Chapter 8
Kodi
M y internal bullshit detector doesn’t sound when people spout nonsense; it alerts me when Zosia leans into her insecurities. When Bren vows to sacrifice his magic to stay with her, the alarm is nearly deafening.
My hands and my jaw clench, but I can’t feel either. If we were bonded, I could speak into her mind and tell her inner voice to knock it off. I know she’ll be mad at me for bringing attention to her anxieties, but I’m worried that she might shut down. It’s not like anyone here is ignorant. The wizard dude is too old to be stupid, and Ansel looks deader than me.
“Zo.” I whisper her name after I insinuate my formless body between her and Garrett. The gap is narrow, but I take care not to touch either. Her head swivels toward me absently. I might drown in her blue-gold eyes and the pain displayed in their depths.
If I were granted only one wish, I’d choose to stay at her side. A solid body would be useless without her, so I wouldn’t ask for it. As the realization sinks in, I curse my idiot brain for the revelation’s delay.
The woman I love bears scars, and only some are visible. Despite them, or perhaps because of them, I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful. I’ve carried complete faith in her since long before she regained the ability to shift into her legendary hybrid form.
I sacrificed my life for her, and I’d do it again. I wouldn’t have known love if not for her. While I loved my sister, I always felt guilty and inadequate because I couldn’t protect her. I barely remember my mother.
I’ve always been destined to be at Zo’s side. This instinct had been present from the first time I encountered the hissing, spitting feral shifter, although I didn’t realize it then. I should have prevented her from being injured beyond repair, but my handlers had locked me up when they’d realized my intentions to free her. I’d only barely managed to save her life.
If I weren’t emotionally stunted, I would have told her sooner that I loved her. I would have spent the last seven years building her confidence and reassuring her of her worth. She blames herself for my first tether, but I would have followed her anyway. She has always been my destiny.
Although everything fades to the background, I’m aware that we are no longer just two lost souls against the world. Avery is her mate now, and his calm strength lends stability. Once she’s mated to the brothers, she won’t be able to deny the truth of our loving support.
“Stop.” The one-word whisper communicates everything she needs to hear. The doubts that shadow her brilliant gaze don’t disappear, but they lessen when she concentrates on breathing deeply and evenly.
Everyone pretends to ignore the nearly silent interaction – except for Bren. He leans over her to peer at her expression. I can’t decide whether his ignorance about social conventions is willful or true.
“Do you doubt me?” He asks Zosia with a pronounced frown.
I roll my eyes at the domed ceiling before refocusing on the pair’s faces. Their combined lack of self-worth could sustain all of us, and I have my own hefty dose to manage. Of course, Zo feels even worse that Bren suspects he’s the cause of her doubt.
“I was trying not to draw attention to her,” I tell Bren in an exaggerated stage whisper before she can argue.
Bren’s gaze flickers between Zo’s reddened cheeks and my face, but he doesn’t appear contrite. “You know how to be subtle?” His impassive tone turns the insult into an attack. He’s spot-on, and the infuriating shifter snorts to hide a laugh. I want to elbow him, but it would cause more discomfort for me than for him.
Our sphinx clears her throat. “Never mind all that. We can’t get sidetracked.” The interaction between Bren and me distracts her more than my whispered reprimand. Bren winks at me while she refocuses, indicating that his lack of social aptitude was deliberate in this instance.
Although I’m certain nothing escapes Tremayne, he pretends to ignore us. What does he think of our dramatics? Is our immaturity amusing or horrifying? His wizened face doesn’t offer any clues, and he picks up the conversation as if it never paused.
“You are offering your consent, Brendan Kennard,” Tremayne states in a solemn tone. It feels like more than a passing remark; he is a judge issuing a sentence.
The mechanics of the situation are comparable to Addington’s evil acts in the dungeons of my youth, but Tremayne’s statement emphasizes Bren’s consent and free will. The supernaturals imprisoned in the underground compound hadn’t been given the luxury of a choice.
“I am consenting to attempt the discharge of my wild magic,” Bren agrees with equal earnestness. He squeezes Zosia’s hand as he says the words.
