Chapter 12
It’s a stormy late September morning outside and the students stepping into the Library are still groggy from sleep, while I myself am having trouble containing my excitement. I’m standing in front of the Service Desk, waiting to finally be given my keys back.
If Carrel ever decides to come out of the office and give them to me.
Impatiently, I shift on my feet. It’s been two weeks of sheer frustration — trying to do research on that symbol I saw, the one gracing the cover of the Lexarcanum book. I do remember seeing it somewhere and I have a feeling it’s old Norse, but wherever I look, I can’t find a single mention.
The only thing I did learn is that the Academy’s Old Norse Studies section is noticeably poorer than it was the last time I ventured into it.
So a couple of days ago, I simply had to come to the conclusion that I’ll have to wait to get my job back, so I can log into the backend and see if there’s anything I’m missing.
But today’s the day I’ll finally be cracking that mystery.
When Carrel finally appears, I grab the keys with a huge grin on my face, making him let out a chuckle.
I settle in behind the Service Desk, breathing a content sigh when I log into the backend and start searching for more books that could lead me somewhere.
It makes me frown, when I see that all those books I felt were missing actually are missing from the main database.
I click on one of them.
Moved to the Restricted Section, it says.
I keep checking book after book only to see the same thing’s happened with all of them.
It seems that they were all moved the day after I wandered into the Lexarcanum.
My eyebrows pulling down, I open a more detailed view to see who authorized this.
My frown only grows deeper when I see the same name showing up next to all the moved items.
Lorcan MacArthur.
***
My mind buzzing, I’m walking across the garden and straight for the Grimm Tower, when I spot Raven and Alaric sitting on one of the benches around the Dame Gothel statue, Alaric explaining something with choppy, animated gestures.
I slow down. Although I’ve only spoken to them a couple of times, I’m happy to see them and wouldn”t mind saying hi, but I’m also eager to get this thing with Lorcan over with.
Before I can make up my mind, I see Alaric wave with a grin on his face and I walk over to them, smiling widely. “Hey you two. What”s up?”
As usual, Raven just looks at me with those big black eyes, not saying a word even though she doesn’t seem uninterested.
“Raven and I were just talking about going to play cards in the Junkyard.”
I look at Raven, a smile still on my face, but she says nothing. “Sorry,” I reply as I turn back to Alaric, “I have stuff to do, but I’ll see you at Foundational later?”
This is the only class we’re in together. Foundational Magic Theory taught by Professor Byrne to all first-years, regardless of their bloodline.
Alaric nods and I move to walk away, but it startles me so much — when I hear Raven’s voice — that I stop midstep.
“Are you okay, Anna?” she asks in that flat, soft yet high-pitched voice of hers.
I turn to give her a curious smile. “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”
“You have dark circles around your eyes again.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Again? Is that something she’s noticing? I let out an awkward laugh, not wanting to get into it. “Oh I’m just worried about that homework Lorcan assigned us.”
“Why?” comes the reply, along with a little blink.
I smile and frown at her at the same time. Then I shrug. “Why is anyone ever worried about homework?”
She tilts her head at me. “I don’t understand the question,” she says matter-of-factly. “There are countless reasons people are worried about homework and no single person can be worried for all of those reasons.”
I open my mouth to say something, but Alaric cuts in. “She’s trying to tell you she knows you’re a big fat liar, Anna,” he says with a grin.
“No, I’m not,” Raven says.
I believe she’s telling the truth, but I choose to lean into it. “Really?” I ask teasingly as I turn back to her. “And how would you know I’m a big fat liar, Raven?”
It surprises me, when she starts inspecting me more closely. She lets her eyes stop on the books in my hands and then the keys around my neck. “Apart from the obvious holes in your logic that suggest you’re evading the question,” she starts softly but firmly, “the books you’re carrying have nothing to do with the class, you’ve apparently been given the keys to the Library back, and based on my observations of you, it would take more than homework to make you worried.”
