11. CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 11
Noa
Anson’s archive was silent and secretive. Each time I visited, walked down the four flights of stairs to the lowest level, my teeth clenched against the various enchantments. Some snapped with warnings. Others soothed, like those in the reading alcoves. On the lowest level, the mock window lessened the claustrophobia. The fake fire created a visual ambiance that belied the intense security in place, the cameras, the permissions to enter through the softly buzzing door.
Today, the scent of baking cookies added an insidiously homey touch, even though we were nowhere near a kitchen, and every time the aroma made me too comfortable, all I had to do was look at the specimen jars. The one with the nixie. Remind myself that most of the comforts were fake.
Laura finished filling out her request card and slipped it into the brass container, snapped the lid on the antique vacuum tube. With an audible whooshing, and the metallic clunk-clunk never associated with modern technology, the tube zipped away.
“What did you request this time?” I asked her as she sat down.
“A listing of all the kings and queens, their lineage, family trees.”
“The royal titles were always hereditary?”
“Male to male,” she agreed. “Bloodlines were important, and families gained power through marriage, which—sometimes—led to murder, where the bride’s family stood to benefit. Particularly if she had sons. Or ambitious brothers, leading to even more murders.”
I prodded the books stacked in front of me. “You’re awfully interested in family dynamics,” I said, watching as Laura pulled another dusty tome toward her.
She shrugged as she opened the book. “Families are funny. These ancient kings and queens didn’t give a shit about anyone. It was all about power, alliances, and revenge. Don’t paint your values over the queens and then think they were anything like you.”
“I’m nothing like the queens.”
“But you identify with Amal.”
The repetitive flicker of the fake fire drew my attention. “I’m trying to understand her.”
“Better to know your enemy?”
“Is that Anson talking?” The argument didn’t sound like hers, but she had a point. “I’m distantly connected to the queens, so I should understand them.”
“Then why won’t you talk about that journal?”
I shrugged and pushed Amal’s journal aside. “How was your visit with Levi?”
“Fine. Short. You know he had to get back.”
He’d come and gone while I’d been with Grayson. I didn’t want the disappointment, but I’d been looking forward to seeing Levi, and missing him left me on edge.
I wiped my palm across the table as if wiping away invisible dust. “How was he?”
“His leg wound has healed, but he’s still dragging around that spear.” Which meant emotionally, he was just as messed up as Laura was, both brother and sister pretending they weren’t suffering. I hummed through pressed lips.
“What?” She was instantly defensive.
“Only thinking about the spear. If it’s healthy for him to dwell on what it means.”
“It means security.”
“He’s afraid she’ll use it on him again?”
Laura’s fingers fluttered through the book in front of her. “Brin’s probably dead, but even if she isn’t, being ready to fight makes sense.”
Humming again, I pulled Amal’s journal closer, pretending to read until Laura said, “I’m not making excuses for Levi. But it’s common to cling to symbols of control when faced with impossible situations. Better than freaking out.”
I turned a journal page without looking at it. “I’ve lost my shit enough times to not criticize others for it.”
“Oh, good, because I’d hate for my friend to suddenly get holier-than-thou.”
Her tone had turned testy, when I didn’t want to fight with her. “At least I’m still your friend,” I murmured, “and it’s with kindness that I point out how Anson enjoys research. He’s always down here when I come.”
She sniffed. “It’s his archive.”
“And he finds the bloodlines of dead royalty as riveting as you do.”
Laura worked at holding her glare, but the pink in her cheeks gave it away, and a smile twitched her lips as she smoothed her fingers over whatever book was in front of her. “I didn’t think it was obvious.”
“He’s sitting with you nearly every time I come.” I glanced around at the book-lined shelves. “Where is he today?”
“In meetings.” Her blush wouldn’t go away. “We’re, um, meeting later.”
I touched the back of her hand. “I’m happy for you.”
“It’s not like we’re a thing.”
“But maybe?”
Laura busied herself with rearranging a stack of notes, flicking papers, matching up the edges. “Does touching Amal’s journal still bother you?”
“Not anymore.” Not physically. At first, I’d not been able to touch it without the frissons of ice numbing my fingertips. Only Amal’s words bothered me now, the intensely personal narrative. Reading it was like wandering where I had no right to be. Where the landscape was foreign and forsaken. Where I knew her dreams, her pain. The angry tears at midnight.
After a moment, I said, “Amal struggled. She never knew if her memories were real, or if she’d slipped into insanity. The emotional mud can be draining.”
“Have you found anything of value?”
“Snatches of her life. What she missed—the joy of food. Sunlight. Then the rants over how the kings tricked the queens.”
Laura leaned forward. “What happened?”