The connection is more significant than it appears. Bren doesn’t sit in one place, and Zosia is beginning to overcome her discomfort with physical touch. After I realized my jealousy served no purpose except to upset Zosia, I managed to suppress it. I wish the shifter could do the same. He might be more stubborn than me, although he blames everything on his beast.
“Do you know how the process works?” Bren asks the older mage. He doesn’t sound upset by the possibility of losing his magic.
Tremayne strokes his long white beard. I may have managed my jealousy regarding Zosia’s mates, but the wizard-like mage’s facial hair is another story. I’ll never grow a beard as magnificent as his, and it’s a damn shame.
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that. It depends on your chosen vessel or recipient. If you select a sentient being and the transfer is successful, your magic will integrate with theirs. An object would store the power, making it dangerous and powerful. If you choose the latter route, consider your vessel wisely. An object can be used – or abused – by anyone.”
My mind wanders as I contemplate which relics have been supercharged. The Spear of Destiny? The Holy Grail? Excalibur? Are they artifacts that the magicless have relegated to fairytales and legends?
“You said a sentient being or object,” Zosia murmurs thoughtfully. Sphinx or not, she’s always been one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. Although her common sense can falter, she has a consummate ability to retain knowledge and memorize data. “What about both? Can Bren offer his magic to the library?”
Tremayne studies our surroundings as he considers the question. What does he see? Zosia said that some people don’t see what we see. When she first entered, she was shown an illusion as well. All of her time in the magicless community had closed her mind to the idea of magic.
“The library would be better equipped to answer that than me. If she says yes, I believe you’d receive a portion of that power as her representative. The indirect transfer has advantages because she’ll have an understanding of your limits and curtail the flow before you incur damage.”
I shudder at Tremayne’s choice of words. Incur damage sounds horrid regardless of the library’s involvement. Zosia has incurred enough damage in her relatively short life.
Bren leans forward eagerly. “T.S. Eliot said, ‘Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.’ I’m embracing this advice. Kodi is my first choice. Any excess will go to the library.”
“Me?” I blink rapidly. I’d been the one to suggest it, but I hadn’t actually thought they would consider me a viable choice. “Why me?”
Bren meets my shock with a look of smug satisfaction. “It will help you maintain a solid body,” the atmospheric mage says as if the answer is obvious. For some unknown reason, I imagine him shouting, “Checkmate!” I hadn’t realized we’d started playing.
“Did you foresee this?” I blurt inelegantly. Shouldn’t I be thanking him? Isn’t this what I want?
“You are solid in some of my visions,” he hedges. “It will be easier to bond with Zosia and the library this way, which increases safety for all of us. If I’m releasing my magic, I want it to go to a good cause. Besides,” he adds with a shrug, “you deserve it. You were dealt a bad hand.”
I huff. “All of us were,” I grumble. I might be dead, but all of us have suffered. I feel like a hypocrite for doubting myself, but …. “I’m grateful, but I don’t think I deserve this.”
“‘It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves,’ Sir Edmund Hillary said. If you don’t feel deserving, then earn the right to it.”
I wait for him to attach a name to his second sentence before I realize they’re his words. Can I earn something after death? Do I deserve anything after I’m dead?
Bren shrugs. “Besides, I have plenty of magic. Even if I give some away, it will return.”
My brow wrinkles with confusion. If a supernatural’s magic replenishes, how did our enemies drain them? I’d been taught that it disappeared for good after it was taken.
“Is that true?” Garrett asks the question in my head.
The old mage strokes his beard again – or he never stopped. “Every supernatural is different, and this is a crucial difference between mages and shifters. Some mages can regain their expended magic, but shifters can’t. Once the link with their beast is severed, it can’t be retrieved.”
His explanation aligns with my memories. Almost all of the prisoners in the dungeon had been shifters. I’d thought it was because Addington’s power made them easier to imprison, but he might have known this all along. Does the rule apply to Zosia, too? According to the library, she’s as much a mage as a shifter. Did they plan to drain her repeatedly? The idea makes me remember the sensation of nausea.
