Chapter 15
Nell
As soon as I enter Anders Pearshield's shop, the doorbell announces my presence.
It smells like old paper, leather, and a light touch of incense that I suppose is trying to mask some persistent stench. Maybe mold... or mouse droppings. Who knows? Shelves full of old books rise to the ceiling, some tilting dangerously under the weight of centuries of accumulated knowledge.
The book must be here. Somewhere. My book. My only chance to understand this magic that stirs under my skin like a caged animal.
An old man emerges from the shadows at the back of the store, and his hunched figure casts an almost grotesque silhouette against the wall. He has white and sparse hair, but his eyes are penetrating, too bright, and full of life.
“Good afternoon,” he greets with a surprisingly deep voice. “Looking for something in particular? You don't seem like the typical antique book collector.”
Instinctively, I clench my fists inside my jacket pockets, and the air around me stirs slightly, making the pages of an open book on the counter flutter.
“I'm searching for a book my friend sold this morning by mistake,” I respond, fixing my gaze on him. “Big, leather-bound, with strange symbols on the cover.”
Anders Pearshield narrows his eyes, evaluating me. His lips curve into a smile I don't like at all.
“Ah, yes. An extraordinary piece,” he nods, rubbing his hands together. “Very rare. Extremely valuable.”
“I want to buy it back,” I declare without beating around the bush.
The old man arches an eyebrow.
“Really? I'm afraid that would be impossible. You see, that book is an acquisition for my private collection.”
“I'll pay the same thing my friend received,” I rush to insist, taking out the wad of bills Colt gave me and putting it on the counter.
Pearshield looks at the money with disdain.
“I don't think you understand the value of what your... friend has sold me,” he responds, raising his bushy eyebrows. “If you really want to recover it, the price would be, at minimum, fifty times that amount.”
“Fifty times?” I exclaim, feeling the air around me form small whirlwinds even though I try to control myself. “That's robbery!”
“No, dear. Robbery would be appropriating something that doesn't belong to you,” the old man replies calmly. “Like, for example, a book about Air Elementals written in the ancestral language of Aifshara.”
The way he pronounces “Aifshara” leaves me frozen. It's the same word Sylara used when talking about the Fae realm.
“How do you know all that...?”
“I know many things,” he interrupts me, raising a hand and leaning over the counter. “The important questions are: what do you know? And what are you willing to pay for that knowledge?”
My mind works at full speed. I don't have that amount of money, I barely have enough to pay rent. Maybe I could ask the girls for it, but I don't want to owe them anything. Besides, how would I explain that I lost the book?
“I can't pay for it,” I admit, letting out a sigh of frustration. “But that book is important to me. Please.”
Pearshield stays silent and studies me for a moment that feels like an eternity. There's something in his gaze that unsettles me, as if he could see something in me.
“Why is it so important?” he insists. “What does it mean to you?”
I don't know what to answer.
I can't tell him the truth: that I need that book to learn to control a magic I didn't know I possessed. That I need it if I want to complete a mission imposed by an exiled Fae king who threatens to send to prison the only people who matter to me.
Then I remember something I read in the book a couple of days ago. Something about how air elementals can subtly influence others' emotions through small changes in atmospheric pressure.
I breathe deeply and concentrate. It's not very different from what I did with Voronov or during my training with Sylara and Althea. I just have to be more subtle, much more precise.
“It's a memory of my mother,” I lie, putting on a sad puppy face while I try to slightly alter the air around the old man. “She passed away when I was very young. It's the only thing I have left of her.”
The memory of my mother is powerful, and I fear the air becomes too dense around him.
The man blinks, as if trying to clear his thoughts and, for an instant, his expression softens. I also blink several times. My head spins and I have to discreetly lean on the counter. Using magic to manipulate emotions is more exhausting than I thought.
“I understand,” he murmurs, rubbing his forehead slowly. “A family memory. Very well,” he adds after an instant of silence. “The book is in my warehouse. Wait here while I look for it.”
He disappears behind a beaded curtain that separates the store from the back, but minutes pass and he doesn't return.
