Chapter Five The Nova
Chapter Five
The Nova
Never in my years of consorting with the Otherside had I ever failed.
It was a restless night. I didn’t bother to clean my study.
I threw the rug over the damage and locked the room on my way out.
As much as I would’ve liked to pretend it hadn’t happened, the damage was there.
In my house. In the back of my mind. My failure was omnipresent, like a phantom ice upon my chest, my limbs, in my nose.
My shortcoming carved directly into my floor.
Whatever happened was not mindless, not chaos. It was calculated and conscious.
I knew the Peculiars and dwellers of the Otherside were sentient.
They understood empathy, or at least recognized it when they were hungry.
My Peculiars seemed to express basic emotions with their own needs and wants.
Small quirks that pointed to some stream of decision-making, even if it was as simple as a cat’s.
A door couldn’t be opened without a tether to both worlds: myself and my pet shadows. Never had I thought the shadows could close a ritual on their own. I supposed they didn’t need me to close it and had rejected the interaction completely.
What had closed the door was my most pressing question.
I still had luck from the last ritual. I still had time to figure out what had happened before I’d need more.
Best case, this was a fluke. Worst case, I needed to do some research. New moons were unpredictable times, and I was gambling with the unknown. For now, I must let the dust settle and give things a rest.
I stared up at the bed canopy, teeth tearing at my nail as I mapped out my plan.
Today would be busy. I had my Patent Office meeting and tea with Dorian’s family. I could visit the Treasury again—
Oh, fucking hell.
I’d completely forgotten to visit my father. My mother must have been livid.
Change of plans, then. I’d sneak a visit to my father sometime today. I didn’t think he would care when.
The sun began to peek over the buildings across the street, the light gilding the tall windowpanes. I reached over to the dresser for my timepiece: 3:00.
“That can’t be right,” I muttered to myself, slapping the side of the bedside clock before lifting it to my ear. No ticking. “Perfect. Splendid. Just what I need,” I growled, whipping out of bed with the sheets trailing as I tumbled out. On hurried toes, I ran into the hallway and to the end.
The window at the back of the home had a pleasant view of our backyard, and of others’. An ornamental clock sat atop the accent table: 10:00.
I was going to be late.
Oh, by the stars, for once I was going to be late!
The block of my heel rasped lightly under the desk. The small chair was uncomfortable, but I kept my legs crossed and hands on the purse in my lap.
The patent officer glanced over his wire-frame spectacles a couple of times, stealing suspicious glimpses at me.
It was an odd thing that you could tell when someone was looking at your forehead, your lips, or even the tip of your nose.
They were looking at you but not acknowledging you. I smiled, my lips pulled tight.
“Is there anything I can clarify—”
“What is that?” He thumbed through the papers as if missing something.
“Pardon? Everything should be—”
“On your hand. Do you have an . . . ailment?”
Like a knife to my gut.
I leaned deeper into the back of the chair, fists balling on my purse. “Do you?” I laughed, a poor attempt at easing the insinuation.
His wiry brows knit together. “I worry about the dangers of the chemicals being used on the skin—”
“Oh no, sir, there’s a misunderstanding.” I let out a breathy sigh, leaning forward to point within the folder.
He flinched and avoided my hand.
“Sir, it is a pigment disorder. It is no more different than freckles. The chemicals being used wouldn’t cause any—”
“Please remove your hand, miss.”
It was becoming harder to keep up an unbothered facade, but I conceded.
“Will you allow a demonstration? I’m ready to make the appoint—”
“I don’t think this meets the standards for patentability. There’s a lack of novelty.”
“Oh, I understand the standards. If you read about the product results, they should speak for themselves. I have samples—”
“Many people come to patent what they think is a new invention. I understand you might be upset that your invention may not be as groundbreaking as you believe it is.”
“Will you let me present my case properly, or will you continue to speak over me and skim not even the first page?” I stood from my seat. “My film is one of a kind, never been developed before. I have proven out a whole new wavelength unseen to the eye, and you won’t even give it a proper glance?”
His eyes went wide, his mouth opened and closed, gaze darting from his lack of preparation that someone else might speak at this meeting.
“Let me do a demonstration.” I snatched the folder and lab book from his hands, tucking it under my arm. “I will make an appointment with your secretary.”
