by Lucy Auburn
Those green eyes are studying me; I can feel it. As usual, Ezra seems to see right through me, the way I see through him. There’s no hiding from that gaze of his. “You can’t change the past, Dani. Neither can Meyer. And I’m not saying you should trust him or even believe him. But I think you need to talk to him, to hear him out, for your own peace of mind. Find out why he left you, how he became who he is, why he’s done all that he has. Ask him everything you want to know. Because otherwise, all you’ll ever be able to do is wonder.”
Looking up at the claw marks on the tree, I wonder who left them there. I wonder if they still go here. And I wonder if this place felt like home for them too.
“I’ll think about it.” Meeting Ezra’s eyes, I feel a strange certainty that I will go back to Meyer’s cell one day—just not today. “It’s not like I don’t have time. There are seven more semesters before graduation, after all, and he’s not going anywhere.”
“He isn’t,” Ezra agrees, “and neither are we.”
When I return to the Great House and take the stairs up to my dorm room, the most frightening person in the entire academy is waiting outside my bedroom door.
Beatrice Trout, head librarian. No doubt looking for The Arcane Arts of the Living and the Dead, which I’ve owed back to the library for oh, about two months or so now if you count the day I stole it as the check-out date.
“Ms. Carpenter.” She levels a reproachful glare at me over the edge of her wire-rimmed glasses, looking every bit the tiny terror her owl shifter form must be. “I have given you a short reprieve, considering the circumstances of the conflict a week ago, but I must absolutely insist that you hand over the missing library book right this instant. This has gone on far enough.”
An image flashes through my mind of her eviscerating me with her talons. “I’ve been meaning to bring the book back. I’ll get it to you right now.”
“Mmmhmmm.”
“It was just—I needed it.” Something about this short librarian is making me babble nervously. “You know, to fight Meyer and all. But I should’ve returned it once I was done. I’ll uh...”
As I open the door to my bedroom her arm flies out, and she keeps me from shutting it behind me. “I’ll just come with you. To make sure the book has been stored properly. It is rather old, you know. Perhaps I should move it to the rare books room to keep sticky freshmen fingers from touching it.”
My sticky fingers, she means. Not that I can blame her—I stole the thing with another student’s ID in the first place, and have kept it under my bed for months. If Melisandra’s Library had fines I’d probably owe them enough money to drain my bank account.
“So, it’s uh...” I have to rummage around in the top of my wardrobe for a bit, much to Beatrice’s clear dissatisfaction. “It’s up here somewhere. I know I put it here. It’s been a long week, y’know, so many tests and... aha!”
I cringe as I pull the book down from its spot. Somehow it wound up pinned open, a good portion of the pages pushed back by the edge of a dirty blazer I threw up there because my laundry hamper is full. It’s a good thing Lynx isn’t here right now, or he’d probably have a full-on heart attack. I do my best to smooth the pages down as I close the book, but the narrowed, beady eyes looking my way make it clear that the head librarian is none too pleased with my archival abilities.
“This will have to be checked over for marks and missing pages, I’m sure.” She harrumphs as she snatches the book from my hands, shockingly nimble for someone so unnaturally still most of the time. “I’m not pleased by your performance as a library patron, Ms. Carpenter.”
“Were we being graded?” I cringe at the way that question lands. “I’m uh, I’m sorry. I borrowed it at a time when I was in a bit of a... situation. And the situation didn’t go away, you see, and then since it was the only book on the arcane arts that Meyer hadn’t taken, I felt like I had to keep it. Just in case. And then finals...”
I trail off, realizing her face isn’t getting any less reproachful. At least she hasn’t shifted into her owl form and taken a dive at my face. I’m sure she could do plenty of damage by the time I manage to dislodge her and summon the demons.
“I won’t revoke your library access,” she says, filling me with relief. I never thought I’d be so glad to be able to go to a library I’m not using as a shelter from the streets. “But make no mistake, if something like this ever happens again you will find yourself on a very short leash. So do try not to steal or damage any other books.”
“Of course. Thank you.” A thought occurs to me, a way to get back on her good side—if she even has one of those. “Meyer checked out a bunch of books that need to be returned. The headmaster gave me a key to his office, so I can go through what he left behind. I could bring the books back to the library... if it’s going to be open over winter break.”
“With the exception of New Year’s Day and New Year’s Eve, we will be resuming our normal hours tomorrow morning.” Is it my imagination, or does she sound less murderous? “A return of the books checked out from us would be much appreciated.”
“Tomorrow morning, then.”
She considers me. “Tomorrow morning. Do try not to damage any further books, Ms. Carpenter. It would be a shame to have to revoke your library privileges or report you to Headmaster Towers.”
The way she says “revoke your library privileges” makes it sound much more like “slit your throat and feed your innards to wild dogs.” Of course, that could just be my imagination, but I can’t help noticing the glint in her eyes even as she leaves my room with the book tucked under her arm.
Librarians: don’t mess with them.
Chapter 18
“Do you think he has like, severed shrunken heads in there?” Standing on my tiptoes, I try to peer through the little window on Meyer’s office door, but the light is off and I can’t see much. “I just don’t want to be surprised by anything.”
