Chapter 33
ISLA
There were a few entrances into The Bookshoppe: the back door, the front, and then the set of storm doors down into Jonah’s basement apartment.
Though all would be locked this early, Isla knew where Jonah hid the spare keys in the nook of a tree behind the building.
They’d basically become her set, after endless nights spent with him poring over books, though she always left them here.
Isla was elbow-deep in the hidey nook, her satchel banging against the bark as her fingers just grazed the cold metal of the keys, when she heard the back door of the shop fly open. Shrieking voices came next, a shouting match that dropped into harsh whispers once exposed to the open air.
Isla knew both men.
Abandoning the keys, instinctively knowing it would be best not to be seen, she took a few more steps into the wood and pressed her back to the largest of the nearby trunks.
Jonah and Sol continued their squabble, but the grit of their voices was hard to decipher at this distance without her wolf’s hearing and with the obnoxious bird warbling its morning melody over her head.
She glowered up at it, and it seemed to leer back, then flew away as soon as Jonah’s back door slammed closed.
She heard the crunch of gravel beneath shoes as Sol passed by, and she risked a peek around the bark to catch a flash of his face, to find his features pulled into a scowl. Judging by his trajectory, he was heading towards the hall.
She frowned. What the hell had that been about?
Isla’s mind began to spin conclusions—recalling Kai’s story about all of them, including Jonah, being trained for the guard by Sol until he had quit to run the shop—but then she stopped herself.
Not my business.
Not wanting to make her eavesdropping known, Isla waited about ten minutes before circling back to the door. Though she knew Jonah was awake now, she still went to the nook for the key as normal.
She was through one of the three outside-facing locks when the other two clicked, and Jonah pulled open the front door.
Isla jerked back, forcing her face into an expression of pleasant surprise. “Well, you’re up early.”
Jonah’s brow ticked up, his shirt hanging from his hand. Apparently, she’d disturbed him while changing. “I wasn’t expecting you this morning.”
Isla swung her satchel around, opening it to reveal three new markers, partially exposed within their cloth wrap. “I came bearing gifts.”
Jonah laughed through his nose and leaned against the doorframe, musing, “More work for me? How nice.” She knew he enjoyed this, despite his sarcasm. “I miss the pastries.”
“Next time, I promise. I heard the place I usually go to makes the best apple tart in the whole city.”
Jonah nodded, then dropped his head for a closer look. “When did you get these?”
“Last night. We found another tunnel in Ifera.” Isla pulled her map from the bag, pointing to the tunnel’s location in Deimos’s northern region and the small stars she’d etched as the marker’s locations.
Jonah’s mouth pulled tight. “Bak?”
“Yes,” Isla breathed, folding the map back up while Jonah looked on for her to elaborate.
Her mind flashed to beady red eyes atop a short, gray muzzle, to partially drooping ears flopped sideways as the bak pup tilted its head innocently this morning. Innocent. Goddess, she never thought she’d describe a bak as innocent. But then again, all of this was mad.
She’d brought the creature home last night, much to Kai’s behest. But he would’ve died if they’d left him out there alone. Isla needed to address her bleeding heart.
“They had already been taken care of… mostly,” she explained.
“Mostly?”
Isla closed the bag and sweetened her voice. “Mind if I come in?”
Jonah sighed. “Every time you have that look on your face, I get nervous.”
“Many do.”
He stepped to the side, opening a path for her. “You’re always welcome, Luna.”
Isla thanked him grandly and cleared the doorway.
Despite wanting to keep his business his business, Isla couldn’t stop her wandering eye.
But there was no answer as to why he and Sol were fighting in the lines of shelves carved into the walls and support columns, the various testaments to innovation hanging from the ceiling, or beyond the mezzanine to more books and reading nooks.
“I haven't seen you or Kai in days,” Jonah said, drawing Isla’s attention as he slid on his shirt and started on the buttons, covering up the tattoos he shared with Kai, Rhydian, and Ameera. Symbols of their bond, of the losses they’d suffered. “Not since the Equinox.”
Isla’s features fell, and she turned away, moving to play with a model car on the cashier counter. Suddenly, she felt a headache coming on. “We've been busy. He’s in meetings all morning today.” She’d join him for one with the council later.