For a second, I just look at her, dumbfounded by the girl everyone’s underestimating by calling her the cuckoo curse girl. But feeling so closely observed is making me feel uncomfortable. “Look at you, Raven,” I tell her with a smile, eager to change the subject. “Do you solve murders or just do homework fraud?”
Alaric lets out a laugh, but there’s something that flashes through Raven’s eyes that makes me think she thinks I’m mocking her. “Oh come on,” I plead softly but firmly, “I’m only teasing you.”
She seems to relax.
“I’ll stop by the Junkyard later with some apology nachos, how about that?” I say, and I throw them both a tip of my chin and rush to the Grimm Tower.
***
Unsure about what I’m about to do, I keep sitting in the Lounge, throwing nods and tense little smiles to all the professors and faculty members passing through.
I hear him as soon as he steps onto the landing in front of the Lounge. “And you know I don’t like talking to answering machines, Nuala,” he says in this stern, parental voice, making me remember someone once saying he had a daughter.
As soon as he walks in, my adrenaline goes through the roof. When he puts his phone back in his pocket and stops mid step — showing he didn’t expect to see me here — and throws me this scowl, I have to warn myself I don’t really know he’s done anything suspicious to begin with. Professors move books around all the time.
I stand up, throwing him a polite nod.
“What’re you doing here, Miss Novak?” he asks as he walks up to me.
“I just need your help with something, Professor,” I tell him, using the most neutral voice possible. “Do you have a couple of minutes to spare?”
He just looks at me for a second. Then he motions at the chair I just got up from and says, “It’s my job to find them. But bear in mind,” he says as he lifts a fat forefinger in a warning gesture, “I won’t be listening to you whining about how tough the Academy is for someone as challenged as you are.”
I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“I’m not here as your student,” I tell him as we take our seats.
I see his eyes narrow. “Then in what capacity are you here in?” he asks as he leans back in his chair.
I clear my throat, trying to sound casual as I say, “There are these books — materials from Old Norse Studies — that I couldn’t find—”
“Old Norse Studies?” he cuts me off, leaning forward a little and tilting his head. “I don’t seem to know of any shifter classes requiring you to study the area.”
I shake my head, forcing myself to smile. “It’s just this research I’m doing that’s unrelated to my studies.”
“What’re you researching exactly?”
“Old Norse culture.”
“What about it?”
For a second, I just look at him. Why’s he being so insistent? “Nothing in particular,” I tell him with a smile.
He seems to relax.
“But there were these books I wanted to read, and just today, I saw you had them put in the Restricted Section. I was wondering if I could get access?”
He lets out a laugh. “Miss Novak, as a first-year student, do you have access to the Restricted Section in general?”
“No.”
He shrugs. “There’s your answer.” And he gets up, seemingly headed to grab something to drink.
“But Professor MacArthur—,” I protest as I get out of my chair to follow him.
He turns to look at me again. “You really should learn to take no for an answer, Miss Novak.”
There’s a finality in his voice that forces me to say, “Yes, Professor. Thank you for your time.”
Without throwing him another look, I move to walk out of the Professor’s Lounge.
“Oh, Miss Novak,” he stops me, his voice now deceptively sweet.
“Yes?” I say without turning around.
“How are the special classes going?” he asks.
I turn to squint at him. Then I throw him a fake smile and say, “Marvelous.”
“Well, they should be,” he replies with a fake smile of his own. “Your mid-term practical exam is drawing near. It’ll be the first indicator of your success on the first-term exam.”
As if I need to be reminded, especially now that I’m about to go to one of those brilliant sessions for the second time.
I nod and turn my back to him just in time to hide the gritting of my teeth.
It seems I won’t be getting my hands on those books, I think as I start making my way down the stairs.
At least now I understand this thing with Lorcan might not be entirely personal. Either way, there’s definitely something fishy going on.