City of Magic (Happily Ever Afterlife Book 1)

by Patricia Thomas

  Which would mean I was about to lose my only shot of getting out of this building. I couldn't even say for sure how many days I'd been inside by then, but I didn't want my stay to last any longer.

  And if going outside, right then, meant there was even a slight chance I could somehow help Marc… or find my parents… then I should take it.

  But rather than turn for the back of the building where there were sure to be fewer people milling around, I started walking, doing my best not to look out of place or suspicious. But how did someone even walk suspiciously?

  Right then, in the moment I made up my mind to go, someone appeared from the office behind the front desk, and I recognized Jonathan immediately. I saw him, and I saw him seeing me. There was no denying what I was doing, heading straight for the front door, but a second later, Jonathan looked away, and I was sure I’d spotted a conspiratorial glint in his eyes.

  I didn't stop to question my good luck, and instead kept going, not even giving myself a chance to think or change my mind.

  I could taste the change in the air as I stepped out onto the front steps of the Archive, sunlight hitting my face. Real sunlight. My entire body breathed a sigh of relief.

  I hurried down the steps, not making eye contact with anyone I passed until I hit the sidewalk. I was out, finally free of the looming presence of the Archive of Ink and Soul, and everyone who worked inside.

  I promised myself I'd come back, not before anyone noticed I was missing, but as soon as I could. First, I’d head for the Reclamation Center just to see for myself what was there--who was there. I wouldn't get too close, but if there was a swarm of librarians already circling the building then maybe I'd take my chances.

  The alternative was someone would find me before I had a shot to get anywhere at all. But at least they couldn't take this moment back from me, I thought, inhaling lungful after lungful of fresh, crisp air. I hadn't realized just how accustomed I'd gotten to being surrounded by the smell of books all the time, but the aroma of fresh air was unmistakable.

  As quickly as I could, I merged with a passing crowd and shuffled along the sidewalk trying to look like I knew where I was going. The Archive still took up most of my peripheral vision from that side of the street. It was a little strange, seeing it from the outside again after spending so much time cooped up indoors. The building, its purpose, its décor--none of it had been anything like I had imagined it to be when I'd first seen it, it was so much more. But for a few minutes, I'd certainly enjoy its absence.

  How long did I have before somebody realized I was missing? Would they be able to find me right away? I walked a little faster, crossing the street with the group I'd adopted.

  I just wanted to go a little further, be outside a little longer.

  I looked down at my feet, trying to be inconspicuous. But that was when it hit me. My shoes. Jonathan had enchanted them a while ago, with the hope that it would give the councilors even more incentive to grant us a little freedom. Everything with Devon happened soon after that, and I'd never again thought about the changes he’d made. But if Jonathan thought of it, or if he'd already told the other councilors, then they could find me right away.

  Or, they could find Marc.

  I stopped walking at the first gap in the crowd, tucking myself between two buildings to give my thoughts a chance catch up with me.

  Hopefully, in all the insanity, no one had remembered the shoes either. But if there was any chance they would be able to find Marc, those same shoes could make all the difference.

  I had to go back.

  The Archive was still in sight, I could be there within minutes. I hoped the fact that I'd come back on my own would win me some points in the future, get me a little more time outside once I had this all sorted out.

  Before I had a chance to even take a single step back toward where I'd come from, something sharp jabbed me in the side. Panicked, I looked down to see a tiny dart sticking out from my hip. I whirled around, trying to find where it had come from, but I was still alone. No one in the crowd was so much as looking at me.

  As my vision began to blur, I tried to steady myself on the wall beside me, but I knew it was already too late. I was going down, and quickly. I opened my mouth to cry out for help, but couldn't make a sound.

  The world around me faded away.

  It took a long time for me to wake up. It felt like hours had passed but I couldn't be sure if I was awake or dreaming. If I was dreaming, wherever I was would have to be a bizarre place to pass my sleeping hours, as every time I opened my eyes all I saw was a hazy half-darkness. My hands had been tied behind my back, and I felt like I was moving somehow. But before I could figure out any more than that, I was unconscious all over again. It was—or at least felt like— hours before I truly started to feel like my head was clear, like I could maintain a train of thought for more than a few seconds at a time.

  I forced my eyes to open and take in the fading day around me. There was a window, or light source of some kind overhead but I couldn't move enough to figure out where it was.

  I tried to force out a cry for help but the sound that came from my throat was rough and garbled. I coughed a little, clearing my throat and tried again. "Hello." I called out, now trying to keep my voice low. I knew I was as likely to attract the attention of my attacker as I was any kind of help, but I had to do something.

  To my surprise, it was Marc's voice that answered me. "Kadie. What the hell are you doing here?"

  "I could ask you the same question. Actually, I will. What the hell are you doing here? You ran out of the Archive without telling anyone! No one knew where you were."

  "So, you decided to follow suit and make the same stupid mistake? They got me almost as soon as I left the building," he said. I tried to turn my head to see where he was, but only made out a fuzzy shape on the far side of the room. At least my vision seemed to be clearing up.

  "Same here. I take it you got the letter, and your book?"

  Marc didn't answer.