Ezra answers from behind me, “Besides the fact that we would’ve notice the smell by now, I’m sure Headmaster Towers looked over everything before she gave you the key. I doubt there’s anything in there.”
“If I were him, I would booby trap the door.” We all look over at Mateo, who just shrugs. “Booby traps work way better than keys. Of course sometimes they go off on accident...”
If I keep letting Mateo talk about what might be behind the door, I’ll psych myself out and never go in to get the books—which are the only way I have now to find out more about my Grim nature. Not to mention the whole thing with the head librarian, who I’m pretty sure will make me vanish if I don’t show up with the books like I promised.
Refusing to think about what might be on the other side, I shove my key in the lock, go in, and flick the overhead light on.
It looks just like I remember it from my last meeting with him: somewhat messy but still spartan, two shelves full of books, and no personal mementos. Looking around at everything, I wonder how I didn’t realize earlier that something was up with him; even Grims must have family photos or odd knick knacks. But Meyer came here with just enough to pull off his ruse and little else.
There’s no way to know from his possessions that Meyer has lived for centuries. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t keep things; after seeing so much death, personal effects probably become meaningless.
“Well. No severed heads as far as I can see.” Lynx glances over in my direction expectantly. “You gonna open the drawers and look through them?”
“Guess I have to. It’s that or talk to him for answers, which I don’t plan on doing.” Dismissing the books on the shelves, I walk over to the desk and study the things on its surface. “Headmaster Towers told me to leave anything that might tell us more about him, so I’m only supposed to take the books and anything that was mine. I guess I’m lucky she’s even letting me look through it all.”
Sebastian studies the black spines of the books on the bookshelf. “What exactly did Meyer teach you about Grim powers while we were gone?�
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“The foundations.” I start on his drawers, finding nothing but office supplies in the middle one. “How blood centers and connects energy, and death energy boosts power and fuels spells. How to draw summoning symbols and circles... at least, a few of them. And a bit about the arcane rules governing the moment of death. Nothing that went beyond the basics, as far as I know. He only taught me how to summon a few remedial demons.”
“He must not have wanted you to be able to reconnect with us,” Ezra speculates. “Or summon other powerful demons who might be able to communicate with you and tell you he was full of shit.”
Sebastian’s incorporeal finger trails over one of the book spines. “I’m pretty sure this book has every basic arcane summoning symbol for all level one demons.”
“Great, I can summon evil things.” I frown at the third desk drawer I pull open, which is just as mundane as the first two. “I was hoping there might be something in there that would tell me why Meyer kept jabbering nonsense about a crazy lady trying to steal every type of phoenix heart. I mean, what would she even get out of a complete collection? More creepy necromancy abilities?”
Lynx studies the book spines. “I don’t think any of these books cover necromancy. They’re all older editions. The practice of raising the dead was banned by most Grim clans until the twentieth century. Sharing information on necromancy was punishable by death—ironic, in a way.”
Rooting through Meyer’s files, I search for something unusual but find only student records and assignments. “If he was hiding something he hasn’t told us about, it must be in that journal in Old Dutch, because there’s nothing in here. Just a bunch of teaching supplies.” Slamming the drawer closed, I lean against the desk. “And if those books are just about basic Grim abilities, they’ll only be so useful. They won’t tell me much about being a Black Phoenix.”
“There was a brief passage in one of them...” Ezra trails off. “But it just mentioned what we’ve already discovered: the bond between demons and a newborn Black Phoenix is no mistake. What else do we need to know?”
I can’t find a good answer to his question, so instead I go through the books, pulling them off the shelf one by one. Three are history books that cover various Grims during the Phoenix Wars; at first it’s not clear why Meyer checked them out, until I realize that he no doubt wanted to make sure I never figured out who he really is, and he's a subject in history. Two of the books are about occult rituals, like The Arcane Arts of the Living and the Dead, but they appear to be much slimmer and more theoretical than that book even. The other three talk about the powers of Grims, but are written from the point of view of shifter historians, and aren’t exactly kind to their subjects.
So basically I’m right where I started off before I came in here, with nothing to show for it. Frustrated, I kick the closest leg of the desk, wishing I could go in Meyer’s cell and strangle him.
I get more than a sore toe for my troubles.
Kicking the desk makes something click inside the middle drawer. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I find myself exchanging an incredulous glance with Ezra. “Was that what I think it was? The sound of a secret compartment unlocking?”
“Open the drawer and find out,” he suggests.
“I feel like I’m in an episode of a BBC murder mystery TV show,” I mutter. “Of course Meyer would have this kind of bullshit.”
As I open the drawer, my suspicions are confirmed. There’s a thin piece of wood in the back that cracked when I kicked the desk. Pulling at its edges, I discard it and find a tiny hidden compartment behind the false back of the drawer. A little leather book, impossibly thin, is stowed there, along with a passport and set of bills.
The passport, unsurprisingly, is his—though Leo Meyer is, I realize now, a false name. I wonder if he uses the same hypnotizing spell on government authorities to get fake documents as he used on the campus to lull the students and teachers into a false sense of trust and security. He must be on his tenth identity, or more, by now; people notice when a man in his forties doesn’t get old and grey.
