by Kristie Cook
“It should have cut the stone, not bounce like a rubber ball. You’re still not putting the right amount of power into your twist.” She clasped my hand in hers and demonstrated—again—how to hold the disc and how to flick my wrist. The motion felt unnatural, but I kept trying. “Sophia says you’ve been working on learning all about the Amadis, but you haven’t asked me anything about mages. So, has Owen told you everything you need to know, or do you have questions?”
“Actually, I haven’t seen Owen much since we’ve been here.”
She made a noise in her throat. “Yes, I’m afraid Martin has kept him busy.”
“Are they close?”
“They used to be, when Owen was a kid. Martin made him stay in school longer than he should have, though. First primary school to learn his ABCs and 123s, then mage school—”
“Mage school?” I interrupted, surprised to hear such a thing existed.
“Of course. The kids have to learn how to use their magic. They start at twelve years old, and it’s another ten years. Then Martin made Owen attend mainstream high school and university for many more years than necessary so he could learn as much as possible about Normans and their ways. Stefan finally said he’d had enough, that Owen needed more hands-on practice.”
“No wonder he hates school so much.”
Charlotte sighed. “I think he resents his father, and now Martin is trying to make up for it. It’s good for them to have this opportunity to spend some time together.”
“Mom says Martin is the most powerful warlock we have, and Owen’s a close second.”
“It’s very true, but I’m not too far behind,” she said with a wink. “Actually, Martin is surprisingly powerful. I tease him that his parents must have been sorcerers.”
“But Owen said his grandparents were all warlocks, converted by Rina’s mother.”
“The ones he knows of—my parents and Martin’s adopted parents.”
I threw her a look. “Adopted?”
“After completing their conversion to Amadis, they took their first tour of mainstreaming and found a baby by a stream near Martinstown, Ireland. They sensed his powerful magic, even as little as he was. What could they do? They couldn’t leave him for Normans to find. And definitely not for the Daemoni. So they took him and raised him as their own.”
“So could Martin’s parents be sorcerers?”
She chuckled. “It would explain a lot, but I highly doubt it. He’s not powerful enough to be full-blooded, and sorcerers have become too arrogant to mate with anyone less than themselves. In fact, in my 106 years, I’ve never heard of any leaving their lairs. As far as I know, it’s been centuries since they’ve reproduced at all.”
“No sex for centuries? That sucks for them.”
Charlotte laughed. “I guess they’re even beyond that. Their earlier children diluted their blood and magic by breeding with Normans, which is probably the worst thing possible in their eyes. I imagine they’ve given up on everyone by now, including each other, hiding out in their caverns and castles.”
“Unless . . .” I remembered some of what Owen had told me on the long flights, while he kept my mind busy, and an idea occurred to me. “Owen did have a chance to tell me a little, and he said there are legends that sorcerers can shape-shift, even into other people. So maybe—”
Charlotte’s odd expression cut me off. I was about to ask her what was wrong when she shook herself and let out a chuckle that sounded forced before plastering on her normal don’t-screw-with-me expression.
“Impossible. Those are just legends, Alexis,” she said, her voice firm and deliberate as she handed me another disc. “Very old legends.”
Damn. I’d thought I was onto something.
“So old, only a handful of people still remember them,” Tristan said, appearing in the doorway. The deflation of my hope and the surprise of Tristan’s appearance caused my hand to slip again right as I threw the disc. Thankfully, he ducked, and the blade soared out of the door over his head. “Trying to tell me to get a hair cut?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“I guess discs aren’t your strong point,” Char said, jotting a note on her ever-present clipboard and seemingly happy to change the subject. “No worries, we’ll figure out your best weapon. We’re just getting started.”
“Did you find Rina?” I asked Tristan after training finished and Char disappeared to the village.
“Yes, but it was too late. She’s already sent messages to the council members so they can start investigating.”
My shoulders sank. Tristan had me convinced this really was the best timing.