  "Are you hurt?" I asked, changing my tactic.

  "No. They shoved me in the back of a truck, as soon as they had me. I don't think I've moved, but I was out for a while. You got here a while ago, and I was getting worried you weren’t going to wake up."

  "Any idea who they are?"

  "I didn't see anyone, not directly."

  "Well, shit. Me neither. I was hoping that someone at the Archive would be able to track you--us I guess--by the shoes Jonathan enchanted. Hopefully, he'll think of it sooner rather than later. But seriously, what the hell were you thinking?"

  "Like you're in a position to judge."

  "I was looking for you."

  "And that's it?" Marc said.

  "I don't know, maybe. I’m not sure if I’m hoping for my parents to have been kidnapped by whoever is doing all this, but it beats the alternative. Both Grayson and Eliza seemed pretty sure that none of the people in my life--other than the guy who dumped me--would've actually arrived in the After."

  "What you mean?"

  I did my best to explain the same thing that Grayson had to me. "But that doesn't mean anything…" I hurried to explain, realizing Marc may take the news even harder than I had.

  "How much of your book did you read?"

  "Basically, none of it. I found the letter before I started reading, and it said they had my wife."

  Well at least he’d been offered something a little more specific, but that no doubt had a lot to do with him making it pretty damn obvious exactly what to threaten him with.

  "So, you just left? You didn't tell anyone where you were going?" I asked, indignant. I already knew the answer perfectly well.

  Just then, the surface underneath us gave a rumble and my body jostled sideways a little before hitting the bed of the truck all over again. We were still moving, but it felt like the truck we were in had just taken a serious turn. I wanted to think it didn't mean anything, that the librarians could find us just as easily no matter where we ended
up, but the fact that something was happening at all couldn’t have been a good omen. They could have us through the Reclamation Center within minutes, as far as I knew--if Harper had been any indication. Was Grayson already coming for us? Or, was it already too late?

  Neither Marc nor I said much of anything as we moved through what I hoped were still the streets of Sanctum. Fortunately, or not, we weren’t on the move for long before the truck we were in reversed directions, letting out a few loud beeps as it started to back up somewhere. I had to think that meant we'd reached wherever it was we were heading. Something was about to happen, I just couldn't say if it would be good news for either Marc or me. These could easily be my last moments in the After.

  Knowing what I did about my book, I was more sure than ever that it wasn't a place I wanted to go back to.

  At least in the After I'd have a chance to write a new story for myself, to create memories to replace the ones I'd never had, to build new relationships and--with luck--some actual friendships.

  But back there, I'd never be anyone. I’d just get my heart broken in an endless loop.

  Not something I could really look forward to.

  "Any chance you've got a brilliant plan for when they come for us?" I asked Marc, hoping he’d used the extra time he’d had to plot a great escape.

  "Not so much. I can barely move but if I get a chance to fight, I'm going to take it, I suggest you do the same. This is not the time for any passive, yoga nonsense."

  "Oh, shut up. It might come as a surprise, but I've got a bit more fight in me than you think. I'm not going quietly."

  My ears had gone into overdrive, listening for any clue in the world around me about who or what was coming for us. I did my best to brace myself for whatever was coming next. Whether I could claw my way out of my fate, or talk my way out of it--I had to try. My life in the After hadn’t been at all what I expected, but it was still a life I wanted.

  A wall of light assaulted my senses as a shutter door I hadn't noticed at the back end of the vehicle rolled upward. For a second, I couldn't make out anything more than shapes, as my eyes adjusted. Then I saw what I thought was a man waiting outside of the door. His frame was slight, by the looks of him not even fully grown, but my brain still needed a moment to recognize who I was looking at.

  Jonathan Credence.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  They’d found us. I breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing against my bonds as Jonathan stepped into the truck.

  "Good to see you both," Jonathan said. "I'm sorry to have had to arrange our meeting this way, but my colleagues left us little choice. Finally, the three of us will have a chance to catch up."

  I looked over at Marc, not sure if I was understanding what I was hearing. He looked just as confused as I felt.

  "Please," Jonathan said. "Let me explain. This isn't quite the rescue mission I'm sure you were hoping for. Grayson and his ilk may be scouring the city for you, but I've known where you were all along. This was my first opportunity to get out of the building. None of what happened to the two of you, or to Devon over the last few weeks had to happen. Unfortunately, you didn't arrive quite where I'd been anticipating. I've had to improvise a little. But now that you're here, I can assure you, we're all going to get quite a few more answers now."

  Marc and I were only released from our bindings by the men Jonathan had with him long enough to be led out of the truck and into the desolate empty building we’d been brought to.

  If I’d thought having Grayson hounding us after Devon’s display of magic was intense—which, by the looks of it, had saved his life since he was still in a cage rather than here with us—that pressure was nothing compared to having one of Jonathan’s flunkies breathing down my neck as he pushed and prodded me toward our destination.

  Wherever we were, the walls were thin metal. One large window made up the top panel on the wall at the front of the building, though hanging bulbs illuminated the rest of the space. A few crates sat scattered around the space and a few support columns, placed systematically, reached from floor to ceiling.