Discarding the passport and the cash, I pry the thin leather booklet from the back of the drawer. No doubt it’s yet another journal written in Old Dutch, practically useless to us even with Lynx’s smarts and an entire library of rare books at our disposal. Meyer knew how to keep his knowledge secret from prying eyes.
But when I open up the booklet, it’s not pages of scrawled-on white paper that I find between the covers. Instead there are thin white pages with plastic covering them to keep a set of photos from getting messed up.
The first picture is of Meyer, looking younger than he does now—though who knows what that means—beaming at the camera. A woman sits next to him, her face blurry; she’s turning her head towards something out of frame, hair falling in front of her features. It’s a strangely flawed photo to keep cherished and hidden. I don’t understand it.
Until I flip to the next page.
There’s a baby photo on the left, faded to sepia tones, the color leeched out of it. Then on the right, what must be a picture taken with an old disposable camera, bits of red noise dotting the poorly-lit scene of a young girl standing in front of a white wall, face set in an ornery frown, purple backpack slung over one shoulder.
I recognize the girl immediately, because she’s me. This is a photo taken at one of a variety of social workers’ offices I came to in between foster homes. Based on the backpack and the blunt, short bangs above my eyes, I’m about five or six in the photograph, and already world-weary.
A chill goes down me at the thought of how he got this, followed immediately by anger. He knew about me, knew where I was even, and did nothing to stop all the moving around, the loneliness and feelings of abandonment, the certainty that I’d never find a home that really wanted me.
Something brushes up against my shoulder, and a shiver of a different kind goes down my back. Ezra’s voice murmurs in my ear, “Is that you?”
“Yes.” I throw the photo booklet down on Meyer’s desk, refusing to look at more pages. “Apparently he was stalking me from a distance. You know, like a shitty father does. He knew exactly where I was but he didn’t ever come get me.”
Every foster kid has that dream they hate themselves for nursing: a long-lost parent, or even an aunt or uncle, shows up at the group home or the foster home one day to take you away. There’s usually a far-fetched fairy tale involved: they didn’t know you existed, or were kept from you somehow, but now they’re here. They’re taking you to be with family, where you belong. You’ll never know loneliness or fear of abandonment again.
One day you wake up from the dream and never have it again. I don’t remember when that day was for me exactly, but I know it came some time before Sara came into my life and showed me a different kind of familial love. If she hadn’t died, maybe I would’ve stayed with her until graduation. Maybe I never would have known about my phoenix powers or met Meyer in the first place.
Fat chance. And I wouldn’t trade the demons for anything. But I have to admit, knowing that Meyer was well aware of me all along and kept photos of me around doesn’t endear me to him. If anything, it makes me want to let him rot away in that prison cell all alone even more than I did before.
“What a fuck face,” Sebastian mutters. “We should slowly poison him to death. I can make him shit out blood in his final hours and wish that he’d never been born.”
Lynx notes, “There’s no need. Cut off from his phoenix heart supply as he is, Meyer will start aging like a normal person pretty soon, and then even faster. He probably won’t survive longer than five years or so.”
“Good riddance.” I push the photo booklet off the desk and into the little trash can beside it, then grab the cash and stuff it in my pockets. “Let’s hope he kicks it before I graduate, even. That’d be the best graduation present I can imagine.”
Ezra and Lynx exchange a worried look, which I ignore. Sebastian gets it; Meyer’s isn’t someone who de
serves my mourning or my sadness or any amount of goodwill. So he had a bunch of photos of me that, by all appearances, he looked at and cherished every day. He even kept a shitty photo of my mother around, blurred face and all, to remember her by.
None of that makes up for what he’s done—or worse, what he hasn’t done.
Let him rot to death. I’m closing the chapter of my life that involved him, just like I closed that cell door and left him in there. I’ve got bigger and better things to look forward to. I won’t give him another thought.
Chapter 19
Second Semester — Year One
I blink down at my new schedule, frowning at a certain hour-long Monday and Friday class. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. I knew they’d put me back in Group Combat, but...”
“What?” Lynx peers over my shoulder. “Is that my name?”
“It’s all of your names.” I toss the schedule down on my desk, letting it join my general mess of research from winter break—all of it in search of more information on my Black Phoenix powers, little of it fruitful. “Apparently Fisk has decided that the four of you are going to be attending class along with me.”
“Can he do that?” Mateo leans back against the wall, face thoughtful. “I don’t remember enrolling.”
Sebastian makes a frustrated noise. “If they try to make me wear one of those blazers, I’ll gut someone.”
Pragmatic as always, Ezra points out, “It’s a wise decision. We’re the only access they’ve ever had to upper demons, and we come with Dani as part of a set. Us training together with her would be the best preparation for anything that might happen out in the field. And it’s the first, likely only, chance they’ve got to pit their shifter Shields against the real deal. I’m surprised they haven’t done it sooner.”
“I hate Group Combat,” I grumble. “I thought I’d be able to just hang in the back of the pack and get ignored. If Fisk is bringing you guys in, he’ll expect me to participate.”