“But she did agree to give you a chance with the rest,” he said. “She still doesn’t believe any of them are the actual traitor, but I was able to convince her that whoever is the traitor is influencing at least some of them and listening would give you valuable experience while freeing her to work on other matters.”
And so we resumed our interrogations, er, meetings. We still learned nothing about the hidden girl—in fact, none of the females had the same voice as the one I’d heard at the council meeting. I told Tristan it must be Julia then, because she, Martin, and Charlotte were the only ones who hadn’t been in for questioning, but Tristan pointed out the most likely possibility: whoever I’d heard before had learned about my power and now blocked me or had altered her mental voice enough to throw me off. She would be paranoid and extra cautious, avoiding any thoughts about the girl at all.
We sorted all of the council members into three camps: total support for Tristan and me, whether we had a girl or, somehow, we discovered how Dorian could lead; support for me, but not Tristan, believing Tristan was the traitor and would bring the Amadis down; and the belief that Tristan, Dorian, and me, and possibly Rina and Mom, too, were dangerous to the Amadis, and it was time for new leadership. Rina heard many of these thoughts for herself, but she didn’t seem too worried, not even about this last one.
“The instigator of such ideas is probably a new convert, not a council member, who has not had time to adjust and understand our structure,” she said. “Sometimes they do not appreciate all of our rules and try to change our ways. Eventually, they realize their mistake. I will have Armand investigate our recent additions. We do not need such ideas to spread and take root.”
“You don’t think it’s the traitor denouncing you? You’re not worried about a coup or anything?” I asked.
“Alexis, darling, no one can take over the Amadis. The Angels have given our family the responsibility to lead them. Not anybody else. Until they say otherwise, we lead with the power they have given us, trust their instructions, and have faith in God’s plan.”
“But they’ve sent you a message about a traitor. That has to be who’s spreading the idea of new leadership, trying to gain power.”
“Which is exactly why the Angels have forewarned us, so that we may identify the perpetrator and—” She peered at me and her eyes sparked as a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “—we squash them down until they understand who rules whom around here.”
With such surety as that, I could almost believe she had total control over the situation. Almost.
But then I’d catch a slump in her shoulders. Saw light shadows under her eyes. Heard something in her voice that made her sound unlike herself. The changes in her became a little more apparent as those who didn’t support Tristan—and sometimes me—became more vocal about their concerns the closer the coronation ceremony approached.
Did she rely too much on her senses? On the Otherworld? If the Angels’ messages were so hard to interpret, how could she be so sure about any of this? The words “prophecies” and “curses” had popped up a few times over the last few weeks wrapped in thoughts about Dorian and my daughter. I couldn’t help but wonder if a certain book held clues everyone had forgotten about, including Rina. Maybe it was time to find out for myself.
After a morning of dodging Tristan’s excellent swordsman skills wh
ile failing epically with my own sword, I hastily showered and did a quick scan for mind signatures in the mansion. Tristan and Dorian had already started their math lesson in Dorian’s room, Rina and Solomon were nowhere to be found, perhaps having gone to the village with Mom. I knew that was Mom’s plan for the afternoon—to spend some time with Charlotte—but I didn’t know if the matriarch ever made an appearance in the village. I didn’t care. I saw the opportunity and seized it.
Quietly, I made my way to the hallway leading to Rina’s office, figuring the Sacred Archives would be nearby. Only a few doors led off the hallway, all of them closed. I paused next to Rina’s to confirm her office was empty. Still feeling no one nearby, I continued to the end of the hall and rounded a corner into another corridor—the mansion was a maze—where a door stood open into a vast area full of books.
I hesitated at the opening and peered inside.
No light source hung from the ceiling or walls or stood on any tables, yet the room . . . glowed. As if everything in it gave off some Otherworldly shine that provided a natural light. This is it. The Sacred Archives. As soon as I crossed the threshold, the atmosphere completely changed. The air felt different, heavier in a way, but cleaner, too, as if the room wasn’t really part of our world. The air smelled as I imagined sunshine would smell. The whole space felt special.