“It sounds relatively safe then,” Garrett says as I return to my place at the end of the table. I envy the other guy’s ability to touch Zosia, but that’s something I’ve been dealing with since before I died. I wanted to hug her when she was on the other side of the cell door. I wanted to tell her it would be okay, even if I didn’t know it would.
“If the library filters the magic, she’ll know how much to give Zosia,” the shifter continues. “The ghost can’t die again. If he doesn’t end up deserving the gift, we can cut him off.” His words are so matter-of-fact that I don’t feel insulted, and I can’t argue.
“Sounds fair,” I grunt.
“What does the library think?” Bren asks Zosia. He seems calmer now that we have a path forward. He might even be excited to start, but I don’t know that I am.
Zosia closes her eyes to speak with the library. It’s not exactly necessary, but it helps her focus in her exhausted state. I take the opportunity to stare at her. She’s weary and her braid is loose from a long day, but she’s still the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. Her nose, slightly upturned at the end, wrinkles while she converses with Sage and her dark lashes form perfect crescents on her bronzed cheeks. Gold shines in her hair and her skin sparkles like she’s dusted in glitter. The shimmer is her magic. It’s been apparent since she shifted, but I doubt she’s noticed.
The angle of the sun’s rays shining through the dome makes me glance at the clock before I realize what I’m doing. It might be the first time since I died that I’ve been curious about the hour. I have a job now, though, whether I’m solid or not. Regardless of our issues, the doors will reopen in the morning.
Ansel is one of those issues. Zo might not be mad at him, but I am. Father or not, he could have been more involved in her life. At the very least, he could have hidden her in a place that didn’t bring further abuse. I doubt that I’ll ever forgive him.
Zo’s voice brings me back to the moment. This sense of presence seems easier to attain the longer I stay in the library. I don’t want to jinx my existence, but this is the closest I’ve felt to alive since I died. The weird tenth-floor goblin might have been correct in saying that purpose is vital – in life and death.
“Sage says that she will accept the remnants of Bren’s magic. Tremayne is right. The overflow won’t hurt me because she can control how much she gives me. She also thinks this path is safer than discharging it into an object.”
“Why didn’t we just ask her first? She has all the answers.” I shake my head at our inefficiency.
The sparkle in Zosia’s eyes is teasing as she meets my gaze, but I sense that the library is behind it. “She told me you’d ask and says that the easiest way is not always the best way. If we hadn’t found the answer ourselves, she wouldn’t have confirmed it.”
I roll my eyes in a show of irritation. “Of course, she knew I’d ask,” I mutter dramatically. I’m not upset, though. I find it refreshing to be understood by people who don’t have plans to manipulate me.
Tremayne nods. “You have a path forward then. If you can’t perform a transfer tonight, a written contract might appease the detectives. I’m certain the library told you that the detectives will be more likely to concede if Bren is fully bound to her.”
A rosy flush climbs across Zo’s neck and into her cheeks as she imagines how to complete that bond. The mental image of her and Bren together nearly makes me solid, and I have to distract myself with negative thoughts.
I can’t assume that Bren will allow an audience like Avery. From the little they told us, Addington fucked with their minds and created intimacy-related trauma. Bren seems especially fragile because he shuts down at the thought. I want to warn him that Zosia’s fragile self-esteem will paint any hesitancy on his part as rejection. Considering the ton of baggage we brought with us, the library should be reclassified as an airport.
“Noted,” Zosia replies in a clipped tone. She has to be looking forward to the day when strangers stop casually mentioning her sex life.
“I’m sorry you had to wait so long, Ansel,” the sphinx says as she directs her focus to the struggling shifter.
Despite the pain etched into his expression, Ansel manages a weak smile. “Sage has given me strength,” he croaks.
“She is truly grateful for your assistance over the years.” Zosia’s voice and words are punctuated with the library’s gratitude.
A spark of bitter resentment pricks me when I realize Ansel has offered more to the library than he has given to his daughter. The emotion fades as quickly as it arrives, though. I love Zosia more than I love anything else, but the library is a vital component of our world. I know this even if I don’t understand it.
