“Probably,” he repeats flatly. “Not very encouraging.”
“You’re the one who insisted on coming.”
“Someone had to. Sean would’ve gotten you kicked out within ten minutes, Rowan’s got that paper due, and Killian is—“ He stops and swallows. “Anyway.”
Yeah. Anyway.
I lead us to a table in the back corner, away from the handful of other students scattered throughout the building. It’s late afternoon, that dead zone between classes when the library is mostly empty. Perfect for research that can’t be overheard.
Micah sets the books down with a thud that earns us a glare from the horned librarian three aisles over. He mouths “sorry” in the minotaur’s direction, then drops into the chair across from me.
“Snack run?” he asks hopefully.
“We literally just ate lunch.”
“Wolves need more calories.” He’s already standing again, patting his pockets for his wallet. “The usual?”
“I don’t have a usual.”
“Gummy worms and a Coke. That’s your vending machine usual. I pay attention.”
I laugh. “Fine. But only if they have the sour ones.”
He disappears into the stacks, and I’m left alone with my pile of books and the growing suspicion that I’m wasting my time. But there’s nothing else I can do, and I’m not giving up. I fucking can’t.
I open the first volume, a riveting little book known asTransformation Pathology in Hybrid Cases, and start reading.
The text is dry and medical, exactly the kind of thing that would put a normal person to sleep.
But I’m not normal. I’m a siphon whose mate is dying, and somewhere in one of these books there has to be an answer.
Villeneuve has his mysterious Council contact working on it. A contact named Vyse, according to Sean and Micah’s breathless report when they got back from the professor’s office yesterday. A siren with psychic abilities who apparently froze both of them with a thought and spent the whole encounter being what Sean so eloquently described as “a total creepy dickwad.”
Great. So our best hope is a literal man-eating supernatural predator who works for the same Council that would execute Killian if they found out about the bite. A predator who Villeneuve apparently trusts, or at least trusts enough to be owed a favor from him.
Idon’t trust Villeneuve.
Not completely.
Not even after he explained about the mate bond.
Okay. Maybe especially after that.
But I think I at least understand him a little better. Bit by bit, the mystery around him is unraveling and the man left standing in its place is surprisingly human.
The book in front of me offers nothing useful when I leaf through it, and I’m becoming an expert at cutting through the preamble in these things. The second and third don’t offer much more. I’m halfway through the fourth when Micah returns.
He dumps an armload of vending machine garbage onto the table. Chips. Candy bars. Some kind of fluorescent orange snack that probably glows in the dark.
And yes, sour gummy worms and a Coke.
“The vending machine on the second floor has a better selection,” he announces, sliding into his chair. “But the one by the bathroom has better vibes.”
“Vending machines have vibes?”
“Yep. It definitely gave me a judgy look halfway through this haul.”
I snort, reaching for the gummy worms. “You’re ridiculous.”