The silence becomes oppressive, broken only by the ticking of an antique clock that's driving me crazy and the occasional creaking of one of the shelves under the weight of so many books.
“Mr. Pearshield?”
No response.
Shit.
“Mr. Pearshield? The book?” I call again, also entering the warehouse.
It's a chaotic place, full of boxes and more shelves packed with books. But what catches my attention is a glowing circle in the center of the room, surrounded by strange symbols and illuminating the walls with a blue-green glow.
I stay away just in case, these last few days I've seen enough weird things not to step inside a circle that emits light. However, my gaze immediately stops on something else: on a nearby table is my book, placed as if waiting for me.
I advance cautiously, trying to ignore the circle of light on the floor. When I reach the table, I leave the money Colt received and take the book.
“I'm sorry, but I have to go,” I murmur, though I'm not sure Pearshield can hear me from wherever he's hiding, assuming he's still in the store.
I turn to leave, but something pulls me. An invisible force that drags me backward. I try to resist, I cling to the table with all my strength, but it's useless. The circle drawn on the floor sucks me in.
“No!” the cry of desperation that comes from my throat is lost in a kind of endless labyrinth, like a tunnel that has no end.
For an instant, during my fall through that kind of tunnel, I think I see Pearshield passing by me in the opposite direction, but before I can be sure, my feet touch solid ground.
The world spins around me. I lean on a tree and vomit.
When my vision clears, I realize I'm in an impossible forest. The trees are too tall, too twisted, with bark that glows under a light that doesn't come from the sun.
The air smells different, of spices I can't identify and flowers I've never seen.
I'm not in my world. I can't be.
“Humans shouldn't possess that book. And you shouldn't be here,” I suddenly hear.
The voice startles me. In front of me is a woman so beautiful it's impossible. Even more perfect than Sylara.
“Who are you?” I ask, pressing the book against my chest. “What is this place?”
“My name is Maris Brightcrown. And you're in Aifshara, or what remains of it. And you shouldn't be here, that old man is an idiot.”
Brightcrown. The last name echoes in my memory. Kaelisar mentioned someone with that last name... but I can't remember it clearly.
“You have something that belongs to us,” this Maris continues, extending her hand toward me. “That book was stolen from my father's library. I demand you return it.”
I take a step back. It's my only hope of completing the mission and protecting Colt.
“I can't,” I respond, noticing my voice breaks slightly. “I need it.”
Maris frowns, and the sky above us seems to darken in response.
“You need it?” she repeats, advancing toward me with a threatening attitude. “What could a stupid human need a Fae elemental magic book for?”
“I'm not human,” I respond without thinking. “At least, not entirely.”
Her eyes narrow, studying me with greater attention.
“No... I see...” she murmurs. “There's something in you. Something familiar.”
She takes advantage to come closer. Panic floods through me. If she takes the book, I'll be lost. Colt will be lost. Everyone will be. Sylara, Althea, Sabina...
Responding to the panic, the air around me stirs, only here I do it instinctively, without effort. Without thinking, I release a gust of wind so powerful that Maris falls backward. In this place magic seems much more potent, but also more exhausting.
Her eyes open with surprise.
“Air elemental!” she growls. “Who are you?”
“Someone who needs this book, I'm sorry, but I can't give it to you,” I respond, searching for the portal with my gaze. “Please, let me go.”
Maris gets up with impossible speed and positions herself in front of me again.
“I can't do that,” she explains, but she doesn't seem angry.
“That book contains dangerous knowledge for someone without training.
Return it to me and I promise we'll look for answers together.
If you're part Fae, you have a right to know your heritage.
Here you'll be safe and trained as you deserve, alongside your own people.”
For a moment, I hesitate. What if she's telling the truth? What if Kaelisar has been lying to me all this time?
But then I remember the threat about Colt, about my friends. I can't risk it.
The portal is still open behind me, pulsing with its blue-green light. It's my only way out.
“I'm sorry, really. I want to believe you, but it's much more complicated,” I murmur, and before Maris can react, I throw myself backward, crossing the circle of light without knowing if it will take me back to my world or if I'll end up lost in a different dimension.