Sleep begins to tug at me as the full moon begins to lower but I don’t let myself succumb to it. Finding Archer in my dreams would be the best outcome after tonight but I don’t expect him to find me after I left him in the hallway.
I lay in bed, silent tears periodically slipping down my cheeks. My mind bounces between the memory of Archer’s body against mine and the worrying fact that Petra had an emotional, maybe intimate, moment with someone in that very room a hundred years ago.
Someone who was not her husband.
Chapter 32
Archer
Frustrated with every aspect of my life, I wake up in a worse mood than I’ve ever experienced. A sane part of me knows I should be thankful for the moments I had with Renata last night, but it’s buried under my worry for her and agitation with her forced distance.
I didn’t want to spend the day moping around the inn, hoping to run into her and avoid her at the same time. So I got ready in time to join Sybil during her shift this morning.
She showed more sympathy than surprise when I scooted into the passenger seat of the truck right as she was putting it into gear. The look I gave her was enough for her to sense what to do—drive and let me have a moment to myself.
It’s been a few hours since we got to the library, and it’s slow as it is most days. I expect her questions to come eventually.
What I don’t expect is for Gale to loudly set a book down on the counter and slide it toward me with a grumpy expression.
He crosses his arms and scolds, “Those texts may be charmed but that doesn’t mean you can be careless with them.”
Confused, I look down at the large book in front of me.
The Lost Hero,dated August 1924.
“I’ve never seen this book,” I say. My eyes are glued to that date.
“It was on the floor of the basement,” he insists. “I closed last night, so I know damn well it wasn’t me who left it there.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up a finger, reminding me of his granddaughter. “And don’t think I wasn’t aware you were here last night. The protection charms go further than just the locks.”
Sybil’s eyes are burning a hole in the side of my head, putting together the pieces of my bad mood today. I’m sure it’s only bringing up more questions. Their confusion is at the back of my mind now.
Turning toward the basement door, I blink slowly and replay every moment of last night.
When Renata started showing signs she was falling into a hallucination, I wasn’t too worried at first. I figured it would be similar to Sybil’s trances. We’ve never talked about what she sees when she’s in one, but there are visions—or at least something similar.
It was completely different with Renata, scaring me down to the marrow of my bones.
I could see the moment she wasn’t seeing me anymore, and I’ll never forget the terrified look as she tried to fight off Barrett—me.
When she said, “You’re dead,” with such morbid certainty, my blood ran cold. It felt like she was talking to me at that moment. I had to remind myself she was seeing Barrett. Not me.
When she broke out of it, I needed contact with her just as badly as she did. I never would have initiated it, not when she was in that state. But when the confusion clouding her eyes cleared and she pulled me in, it was impossible to stop—to deny her the connection we both needed.
I stayed up all night with the echo of her words ringing through my head—and the ghost of her pliant, soft body clinging to me like I was her life support.
I couldn’t see what she was hallucinating, but I didn’t hear the book either. I assumed it was an auditory one.
Maybe it wasn’t. Why couldn’t I hear it?
“What is going on, Archer?” Sybil insists, grabbing my hand.
I give her a small squeeze in comfort but say, “I don’t know.”
Gale’s eyes assess me, using his perception abilities to read my emotions. When he’s satisfied I’m not lying, he leans forward on the counter. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
So I do—leaving out what happened immediately after Renata’s hallucination—but I give them enough details to imagine our late night visit.
