He considers that while stroking his chin. “You have a point.”
“See?”
“Several years ago—and this is just between you and me?—”
“Of course. Like always.”
“A reader came to the bookshop and asked to jump into a certain book, one that was very violent, and the person on duty, who shall remain nameless, was unfortunately not as familiar with that tome, so he or she—nameless, remember?—they let the reader in and…”
My eyes become big as plates. “They…what?” When he doesn’t answer, I gasp. “They died?”
“It was terrible.”
“But…that’s not possible.” My mind races. Never, not in all my life have I known an accident to have occurred when someone jumped into a book. “You must have it wrong.” But the look on his face tells me that I’m the one in the wrong. “Why haven’t I heard about this until now?”
“Because everyone wanted it buried, especially your mother.”
“Was it my mother, the one who let them in?”
“Of course not. She would’ve known better.”
“At least that’s something.” My tight chest loosens. “Who was it?”
He leans in, and I know he’s about to tell me. “Well?—”
My aunt’s voice booms throughout the house, shaking the walls and causing dust to float down from the ceiling. “Lights out! Everyone! All you girls need your beauty sleep tonight. That means no more conversations with Elmore,Addie.”
I smirk. “Talk to you soon.”
He nods. “I’ll be in touch.”
He disappears like a bulb being turned off, leaving me alone to plan my escape.
“And in case any of y’all are thinking about trying to get out of the ball,” Ovie’s voice booms, “the doors and windows are locked tight. And with that said, good night.”
A heavy sigh rattles from my lungs.
Welcome to my family.
6
Feylin
The falcon soars high, casting a long shadow on the grass. It banks left and cocks its head. It’s spotted the prey.
The prey in question is a small mouse that happens to be finishing a block of cheese. When the last crumb disappears into its mouth, the creature scurries, trying to dash off the box it’s been set atop. It only takes a touch of my magic to freeze it in place.
“There,” I whisper into Ryals’s ear. “This is it. What you’ve worked for all week.”
My cousin stands stock-still, barely breathing as he watches the falcon—hisfalcon. All week Ryals has been working with the bird, training it to retrieve a fake mouse and drop it in his hands. Practice lessons have been successful. But this isn’t practice.
“I’m worried, Feylin,” he murmurs, his silver eyes flashing up to me.
“Stay calm.” I place a hand firmly on his shoulder andsqueeze. “Birds of prey respond to our emotions. He’ll deliver the mouse to you unharmed.”
Or so I hope.
The falcon sweeps over the box, snatching the mouse in one talon like a claw machine grabbing a cheap toy. The bird soars into the sky and banks right, turning toward us.