“I’m sure.” Jonah’s tone wasn’t sarcastic or mocking. “Kai seemed… off that night. More so than you just tiring him out. Has he not been feeling well?”
Isla was grateful she’d been turned away from him.
“It was a long day.” Schooling her features, she spun and caught the doubtful furrowing of his brows.
Without Kai there to decide how much to share with his friend, Isla quickly diverted.
“He said he told you about the dagger.” Jonah nodded, though his look of skepticism didn’t waver much.
She gripped her bag strap tightly. “Any theories?”
“One, for now.” He lifted his hand, gesturing to where the stairs down to his apartment lay. “Care to step into my office?”
Jonah’s apartment could have been described as a cave or the hoard of a book-loving dragon.
Her eyes trailed over the space as she slipped off her shoes, leaving them by the stairs and feeling the cement floor cool beneath her feet.
Her eyes adjusted to the light of a lamp perched on a small table by Jonah’s bed, the faint glow illuminating the open, marked-up book on his mattress.
The study in the corner had been an organized flurry of tomes, papers, and machine odds and ends.
It was there, spread out over a worn wooden desk, that sketches, maps, books, rubies, and little balls of wood inscribed with ancient symbols lay.
In the center of the mass sat the dagger and the broken diadem.
All the random shit they’d gathered during the mess these past months had been.
She couldn’t deny the draw she felt towards it all, now a little stronger than before. Jonah hadn’t followed her towards the pile, moving to the kitchenette instead.
Isla perched her satchel on the chair before adding the three new markers to the rest they’d gathered, already searching for a pattern between the symbols.
As expected, these newer ones had the swirling emblem that indicated the path connected to Deimos.
She grimaced as battle strategies began forming in her mind.
As if they’d physically been tugging for her attention, Isla snapped her head around to the dagger, diadem, and the artwork of the woman. Her moon-white hair and violet eyes made Isla’s heart stutter. She waited for that tapping, for her voice to slip into her mind, into her thoughts. But… nothing.
What? Nothing to say now?
“So, what’s your theory?” Isla called across the room, nearly moaning at the pleasant, nutty aroma fluttering around her.
Jonah pulled out two mugs and began pouring the coffee. “She may be a priestess.”
“A priestess?” Isla spread her hands over the table and gazed down at the artwork, tracing over the crown she wore, which wasn’t a perfect match to the item they possessed, like the dagger was.
“It’s a ceremonial blade.” Jonah carried over two cups, and Isla took one with a cheery thanks.
“And the crown in the painting may just be an extravagant version of the adornments priestesses wear today. She could’ve been from Ares.
I feel like there was much more value put on the deities and those who had a connection to them back in the day. ”
“Way back,” Isla mused. She had to be at least a thousand years old since that was when the split occurred and Ares ceased to exist.
She sipped from her brew, mulling over the words. Though she understood his logic, a priestess didn’t feel right.
“Do you still feel drawn to them?” Jonah asked, cutting into her attention.
The liquid burned going down her throat as she forced a swallow. “A bit more now than before.” Taking a breath, she ran her fingers over the blade’s hilt. A dull, broken pulse shot through her hand, and she yanked her arm back.
That was new.
“Are you okay?” Jonah leaned closer.
Isla nodded, placing her mug down as she moved for the blade again.
She weathered the feeling this time, gripping the weapon tightly.
Lifting it towards her face, her eyes glided over the silver-toned metal freckled with the tiniest bits of gold, the ivory pommel, and its dark crystal accents.
The same look as the blade she’d cut her hand with for the coronation, but the feeling…
“It feels broken.”
“What?”
Isla shook her head, confusion knitting her brow as she swiped the knife through the air. She pointed the tip towards the three fragments of the crown. “In a way, it feels broken.”
Jonah’s assessing gaze traveled over her and their wares.
He reached across the wood to snatch his leather-bound, well-loved notebook from the corner of the desk, the rich brown cover scuffed.
He sifted through page after page of notes and translations before he found a blank sheet at the end.
“It’s in one piece, and it looks intact. ”