Silvery shelves lined the walls, edge to edge, floor to ceiling, with exactly the right number of books to fill the entire space with no overspill and no open slots. Every book had a pearly white leather binding that gave off a soft glow, contributing to the room’s light. I stepped to the closest wall, intending to make my way around the room until I found the book I sought. As soon as I eyed the top shelf, however, my heart sank to the pit of my stomach. I surveyed the rest of the shelves and found the same thing: none of the books had titles imprinted on their spines. How would I ever find the book I wanted among these hundreds of others?
With a tiny bit of hope, I randomly selected a book and pulled it off the shelf. The front cover remained untitled, too, so I opened it, and my heart sank all the way to my feet. No words scrolled across the pages. Only unfamiliar symbols. I flipped through the book, and every page was full of these strange graphics, kind of a combination of Oriental and Middle East writing, but less defined. I’d never seen anything exactly like them, although the closest might really be tattoo art. If this was what Rina received in her messages, no wonder she had a hard time interpreting them. I returned that book to its place and selected another from a different shelf, hoping to find something more familiar, but, again, only symbols. Crap. I just want the Book of Prophecies & Curses. I need to see for myself . . .
A faint noise sounded behind me, and I spun around. Completely on its own accord, a book had slid off a shelf and now floated toward me. My breath caught in my throat. The book stopped inches in front of me and simply hung there, in midair, all shiny and beautiful like a ginormous mother-of-pearl. I stared at it for a long moment, waiting for my eyes and brain to make sense of it or for the book to fall to the floor or . . . for something to happen. But nothing did. I glanced around and peered into the hallway behind me, expecting to see a mage playing a trick on me, but no one was there. Still no mind signatures anywhere on this level.
I made a slow circle around the book as it hung in the air, keeping my distance, afraid to touch it. Finally, with shaking hands, I reached out and grabbed it. The heavy book fell open in my hands, and at first I was relieved to see it didn’t contain those strange hieroglyphics. I recognized both Greek letters and the Latin alphabet. Unfortunately, I couldn’t read any of it.
From research for my own books, I knew enough about the Greek alphabet and how Greek words formed the basis of many English words, so I was able to figure out the title on the cover page: The Book of Prophecies & Curses. The exact book I wanted. How did the room know? Who was behind it? I only had to think the title, and it came to me as if sensing my desire. Who cares? Find what you need and get out of here.
I flipped through the pages, hunting for at least something in English. Numbers—the universal language—headed each entry. They were dates, going back to Before Christ, and increasing chronologically, with the last one dated many years ago. Prophecies and curses weren’t very common. Under each date, Greek letters lined the page, followed by lines of Latin letters in a foreign language, probably Latin itself. I skimmed the last pages, hoping to find something I could make out, perhaps a familiar name. Two lines seemed to jump out at me as if somehow bolder than the others, but not, and I started sounding out the letters, hoping to understand—
The snick of a door closing sounded down the hall, followed by barely audible footsteps. Panicking, I slammed the book shut. What if I wasn’t allowed to be in the Sacred Archives? Mom had told me to leave it alone, but was it because there was some rule about the Sacred Archives or the Book of Prophecies & Curses? Or did she just want me to “behave”? In case I’d violated the Angels’ space, I didn’t want to be caught.
I let go of the book, hoping it would return to its place the way it had come because I had no idea where it belonged. It fell to the floor. Nearly bouncing on my feet with anxiety, I held my hand out, and the book flew up into it. I examined the shelves in the direction from where it had floated, but didn’t see an opening anywhere.
“Go home,” I whispered with desperation. The book jumped out of my hand, floated over to a bookshelf in the far corner, and slid into its home.
I turned toward the door to sneak out, but it was too late. No way to escape, and no place to hide.
