Gem rested her cheek against her palm and stared at her bookshelf. Because she’d been the first in the house, Viktor had given her the choice of any room in which to do her work. So she’d wandered from room to room like a nomad, going through all the books that were already shelved or in boxes. Some of them went to charity, others to the pawnshop, and the rest became part of her private collection. But as Keystone grew, Gem decided she needed privacy to do her work. A place that was dark, secure, and hidden.
When Viktor showed her the secret passageway to this room, she fell in love with it. He promised to keep it a secret so she could work without any interruptions. Someone had loved this place and built it with the same idea in mind—to store precious books. The tomes must have belonged to his extended family that he never talked about. It had taken her time to go through each book, and most of them were boxed and relocated to a private study upstairs. After she finished, she filled the shelves with her own private collection, some of which she’d found in the house. Not long after that, she stumbled upon an old one with a red leather cover. Had it been there all along, or had she just forgotten about it? The old leather binding showed signs of wear but no significant damage. The pages were thick, and the writing was like nothing she’d ever seen before. So the red book had become her pet project. She cross-referenced many languages in search of a common thread between the symbols—anything to give her a head start on the etymology. But instead this book had become the bane of her existence.
Her eyes darted down to the box with her latest purchases, and she noticed a few had slipped beneath the heavy papers she’d used for packing.
“Alas, a girl’s work is never done.”
Gem hopped out of her seat and retrieved three small books from the box. If she didn’t shelve them now, they might end up in the wrong pile. After she tucked the books under her arm, she positioned the ladder by the left-hand shelf. Gem was proud of her organizational system and never had any trouble locating a book. As she ascended the ladder, one of the books slipped from her grasp and hit the floor.
Gem cringed. There was nothing worse than dropping a book. Nothing!
She heaved a sigh. “Nothing to see here, ladies and gentlemen. It’s just me, destroying history, one page at a time.”
Her sneakers hit the floor as she hopped down from the ladder and set the other two books on the desk. Their fallen brother was facedown, his spine bent and covers splayed open. Just seeing the pages beneath, all folded and bent, was like watching the death of a butterfly. She gingerly lifted the book and turned it over to assess the damage. To some, books were portals through which to escape. But to Gem they were her children.
“That’s not so bad,” she said, straightening a crease on one of the pages. With an old book, you could never tell how it would withstand the impact of a fall. Sometimes the paper tore away from the spine, and other times the hinges would break open.
Before she closed it, the writing inside caught her attention. She studied the handwritten symbols and recognized them to be Akkadian, an extinct Semitic language of ancient Mesopotamia. But what interested her was that above some of the writing, someone had scribbled symbols of an unfamiliar language.
She cocked her head to the side. Gem had so much knowledge in her head that sometimes it was like trying to sort through a massive Rolodex. Focusing her attention back on the main text, she pulled out a volume of her Assyrian dictionary.
Her phone buzzed on the table. “Jiminy Christmas! Can’t a girl work in peace?”
She read Wyatt’s message.
“Dinner’s ready? Who can eat when I’m on the brink of a great discovery?” She blew out the candles and walked jauntily out the door.
Too bad her skates were upstairs. Gem adored the freedom and whimsy that roller-skating gave her. Because she hadn’t experienced a real childhood, she indulged in everything a child would. Why on earth did adults give up such cheerful activities? Bicycling wasn’t her thing, and she’d never grasped Rollerblades, but the old-fashioned skates with wheels on four corners made her feel like the wind.
She flashed down the hall and around the corner until she reached the dining room. The only person at the table was Wyatt.
Gem steered right and sat across from him in Raven’s chair.
“That’s not where you sit.” He folded his arms and pretended he cared.
“No one’s here, Spooky. Pick any chair you like.”
“I like mine.”
“I bet your heinie is just too sore to move.”
His mouth turned down. “You try sitting with a wolf bite in the ass.”
She giggled. “Why didn’t you let Niko heal it?”
The heels of his boots knocked against the floor as irritation flashed in his eyes. “By the time I woke up, everyone had split. Nobody ever thinks of Wyatt. It’s all about me, me, me. It’s just gotta heal on its own.”
“Any news from Viktor?”
He touched the light dusting of whiskers on his face. They weren’t coarse like Shepherd’s but looked soft and grew in patches. “Not yet. I was busy setting up travel arrangements for their next stop.”
“Where?”
“Can’t tell you.”
She poked out her tongue. Wyatt loved secrets, but he was horrible at keeping them. He loved to taunt people with his insider’s knowledge until he finally revealed enough details that a person could figure out the secret.
Gem rested her elbows on the table. “I wishwecould go on travel adventures.”