He gave a defeated sigh, facing his palms up as if obliging a hostage taker.
“Thank you for your time.” I tipped my head pointedly at him before exiting the room.
The Patent Office seats were all taken, hopefuls packed shoulder to shoulder, while some had to stand to await their appointments.
Dozens of men waited in their black-tie attire and firmly starched collars, hoping for their big break, a physical manifestation of their years of research—or years of copy stolen from interns or female peers.
Who could say? Anything was possible in the Patent Office.
“Leaving already?” a voice asked.
“Not now, Mr. Crickston,” I muttered, the formality meant to tell him I wasn’t in the mood to speak.
“Too busy to entertain a bored mind?” Calum laughed. “Even for a friend?”
Calum leaned back in his chair. His desk faced the waiting area, where his careless attitude for his job was on full display for the applicants to see.
Pencils were scattered to the side next to stacks of paperwork amassed from just this morning.
His blond hair was bright, swept back to show his slightly tanned face.
He was always out and about and skipping his shifts.
If only he applied himself, he could break free of his floating associate position between departments.
For now, he was bound to reshelve books, push pencils, or even tend to custodial work when the need was there.
While his position could have been due to budgets, his low-drive aspirations didn’t help his case.
Poor Calum always wanted to be part of exciting things, but didn’t want to have to be the one to create them.
My shoulders slumped as I held my satchel in front of me. “Next time,” I pleaded.
“Did it go that terribly?” He leaned forward, a dip in his brow as he focused his attention.
I nodded regrettably.
“That can’t be right.” He stood, reaching his hand out for my papers. “I could do a reapplication?”
“Later—the wound is fresh.”
“Ah, well, tell your brother we are going to Vaccaro’s at noontime for lunch.”
With a lazy nod, I departed.
I exited the patent and copyright wing, turning abruptly down into the main Treasury. Maxim should be here today; I would steal a book from him to sort out this failed ritual business, and all would be well again.
I walked down the long hall to the lobby area, which broke off into a three-way split, if you didn’t include the building exit. The middle path led to the Treasury Library and Archive. The one I came from was, most obviously, the Patent Office. The last path led to miscellaneous municipal offices.
While the Treasury was an important, stately building, it wasn’t funded as well as it could’ve been. It ran on donations, tourism, and whatever rations the state could spare.
The middle path ran to an ornate arch and the reception for the library, just before the skywalk and the viewing hall that wrapped around the library itself. The same woman managed the desk. It was rarely ever a new face: just her.
“Watch these.” I plopped my purse and papers in front of her, not breaking stride to continue to the skywalk and to my brother’s front desk.
Maxim was slouched over the high desk, like a judge making important deliberations. For all I knew, he could’ve been doodling bats.
“Maxim!”
His eyes squeezed shut as he winced. “No, Lucia. Not today.”
“Calum said lunch at Vaccaro’s.” I hummed, immediately lifting up the countertop passage to get by. “Just borrowing one book, not to worry.”
“You can’t just walk in whenever you please!” he hissed at me.
“I’ll be quick—”
He grabbed my wrist when I reached for the doorknob behind him.
“I said, I will be quick,” I gritted through my teeth. “Let go.”
“What do you need this time? You realize I could lose my position if you step one foot out of place.” He raised his finger at me.
“I know. I’m not a child, I act accordingly.” I twisted my wrist from his grip. “I just need one book.”
“Not a child, but can’t bear the word no?”
I clasped my hands together to beg with a pouted lip.
His eyes flicked across my face, looking for any sign of impish intentions. Then he sat back behind the desk. “Don’t let them see you leave with it.”
My grin grew as I slipped past the door. I ran down the stairs to the first floor of the Archive, then out the door below.
It opened up to the ground floor of the library, right under the skywalk. I tiptoed quietly, slipping to the divination section.
“Hello, old friends,” I whispered, barely audibly, as my fingers raced across the dusty spines, landing on an older incantation instructional.
The book was old but not ancient. One of few translated editions of the original, written in ancient Latin, Greek, and a handful of other dead languages I wouldn’t even try to pronounce.
It was like a fundamental guidebook to reading Everie cards.
Some newer translations didn’t include Eclipse readings, only Nova, in an attempt to keep any negative energy away from the practice’s optics.
Then, something stuck out to me.