Chapter 7 #2
“How long has this existed? How do you know about it? Are there others who know? There has to be some kind of systematic study, some documentation. It would be measurable. You can’t tell me something this significant exists and no one has tried to understand it scientifically.
Is there a history, a catalogue somewhere, a reference resource? ”
I find myself running my hand through my hair, which long ago came loose of its ponytail and now flies around my head in defiance of gravity.
“How does it work? Obviously, that crystal, the one I told you about back at the library, is involved—but does it act as a conduit or does it create the magic? And that monster, is it made out of the same magic as the crystal, or are there separate magics?”
I twist to look at him expectantly. I must look crazy. I feel crazy.
He lifts his massive shoulders in a helpless shrug. “It’s all just, magic. Can’t you leave it at that?”
“Absolutely not!” I’m gesturing wildly now, while he watches with something that might be stunned amusement.
But I can’t stop, fueled by some combination of fascination at the possibility of learning about magic and a rising terror that nothing I thought I knew is true.
“You tell me about the existence of magic—actual honest to goodness magic—and you expect me not to be curious? Not to ask questions? This is huge. I need to know everything.”
And oh god, what else might there be that I don’t know?
I’m tired of talking to him from across the room while he lurks in the darkness like a predator. “Listen, can you come over here? I don’t want to talk to you from so far away, I can’t even see you very well.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Danger creeps back into his voice, a hint of something darker.
But I don’t care. My fear of him is gone, evaporated when he fought off that shadow beast on my behalf. If he won’t come to me, I’ll go to him.
I erupt from the bed and stumble as my injured ankle protests at the sudden weight. Gritting my teeth, I ignore it and start toward him. To my astonishment, he backs away, moving to the other side of the messy table, keeping a swath of space between us.
My momentum falters. “What are you doing?” I demand, bewildered. The man who faced down a monstrous shadow, who didn’t flinch as it ripped at his back, is now recoiling from me.
His nostrils flare, and a tremor, barely perceptible, runs through his broad frame. “Don’t come closer.” His voice is strained, lacking the previous amusement or even the gruffness. There’s a rough edge of panic to it.
I stop dead, my brow furrowing. My gaze falls to the shimmering mark on my forearm. Is it the mark? Is that why he’s backing away? The thought sends a new kind of chill through me, any excitement leaking away. This unknown thing etched into my skin—it must be dangerous.
“Why? What is it?” I hold my arm up. “Is it this?”
He shakes his head, turning his face partly into the deeper gloom, as if to hide something. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It obviously does,” I challenge. Almost instinctively, I reach toward him, trying to understand.
He lets out a harsh, broken laugh that sounds entirely unlike him. “Believe me, Librarian, you don’t want to know.” His eyes, wide now and filled with something akin to desperation, flick to my face, then away. “It’s for your own good.”
I hate not knowing things. He can tell me about magic, fight shadow monsters, yet can’t explain why he’s afraid of me? I take another step.
And then I hear it. A low growl, deep and guttural, that vibrates through the air. It doesn’t come from the fireplace, or from outside. It comes from him.
“I said, stay back,” he rasps, the words a struggle.
Kade’s face, partially illuminated by the fireplace’s glow, is suddenly contorted, his jaw clenched, his lips pressed into a thin, white line of strain.
His shoulders are tense, his knuckles white as he grips the edge of the wooden table, fighting some internal battle.
His eyes have gone dark—no gold visible now—and they hold a wild, cornered look.
As much as I want to know what’s going on, instinct warns me not to push this, not now.
“Okay.” I say carefully, stepping back and restoring the space between us. “But we are going to talk.”
The tension in his frame eases slightly, but he remains coiled, ready. “Not about that.”
“But I need to know if the mark is dangerous.” I don’t understand why he’s being so reticent.
“Not to me. Not to you. This is a . . . different issue.” The next word comes out as one of his characteristic growls. “Personal. Now drop it.”
I file his strange reactions away for future reference. I will figure it out, sooner or later. But for now, I lean onto my uninjured leg, shifting back into learning mode. I have so many questions and so far, no answers.
“Fine. So, the mark is safe, for us. And the mark is magic, correct? Can you define ‘magic,’ specifically? What are the parameters? Are there more . . . more things like that shadow creature? How can there be a whole layer of reality that I’ve been oblivious to?
Is it like a fourth dimension thing? How can there be no existing books about this? ”
“Librarian,” he says sternly. “So many questions. I can’t answer everything about the universe. We’re going to have to stay focused.”
“Right,” I nibble on my bottom lip, and notice him glance at it, then look away. “Of course, you’re right. Focus. I can do that. Okay. Pertinent questions only. What is this thing? Other than just ‘magic’?”
I turn my arm to showcase the mark. For the first time since I’ve woken up, Kade doesn’t recoil, he actually leans toward me, solemnly appraising the mark.
All business now, he says, “Tell me what happened at the library and after. Everything, from the beginning.”
I launch into an explanation, this time sparing no details. He listens intently, never interrupting, never questioning my version of events.
When I finish, he doesn’t respond right away, mulling it over. I watch him intently, trying to track the thoughts going through his mind, but without having the knowledge he does about magic, it’s impossible to guess.