Chapter 8
Martin stepped around the corner to my left at the same time Solomon appeared outside the door to my right. They stopped in the middle of the corridor, right in front of the Sacred Archives—right in front of me. Frozen in place, my heart pounding against my ribs, I waited for their demands of why I was in there. They both glanced my way, but neither of them said anything. In fact, they gave no indication of even seeing me, though if I were any closer, I’d be invading their personal space.
“Martin, good to see you,” Solomon said. “Did you bring news from the field?”
Martin licked his lips. His hand slid down the front of his shirt. “Not exactly. I met with Katerina.”
Really? How come I hadn’t sensed their mind signatures? Did Rina have a way to shield her office? Or maybe Martin did. Interesting . . .
“And?” Solomon asked, swinging his arms to clasp his hands behind his back.
Martin’s eyes darted around, as if ensuring no eavesdroppers hid in the shadows. Yet here I was, and he still acted as though he didn’t see me. He lowered his voice when he spoke.
“I’m concerned about Julia,” he said in a near whisper, his Irish accent stronger with his apparent worry. “She’s been a bit dodgy. I think she’s . . . being influenced or something of the sort.”
Solomon lifted his brows. “What is your basis?”
“The messages she relays between Katerina and me—they’re bloody wrong. She’s missing facts, not telling Rina everything, but lets on that it’s my doin’. Something is goin’ on with her.”
I knew it! I’d always felt wrong about Julia, and now Martin confirmed she was hiding something. From Rina, no less.
Solomon rocked back on his heels. “And what did Rina say when you brought this to her attention?”
“She was flummoxed at first, but then denied it, of course. Claims I’m being paranoid with the news of the traitor.” Martin leaned closer to Solomon. “Keep a sound lookout on that vampire, Solomon. She’s not right, and I worry for Katerina.”
Solomon nodded. “I will keep this in mind.”
Martin clapped Solomon on the shoulder, then disappeared with a pop. Without even a glance my way, Solomon headed on down the hallway. I remained in the Sacred Archives for only a moment, my mind spinning with what I’d heard. Was Julia really the traitor? What exactly was she trying to accomplish? And how could she, a vamp, possibly block Rina’s po
wer? I stepped out of the Sacred Archives, trying to be as silent as possible, and the air of the real world hit me as I crossed into the hallway. Solomon spun on me.
“Alexis?” he said, his voice its normal boom again. He peered behind me then narrowed his eyes. “Where did you come from?”
With the sound of stone sliding against stone, the door to the Sacred Archives slid shut as if telling me my time in there was over. Solomon paid it no attention, as if he didn’t hear it, and I realized he must not have seen it, either. Could only Amadis daughters see the Sacred Archives? Because only we could enter it? Not something I could waste time thinking about at the moment.
I swallowed. “Um, I came from my suite. I was, uh, wondering if I could talk to you.”
Solomon studied me for a long moment, and I fought the desire to shiver under his gaze. No matter how much time we spent in the same house with the same loved ones, even knowing he was a good man, I just couldn’t relax around him.
“Of course,” he said, his face breaking into a wide smile, white teeth against ashy skin. “You’ve been avoiding me. Have you finally gathered your courage?”
He teased me. I could see it in his dark, gleaming eyes. He knew I was supposed to have spoken with him weeks ago to glean direct knowledge about vampires. Although they were my favorite of all the creatures, I’d been too scared to be alone with him.
“I promise not to bite,” he said.
I couldn’t help it. A nervous laugh burst out of me, and Solomon chuckled, too. And with that, I relaxed. A little, anyway. He led me to his study, right next door to Rina’s. Solomon twitched his finger, the door swung open, and he disappeared within, expecting me to follow.
I took a tentative step inside, drinking in the vampire’s semi-private space. He and Rina shared similar tastes in décor—dark wood antique furniture decorated the room. Like Rina, he had a large desk, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a sitting area next to a fireplace. On closer examination, however, their preferences were also completely different. While books and beautiful statues of angels and other feminine ornaments filled Rina’s bookshelves, Solomon’s displayed interesting carvings, tribal masks, and weapons, crude and ancient-looking.