But there’s no going back to normal. Not when tonight, I’ll be leading witches to trap the creatures that might be the key to understanding who I am.
I drop my head into my hands, my stomach hurting. My loyalties are so torn that I feel like I’m being ripped in half.
Amid all this uncertainty, there’s one clear step forward: I need more information.
One hour until the ambush.
I wait until Natalie is busy coordinating with the Shadows before slipping away. She doesn’t need to know what I’m doing.
The library feels colder and darker than the rest of the building, as if to discourage people from staying. Yellow light from an old brass lamp castsshadows across the towering bookcases. Dust motes swirl in the beam of my phone’s flashlight as I scan the spines, some old and leather-bound, others new and glossy.
The Formation of a Coven: A History of Magical Governance
Principles of Earth Magic
The Guardian’s Handbook: A Guide to Curse Breaking
Riding His Broomstick: A Forbidden Coven Romance
Wait, what?
I pull out the pocket-sized book and find a broody man on the cover with smoldering purple eyes and his robes open to reveal a hairless chest. I guess witches need romance novels too.
I slide it back and keep going, passing shelf after shelf.
Alchemy in the Modern Age: Approved Methods and Materials
Between the books, artifacts sit behind glass cases—tarnished medallions, a gold feather that shimmers with its own light, a black gemstone that my fingers itch to touch…
The hairs on my arms lift, and I pause. Is someone coming?
I hold my breath, straining to hear footsteps, but nobody appears. Must be the magic in these relics setting off my sixth sense.
I sweep my flashlight beam across the far wall, illuminating what I hadn’t noticed before—an iron gate cordoning off a small, shadowy alcove. It’s deliberately isolated, the bars a clear warning to stay out.
Which means whatever’s in there is exactly what I’m looking for.
I approach the gate and run my fingers along the cold iron. A padlock secures it shut, and the bars seem to absorb all light. Inside, a few dozen books are arranged on narrow shelves.
“Screw it,” I mutter, unzipping my backpack and pulling out the gauntlet. It feels alive as I slip it on, that familiar hum of power vibrating up my arm.
I glance over my shoulder once more, then slam my fist into the lock. The sound echoes through the library like a gunshot, making me flinch. But the lock gives way, breaking open like it was made of paper.
Heart pounding, I push the gate open enough to squeeze through, wincing at the creak of hinges.
I scan the shelves quickly, the hair on the back of my neck prickling. God, I’m going to be insomuch trouble if someone finds me looking for books about forbidden magic.
At last, my beam falls on a cloth-bound hardcover that looks promising.
Guardians of the Wild: A History of Magical Stewardship
I ease it off the shelf, cringing at the loud scrape. As I kneel and set it on the floor in front of me, it makes a deepthump.
The pages are yellowed and brittle beneath my fingers as I carefully turn them, and the text has faded with age—but the spine and corners are intact, telling me the book hasn’t been taken out much.
Prior to Western intervention, chimeras were integral members of Asian and Middle Eastern societies. Archaeological evidence suggests these beings served essential ecological functions, including restoring damaged ecosystems and maintaining the natural equilibrium in their territories.
My heart pounds faster. Okay, this fits what Lucy said.
