
“You at a good stopping point?” I asked.
He traced a finger over a line in the book and held it there as he looked up at me. The moment our eyes locked, he sat upright and leaned back in his chair, his hand falling from the book to his lap. I had his full attention. “Aye. What’s on your mind?”
“That is a loaded question. Would it be weird if I had a list?” I smiled sheepishly.
“It might be a little weird. But whatever works for you.” A flirty, crooked smile played on one corner of his lips.
Ugh. He needed to stop doing that. That crooked smile was a big part of why I needed a list. I flipped through my notebook to the page of unanswered questions I had written earlier in the day. I started at the top and rattled everything off without so much as breath in between.
“I’d like to know about your recent trip to Dublin. You came to my flat a few days before I arrived in Pyreshore, and the next day I received an invitation to meet someone, who I assume was you, in the Glasnevin Cemetery. Someone, again you, who showed up but didn't show up, passed a note through a witch there like we were in grade school, and then left me with some cryptic message and even more questions. Then you act like you’ve never seen me before when I walk into the café. Why?” I exhaled.
Cian folded his arms over his chest and cocked his head to one side, as though he were confused and processing. My lack of patience got the better of me.
“Do you not have an explanation?” I urged anxiously.
“I d’ not.”
“How can ya not have an explanation?”
“Because it wasn't me.”
I slumped over top of the desk with my arms crossed and glared at him—now I was confused.
“If it wasn't you . . . It had to be you. My neighbor described you right down to that jagged little scar over your eye,” I blew out with exasperation.
Cian leaned forward, rested his arms on the desk and clasped his hands together; concern played heavily in his eyes. “I don't know who your neighbor saw, or talked to, but I do know it was not me. I have been in Pyreshore for the past three weeks. Ask your uncle. We've been working together on the situation with The Saiad. He's how I knew who ya were without knowing what ya looked like, but I couldn’t tell ya that until you were onboard with the mission. Otherwise, his involvement would have been compromised. So, when you walked into the café last night, I knew all about you, t’ a
degree.”
I stared at him, but I was really staring through him, lost in thought, rolling the new information in with the old and trying to make sense of it.
“What did this version of me say t’ your neighbor?” Cian asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Nothin’ really, just said he was a family friend and that . . .” I trailed off, remembering the odd piece of the puzzle.
“And?” Cian urged me to continue.
“And he said my father had given him my address.”
Cian raised an eyebrow. “I thought Lachlan said your father had never been around.”
I nodded slowly. “Aye.”
“So, this was a Shifter. Obviously. And while I have more questions, my next one is . . . why did this shifter choose my likeness when trying to contact you?”
“Why’d they pass the note through Pixie Witch instead of just doing it themselves? If they used your image once, why not do it again?” I continued, ignoring his question.
“Who’s Pixie Witch? And what did the note say?”
“The witch in the cemetery had a pixie haircut. Whoever the shifter was, he gave her the note to give me. She said it had been imbued with location magic, to keep tabs on me I guess, but she removed it before she handed it over. Apparently, she's dealt with stalkers before.”
“And the note?” Cian asked.
“Three lines: Midnight. Silver moon. I’ll find you. It really makes absolutely no sense. There's no such thing as a silver moon t’ my knowledge. Nothing I could find anyway. I've heard of a harvest moon and a blood moon, but nothing about a silver moon.”
“We will get back to that,” Cian assured me. “But first, does Lachlan know about any of this?”
“No. As soon as the witch handed me the note, I made a beeline for my flat and packed. I changed my flights to leave out that night and came straight here.”
“You don't seem like the type t’ spook easily. What made ya bug out that quickly?”
Silver at Midnight: A Paranormal Romance Urban Fantasy (The Keepers of Knowledge Series Book 5) Page 12