“I want to make it clear that the results of the paternity test won’t affect my offer,” Zosia says in a firm voice. “Ansel Briar, Sage wants to reward your loyalty. Again, we offer you the position of gargoyle. One of our current guards is interested in retiring.”
When Ansel doesn’t react, Zosia continues. “The request is a little selfish on my part. As a gargoyle, you’ll retain your memories of this life for a hundred years. I’d like to ask you occasional questions about my mother and grandmother during that time. ”
Tremayne’s beard twitches with a rare smile. It’s hard to see under that mass of hair, but he seems to approve.
Ansel clears his throat and sips his water before he speaks. “I hate to repeat this, but I’m unworthy. I failed to protect your mother, and I failed to protect you after I became aware of your existence. Kodi isn’t wrong to accuse me of abandonment. You have endured pain and suffering because of my choices.”
I feel a sense of vindication, but Zosia shrugs. “It sounds like you’re only considering the advantages of my offer. Allow me to clarify. As a gargoyle, you’ll be a glorified servant and continuously on guard. For a century, you’ll have access to your memories while watching others live a life you no longer have. Gargoyles operate on a schedule. When you’re not active, you’ll exist in a state of oblivion. You won’t dream or think. It might feel like death but without a promise of afterlife or reincarnation.”
Zosia pauses to take a sip of water. Mentally, I compare being a ghost with being a gargoyle. There are similarities and differences.
“Your continued existence and final release will be determined by the library. Although the majority of our current sentinels chose the position, two are serving punishment. Unlike those who entered freely, they weren’t able to retain any memory of their lives. They are nothing but mindless servants. This won’t be your fate, but I’d advise you to consider the disadvantages alongside the privileges.”
Ansel appears to take Zosia’s warnings to heart, but I predict his disagreement before he opens his mouth. “I understand, but I still believe this opportunity is an honor. The library is my goddess and serving her has given meaning to my life. As a gargoyle, serving her will give meaning to my death. Even after I lose my understanding of who I was and who you are, I’ll still be serving a higher purpose. Additionally, I’ll gladly answer any question I can.” Ansel’s voice strengthens and his spine straightens with each word.
“Please allow me to protect you. I cannot undo the last seven years, but I will try to make up for it for the next one hundred and more years.” His pleading tone and gaze almost make me reconsider forgiving him.
Zo releases Bren to reach for Ansel’s hand. His words must have moved her as much as they did me. “I understand why you did what you did. If I’d been in the magical community, I would have been found and Kodi would have been tethered. You weren’t entirely absent either because the caretaker always sent me away to avoid the supernatural sweeps. You’re also the mysterious benefactor who supplied me with the orthopedic shoes, the wheelchair, and my crutches each time I needed new ones.”
Ansel nods shyly when Zosia waits for confirmation before continuing. “I believe you did what you could. Most children think their parents know everything, but we’re all just humans, and humans fail. Some are truly evil ….” She doesn’t need to look at the brothers or me; we know the monsters that raised us. “Most try their best, though. I appreciate that you did what you could.”
Zosia lays out her case like a skilled lawyer. After her defense, Ansel looks like a saint compared to Shawnessy or Addington. The angry teenager inside me is still belligerent, but my anger is more at myself than Ansel. I died to save her and thought my sacrifice should have given her a beautiful life. The two situations shouldn’t be compared, though. Mother Mary and the orphanage was a droning gnat, and Addington’s dungeon was a malaria-infested mosquito. If the library was off-limits until she turned nineteen, it’s true that the magicless world offered the best protection.
If Ansel becomes a gargoyle, at least he’s still around to pay for his crimes. If we find out that he lied about anything, he’s still within reach. I consider the similarities between Ansel’s impending servitude and my current existence. Is that why I’m still around? So I can be punished for my crimes? Or is it like Zosia said – that my death and the current situation are suitable punishment? She believes that I’ve paid the ultimate price for the horrors I’d been forced to commit as a child.
I understand Ansel’s single-minded desire to serve the library after he dies. I’ve only ever wanted to be with Zosia and protect her – alive or dead.