  I could still smell salty sea-air, which didn’t guarantee anything, but at least left me with a little hope that we were still in reach of the Archive.

  "Put them there," Jonathan said, indicating two sets of chains welded into the back wall of the building. Gone was the kindly older man trapped in a younger body that I’d come to expect from Jonathan Credence. This version was all business. While they roughly dragged Marc and I from the door to the wall we were to be chained to, the councilor’s expression didn’t shift even a fraction toward sympathy. Whatever his plan was, it wasn’t to force us back to our origin stories--at least not yet--but he wanted something from us, no question.

  "Now, I’m going to ask you some questions, and I highly recommend that you be honest. Not only can this all be over quickly, but I suspect we are going to be on the same side."

  "Where’s Meg?" Marc asked. I could practically feel his body vibrating with anger beside me.

  "Now, now. I’m the one asking the questions today, but get on my good side and you’ll get the answers you’re looking for," Jonathan said as he approached us.

  "Go to hell." Marc spat at Jonathan’s feet, missing the librarian’s shoes by an inch. "If all you wanted was answers, you could have asked us at any time. Whatever you’re after, it’s not for all of us to be on the same side."

  "You’ll come to see that you are entirely wrong on that note. But until I know for sure what you’re capable of, I’m not taking any chances. Now let’s talk abilities…" Jonathan said, his voice quiet and smooth. "You aren’t the prosaics you’re pretending to be."

  Marc snarled out something unintelligible so I tried to step in and calm the situation down. It might not be too late to get out alive. "We’ve answered this for you so many times already. I didn't come from anywhere with magic. I don't know what the hell happened with Devon."

  "If it helps, I know exactly what happened to your friend. Now, since arriving in the After, have you exhibited any new abilities?" He looked from me then back to Marc.

  "No," Marc said in a roar, shaking with frustration.

  A moment later, with no warning, one of the guards that had been standing behind Jonathan, stepped forward and punched Marc in the stomach. I flinched where I was standing.

  "You're lying," Jonathan sneered. "I know that each of you has some ability you didn't have before. I know, because I gave them to you."

  I stopped breathing.

  "I almost thought it hadn’t worked, that you’d come through with nothing more than scars. But Devon went and proved me wrong. Or right, depending on how you look at it. But he's no good to me anymore. I need one of you so I can show the world what I've done. I'll ask you again, what are you capable of now that you weren't before?"

  Marc shook his head, his jaw clenched. This time, Jonathan's guard didn’t aim low, and didn’t stop after one punch, hitting Marc’s face three times in quick succession.

  "You know what happens if you don't tell me." Jonathan turned and looked at me. "I can give Kadie here a try. Either she'll tell me what it is she's been hiding, or you'll tell me to protect her. This could work just as well either way."

  "I’m in the same boat as he is," I said, keeping my voice as calm as I could while trying to quiet the panic that set a quiver into my voice. "I can’t do anything. I've seen some stuff, sure, and I have the scar. But I’m not capable of anything magical. No more than I ever was."

  "You don't understand, yet. Those scars are everything. That scar proves not only that the channel I opened up to give you the potential for magic, but that the change remained once you came through."

  "Came through where?" I asked. I wanted it to sound like there was a chance I would play along, if only to buy us more time. But I still didn't even know what it was I'd be playing along with. All I really wanted was to get Marc and I out of there alive. At least while I kept Jonathan talking, Marc had a chance to catch his b
reath.

  "From the sounds of it, I'm guessing that you both missed the fairly massive red flag in your books. It was a risk, but people are nothing if not predictable."

  I sat there in stunned silence, trying to figure out what he was getting at. I looked at Marc, but his expression remained unreadable.

  "Let me ask a question," Jonathan said. Marc let out an annoyed grunt beside him.

  "What?" I asked, before Jonathan could hone in on Marc all over again.

  "What year is it?"

  "Two thousand and two," I said right away. At least that was one question I knew the answer to.

  "Nineteen ninety-nine," Marc said a second after.

  The two of us looked at each other. Okay, that was weird. But it was more than possible that one of our authors had set their book a few years earlier or later than the other.

  "You're both off by more than a decade," Jonathan said. He wasn't smiling, and yet I could still tell that he was enjoying himself. "Based on the publishing dates we’re seeing on the copyright pages of the latest titles coming into the Archive, we’re only a few years off twenty-twenty. The turn of the millennium has come and gone a while ago."

  When neither of us said anything, Jonathan continued. "Clearly, you don't see what this means yet."

  "What I see, is that you're getting off on this. What year our books came from doesn't mean anything. An author can set a story at any time they want. I have no idea what you're getting at." The quiver in my voice was beginning to hint at both my fear and irritation. I wasn't exactly looking for him to go back to beating Marc, but I was sick of Jonathan’s roundabout answers.

  "The year you see in the copyright page isn't the year the book is set in, it's the year the book was published. And since the Archive gets titles as they’re published, they all come through at the same time. Exactly as they're supposed to. Incidentally, the years you both listed off, are the same years that your books entered the world officially through publication."

  I furrowed my brow, trying to work it out before he opted to explain it to me.