I shook my head, brushed at the hair that slid across my cheek. “She cursed the enchantments, making her forget—that and being turned. Most of it was senseless rambling. But she was obsessed.” I flipped through the journal until I found the pages, each one covered with the same drawing.
I shoved the book toward Laura. With each turned page, the quality of Amal’s drawings deteriorated into smudged lines and lost details. Amal had even scribbled over some designs, reminiscent of a child’s rage at the mistakes, arousing a mix of emotions. Sympathy and alarm.
Laura chewed on her lip. “The characteristics are runic, but I’ve never seen a design with this complexity.”
“She might have made it up,” I suggested. “Pure imagination. In her chaotic state…”
Laura huffed out a breath. “Chaotic thinking is all over the place. It doesn’t reproduce the design to such an exact state. The weaknesses are in a few details. The curve of a line not being right.”
She walked to a second table, picked up a hand scanner, and traced it over the design with the clearest detail. Then did the same with the designs that had slight variations. “We’ll run this through the databanks,” she said. “Let the computer tell us what it is.”
“That easy?” I teased.
Laura offered a fleeting smile as she returned to her seat. “Maybe you should let Fallon or Anson follow up on this.”
“Not take on Amal myself?”
“I didn’t mean that you were a weak female who needed alphas to save her. Only that I don’t want your need to help to lure you into an obsession. I talked to the woman from Cariboo,” she went on before I could argue. “The stories she told about Amal chilled me, Noa. It’s worse than High Citadel. Barend and Ago. An evil that seems invincible.”
I held her darkened gaze. “I have to do this, Laura.”
“Only because of Amal, how she gets into your head and makes it personal. And because of everything Caerwen has told you, filled your head with the old myths and prophesies.”
“The one thing Amal fears most is a dread lord and faille working together.”
“If you believe that—” Her chin lifted. “Then why did you return to Westvale? Why not stay with Gray?”
“Because I believe the answers are here.” He did, too.
“Is that faille intuition or wishful thinking? Or the need to do something out of pride?” Laura’s tone wasn’t harsh; kindness lay beneath. “There’s no shame in stopping. In admitting the limits in what you can do.”
My jaw tightened. “I know that.”
“People died because you tried to do something, Noa.”
I jolted back, my spine pressing hard against the chair. Instantly, Laura’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” She smoothed her hands against the table. “But letting others help doesn’t lessen you—a year ago, you were living a human life, laughing with your friends, doing stupid things without worrying about anything worse than a hangover. Maybe a broken heart, or a stubbed toe. Noa…” Her voice wavered. “Stay here with me. Give the information to someone else. Let them fight the battles.”
“What about all that talk in the tunnel?” I asked. “About being the star, being called to do something when we’re lost, when we’re standing alone? About drawing others to the light, and shining the brightest?”
“I was wrong. I never should have put that on you.”
I rubbed the scars on Laura’s wrist, then rubbed against my own scared, ruined sigil. “You didn’t put that on me. This is what I was born to do. Be this person who fights despite the odds, even because of the odds, the lost causes. You reminded me of it, that’s all.” I gripped her hands, willing her to understand. “I know you’re scared, and you need to feel safe. But this is just another tent, isn’t it? Where we have the choice to leave? And I can’t stay here with you, hiding in the archive, researching in dead books for answers. I can’t do that.”
Moisture sparkled in her eyes. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You and Levi will never lose me.”
“That sounds so final.”
“No, it isn’t. Your path led you here, to these books, the research. Even to Anson, as a friend. Or more. Trust me. The fate that sent you here is also sending me to where I need to be.”
“Noa…”
The computer chimed with a search result. Laura printed out the pages and read the details out loud.
According to the database, archaeological sites around the human world reported similar rune designs, found on foundation stones in crumbled temples, Viking swords dredged up from peaty river bottoms. Even pottery shards dug from the dry American deserts were decorated with the same inked rune.
“No written record, so the meaning is speculative.” Laura’s voice echoed through the hushed archive. “Most scholars believe it represents a gift from the gods. It’s a powerful talisman, often linked to sorcery, sacrifices, and a transference of power.” She frowned. “Associated with black witchcraft.”
“Maybe the witches know.”
Laura stared over the sheaf of paper in her hands. “The Gemini Witches are dead and the coven scattered.”
“I met a witch at the Farmer’s Market. Perhaps she knows something.” I pointed at her papers. “Can you print off a copy of that rune?”
An instant later, the whir of a printer rattled through the silence. Laura pulled a page from the machine and handed it to me.
I folded the paper and shoved it into a back pocket.
“Noa.” The concern in Laura’s voice stopped me. “Be careful. It might be winter, but the enemy is still hunting for you.”
“Yes, Mom.” But I hugged her before I left.
“I mean it!” Laura shouted. When I glanced back, she was holding the archive door open. I wondered if she planned to watch me until I disappeared up the stairs.