“Here’s what I know,” he finally says, his voice thoughtful. “That crystal must have been a powerful artifact. Think of it as a fragment of raw magic. When you touched it, it somehow embedded in you. Merged with you.”
“How is that possible?”
“Magic isn’t physics. It responds to intent, emotion, need. When you touched that artifact, something about you—your energy, your nature—called to it. And the way it’s behaving, it’s probably linked to some greater well of magic.”
“Part of a larger whole.”
He nods.
“How could it have gotten split off like this?” I ask.
“Depends what it actually is.”
“Which we don’t know.”
“Right. But I plan to find out.” As he speaks, he picks up something from underneath a pile of papers on the table between us.
It’s the book from Dr. Ashcroft’s collection.
“Confiscated this,” he says, holding it up. “Given what it was found with, it’s our best lead.” He sets it down on the table with a soft thud, and we both stare at it.
Maybe I should be terrified. I am. But I’m also enthralled.
Before I can ask another question (I still have so many), he volunteers information. “There’s something else you need to know. That shadow creature—we call them echo-beasts—seems to be drawn to that magical signature. To you.”
My stomach sinks. “So it won’t stop coming?”
His jaw tightens. “It won’t. And if it siphons energy from you like it did tonight,” he pauses, like he doesn’t want to finish the sentence, “it could kill you.”
The words ring out in my skull like a judge’s final gavel. I’m not just dealing with a mysterious mark. I’m a beacon for a monster that’s a death sentence.
“Oh,” is all I can manage as my questions drain away, leaving me deflated. The mark on my arm pulses tiredly, too. This is all so much to take in.
“I won’t let it.” His expression is hard as he holds my gaze, not letting me look away.
“And you—you’re not defenseless. You’ll find you have some .
. . new abilities, now. Like that light.
The one you created, that held the echo-beast off long enough for me to get to you.
Maybe other abilities too, we’ll have to see. ”
I am dumbstruck. “I did that?”
“You did. It’s the shard. It’s not just on your body, it’s connected to you now, giving you access to strong magic.”
It’s a dizzying contradiction. Access to magic? Me? I’m just a librarian.
Before I can process the revelation, or even formulate my next question, a jarring buzzing cuts through the air. Kade starts at the intrusion, then quickly turns into the shadows. When he turns back, he has produced my phone.
Glancing at the screen, he says, “Unknown number.”
“Let me see.”
For a second, he hesitates, and I wonder if he is going to let me have my phone. An unpleasant sensation swoops in my chest—whatever else is going on, I’m still stuck in some warehouse with a huge man I barely know.
Then he tosses it to me, with a warning, “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, don’t talk about this to anyone. And don’t tell anyone where you are.”
No problem, I think. I don’t even know where I am.
It feels so good to hold my phone again. But when I see the number calling, the feeling evaporates. I recognize it, even though I deleted the contact years ago. I debate not answering it, but, what if something has happened to Em or Mom?
I swipe to answer, my voice as neutral as I can make it. “Hello.”
“Alanna! Jesus, finally. I’ve been trying to reach you all week.” The voice is older now, rougher around the edges, but unmistakably familiar.
“Hello, Dad.” The word tastes bitter in my mouth.
Kade’s attention sharpens, his posture changing as he picks up on the tension in my voice.
“Look, I know we haven’t talked in a while—”
“Three years,” I correct. “It’s been three years.”
“Right, well, that’s actually why I’m calling.
I’m going to be in the city in two months, and I saw they’re holding that big Lumina Festival downtown.
I know you always loved that sort of thing when you were a kid, so I thought we could go.
Catch up. Em too.” The casual tone, as if he’s suggesting coffee with a colleague rather than attempting to reconnect with the daughter who drove him away, makes my chest tight with an old guilt.
“I’m busy,” I say flatly. I can’t handle this right now.
“Come on, Al. Don’t be like that. I know I wasn’t . . . I know things weren’t great when we went our separate ways, but you’re an adult now. We can put all that behind us.”
When we went our separate ways?! What a way to phrase him going no contact with us when I was thirteen.
I cringe. I know it was my fault. I made him leave us, leave mom and abandon Em when she was only three.
She grew up without a father because of me.
And every time he tries to “reconnect,” I worry I’ll just drive him away again. What’s the point?
“I said I’m busy.”
“Just think about it, okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Bye Dad.” I hang up, feeling that old wound tear open.
Kade watches me warily, looking ready to leap on a threat.
“You wanna talk about it?” he asks, his tone unexpectedly soft.
“Not really.” I swipe my phone open and see approximately one million texts from Em, from before she knew I lost it. Thoughts of my sister create a warmth that crowds out the cold shame from Dad’s phone call.
“No more questions?” Kade asks, and I wonder if he’s trying to cheer me up, somehow.
Normally that would work, but now I only feel sluggish, hollowed out.
“I’m just tired. Maybe I’ll rest a bit more.”
“Good idea. I’ll keep watch.”
His simple words are profoundly comforting. It’s reassuring, knowing he’s here, a bulwark against that shadow creature—and whatever else might be out there.
“Hey, Kade?”
“Mm?”
“Thanks. For everything. For saving my life.”
A flicker of something unreadable—almost guilt—crosses his face as he looks away.
“Had no choice,” he says, his voice clipped. A dismissal. “Go to sleep, Librarian.”