Bridget whipped her head to the right, but the corridor was empty. She pivoted without thinking, boots slipping slightly on the marble floor as she rushed back toward the entrance. Heart pounding, her eyes swept the room. Past the patrons, the guards, the tourists for the person sheknewhad just been behind her.
Before she could corner the only blonde in the vicinity, the girl turned her head. A glance at her side profile told Bridget all she needed to know.
She was imagining things.
First, a car set her off on an emotional spiral. Now hair. She needed to get a grip. Besides, out of all people,Cassiawould be the last person to volunteer to come find her. Shaking off the tightness in her chest, Bridget headed back toward the elevator. She jabbed the button harder than necessary and pressed her lips together, swallowing the bile rising in her throat.
Once she reached the third floor, Bridget forced a smile at the librarian seated at the desk, tugging her jacket higher to hide the bloodstained shirt beneath. Heat radiated from the overhead vents, but the last thing she wanted was attention. Especially in a building with restricted archives.
The librarian returned her smile with practiced warmth. “Are you here for the Special Collections Open House?” she asked, gesturing to a nearby poster. A faded black crown hovered in the center of the image, surrounded by parchment and ghostly sketches. “We’re featuring one of the library’s favorite ghost stories today.”
Trying not to grimace, Bridget shook her head. She’d had enough talk of ghosts and hauntings for one day. “I put a few books on hold… I actually think it was you who called me and said they were available.”
“Anna Connors, right?” she asked, rolling her chair back a few feet. “I’ll be right back.”
A moment later, she returned with a small, dust-covered stack. The three leatherbound volumes looked like they hadn’t seen daylight in decades. Bridget instantly recognized two of the titles from her request. The third, however, gave her pause.
“Druids?” Bridget asked skeptically. “What’s this?”
Pink spread across the librarian’s cheeks. “Based on what you’ve been asking for, I thought that might interest you too. I’m sorry if I overstepped.”
“I’ll check it out,” Bridget replied quickly. The worddruidwasn’t in her Elyrian vocabulary, but she didn’t want to take any chances. When it came to her sister’s safety, she couldn’t afford to be ignorant about all things magical. It had already cost her too many times.
“Since these are shelved in our rare books section, they can’t leave the library,” the librarian added.
“I figured. I’ll just be in here.” Bridget adjusted the stack in her arms and made her way into one of the adjoining reading rooms.
Soft lamplight glowed beneath rows of green-shaded fixtures. The soundscape was familiar and oddly comforting. Whispers, the faint rustle of turning pages, the occasional scrape of a chair across hardwood. Bridget chose a table beneath a foggy window, dropped her purse quietly to the floor, and began to read.
She tried not to throw the book about druids to the floor when she opened it to find it written in another language. Why even suggest it to her at all? Sighing, she picked up one with a long title about ancient folktales and meticulously scanned each page for words or terms she recognized, like gate or Tuathan or rune. One passage mentioned a large cracked stone marked with ancient sigils, accompanied by a rough sketch. The villagers in the surrounding area had avoided it for centuries, claiming people vanished when they touched it during certain moon phases.
Bridget shifted in her seat. The throb in her side wasn’t helping her concentrate. She was halfway through a dull section on medicinal herbs when a shadow spilled across the pages. She looked up, hoping her heartbeat was only loud in her own ears. A man stood at the edge of her table, silhouette backlit by one of the overhead lamps. His straight blond hair poked out from under a Red Sox cap, and his icy blue eyes watched her.
“Do you mind?” he asked, nodding at the open seat at the end of her table.
Wordlessly, Bridget shook her head. In another life, she might’ve refused or argued. But the command tolay lowkept her mouth shut. The man sat and pulled out a book that looked as old and worn as hers. He kept his head down and let the brim of his hat cast a shadow on his face.
Bridget tried to refocus on the herbs, but her attention kept slipping. Her fingers hovered over a paragraph without absorbing a single word. The feeling that she was being watched crawled up her spine. When she finally looked up, the man’s eyes were already on her.
“Is it any good?” he asked, gaze moving to the discarded book to her left. When she didn’t respond, he added, “I’m writing a paper for a folklore class. Figured I’d check it out if it’s worth the trouble.”
Bridget gave him a measured glance. Now that he’d lifted his chin, she could see him more clearly. His age matched his voice. He looked like he was in his early twenties, like her. Nothing about him screamed danger. Jeans, hoodie, Red Sox cap. Boston had a thousand students who looked just like him. Still, her heart hadn’t stopped racing since he sat down. Swallowing hard, Bridget tried to relax her muscles. What had happened earlier in the day was making her paranoid. She was already seeing things in her dreams… she couldn’t afford to let the delusions bleed over into real life too.
“Take it,” Bridget said, sliding the book over to him. “I didn’t expect it to be in another language.”
She watched as he snatched the book off the table and began to flip through the pages. Slowly, color drained from his face.
“Do you know what language that is?” Bridget asked. He seemed to understand the book’s contents. She hadn’t even recognized —
His alarmed gaze snapped to hers. “What do you know about Druids?”
“Nothing,” Bridget replied, eyes narrowing. Her fingers itched to grab the book back from him as her gut tightened. It was too much of a reaction from someonenormal.
His mouth parted like he wanted to say more, but he stopped. His gaze dropped to the table between them as Bridget’s phone vibrated violently against the wood. She snatched it up. A single word stared back at her on the screen:
Again?
Her stomach plummeted.
