Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
At Lander’s signal, our group divides, hunting the two guards to the left and two to the right. Jill and George head one way; Riker and Dayna the other.
Lander and I wait.
Inside the library, the care shows. Whoever designed this place took pride in their work.
Windows abound, perfect for natural light. Rows of tall shelves climb almost to the ceiling, every book precisely aligned, none shoved in sideways or left astray. The scent of old paper and fresh ink wraps around me like a welcome.
Even with my power locked down, I feel a faint hum of magic tickling my skin—wards woven into the bindings, tiny preservation charms stitched into every spine so that no page ever yellows or tears.
Four wooden tables stand in two neat rows, polished so smooth I can see my reflection. Each is set with inkwells, blotters, and carefully sharpened quills. After years spent toiling in dim basements, I would have loved to work here; I find myself nudging one quill into perfect alignment.
Even the noticeboard is immaculate: requests penned in precise, looping script, each pinned with a little paper seal folded into a crane or a fox.
I hope Knox and his people are okay.
Near-silent pops echo down the corridor as the paper guns discharge—I catch the sound only because I’m listening for it. I smile inwardly: lighter, quieter, and every bit as effective as standard stunners.
Riker emerges from a side room. “They’re down and tied up, and I found another paperweight. I can smell the magic now; there’s one more just over there.” The hammer is already in his hand, ready to go. After he destroys it, he checks the rest of the library but finds no more.
The guards are all human; there is still no sign of the coven or Knox. Behind us, George throws up a temporary ward to stop anyone doubling back towards the building.
We move on, clearing each structure one by one and dropping the hired guards. Lander thinks they are mercenaries. Some are wide awake and put up a fight; the rest are asleep, trusting the outer wards.
At the main building, the one with the conference centre, I spot a familiar face.
Detective Wallace slumps in a battered swivel chair, fast asleep, his chin tucked into the rumpled collar of his shirt.
His snores rattle around the room, competing with the buzz of cheap strip lighting and the desk fan in the corner, which clicks each time it reaches the end of its arc and wafts the faint smell of stale coffee.
I raise my paper gun and fire, the spell striking him squarely in the forehead.
“Idiot. You chose the wrong side. You should be ashamed of yourself,” I mumble. “The humans are not mercenaries; they are off-duty Human Sector police officers,” I tell the others.
What a mess this has become. She must have promised them something extraordinary.
I am glad we are using paper guns and sleeping spells rather than stunners, which carry a small risk of heart failure, or combat spells that would kill. I have no qualms about killing, but killing Human Sector police officers would endanger everyone.
The drones and Snack Thief confirm Meredith’s location.
She is holed up in Knox’s quarters. Her coven sleeps in the staff accommodation building, all except Samuel. Jill hands me the drone’s control pad. Samuel sits among piles of books, drawing symbols on the floor and chanting beside a painfully familiar circle.
My hands shake. I step back and pass the pad to Jill.
“Excuse me.”
“Are you all right?” Lander asks, edging closer.
I shake my head. “Can we talk? Privately?”
“Of course.” He takes my arm and guides me to the end of the corridor.
The vacant conference room is a narrow rectangle with beige walls, a long laminate table running down the centre, and a mismatched herd of chairs crammed around it.
Along the far wall stands a bench, its vinyl seat cracked at the edges.
He steers me towards it, positioning himself with his back to the door.
“What is it?” His voice is low.
“The circle Samuel’s working on, I recognise it.” My voice barely carries. I remove the night-vision goggles and rub my eyes. “I have seen it before.”
He says nothing, simply watches me.
“That is the circle,” I whisper. “The exact design they used to turn me into a sentient house. The flourishes, the detailing—they are distinctive. I have seen it only twice before, in the Magic Collective archives and when I died, and they are following it to the letter.”
My knees buckle and I drop onto the bench.
“I thought I was paranoid,” I say with my head in my hands. “I thought I had destroyed everything, but they’ve been operating under the radar, using paperweights to hide from me. How many people have they hurt?” I look up. “Lander, have any powerful mages gone missing?”
He frowns. “None that I know of.”
“Then perhaps this began only after they learned about the sentient house. After they knew I was real and thought I was destroyed. Someone found the old plans and did not realise what they had. Until now.”
The spell preparation takes time—that is the only reason Knox is not already dead. If I had spoken up when I first suspected, we might have had longer to plan.
“That circle looked nearly finished,” I warn. “Give them another hour, and they will be ready.”
He studies me. “How’s your magic?”
“Better. The nausea from the paperweights has mostly gone, but I can still feel them—and there are more out there.” I steady my breathing. “What a nightmare.”
I flex my hands and get to my feet. “I need my magic back in full before I go in. I have to destroy that circle, but it will require lots of magic and finesse.”
He opens his arms and waits.
“What… w—what are you doing?”
“I’m offering you a hug.”
I stare at him, then at my boots, and shuffle awkwardly. “I do not need a hug. I am not a child to be coddled.”
“I’m offering comfort, not coddling. Just a hug.”
“Just a hug?”
I look at him, baffled, then take in the empty room.
We are alone. It is just a hug. I ease into his arms, my body stiff. Lander lets me settle, then pulls me closer and gives a gentle squeeze. Slowly. So slowly. My arms creep around him.
We stay like that for a long minute.
His chest is warm and firm; the muscles in his back shift under my hands. Vanilla and coconut. He is solid, alive, and I had not realised how much I needed this until his arms were around me. My worries melt beneath the quiet pressure of the embrace.
“Thank you,” I whisper, stepping out of his arms.
“You’re welcome. I like you, Harper House, and it surprises the hell out of me, because I hardly ever like anyone.”
“You like me?”
“I’m crazy about you.” He chuckles, and his celadon-green eyes sparkle.
“Do you know, that was the first real expression I’ve seen on that beautiful face?
I’m glad I put it there, even if it’s utter confusion.
What’s not to like? You’re kind, beautiful, intelligent, and powerful. I’d be an idiot not to court you.”
He kisses my cheek and strides away.
That is the second time he has kissed me. I press my hand to the memory of his lips on my face, and I stare after him—those broad shoulders, the muscled arms, the absurdly handsome face.
He likes me.
Me.
Even though he knows exactly who I am.
Disbelief blooms. I let out a bewildered laugh and shake it off. We have no time for this. We still have to rescue Knox, destroy the circle, and stop Meredith.