Chapter 13
Alanna
Echo-beasts, magical signatures, crystal shards. Regular humans gaining access to magic.
My head is spinning with all of the information I’m learning. But at the same time, it’s exhilarating. So much to discover, so many new ideas to play with. I could live in this library and never leave, and I’d be happy all my days.
And driving my excitement to new heights is the way my magic seems to complement my natural ability to synthesize and categorize information. It doesn’t feel like a foreign ability; it feels like me, only super-charged.
I only wish I had more control over my new abilities. There are times when I’m on the verge of seeing connections between the passages, or sensing which page to turn to, but then it slips away, and I’m left reviewing everything the old-fashioned way.
But what I have discovered so far is incredible.
And frightening. Let’s not forget that part.
However, I’ve always thought the best remedy for fear is knowledge.
Every unknown is an invitation to dig deeper, ask more questions, and learn more.
Unfortunately, this particular unknown feels less like an academic pursuit and more like a ticking clock.
So far, I’ve learned there are actually several types of shadow creatures.
A field manual filled with terrifying diagrams disabused me of the notion that the echo-beast was the only possible iteration of that category of terror.
But Kade knows his shit (as he would say, I’m sure), and as far as I can tell, he was correct about our specific monster being an echo-beast. Certain traits rule out most of the other possibilities, such as being able to affect the physical world (which creatures classed as shadow “phantoms” cannot do, apparently), or how it shifts its shape (unlike the “Hat Man,” who always appears as a tall shadowy entity wearing a wide-brimmed hat—not an image I needed in my head).
Now that I’m confident we’re pursuing the correct line of inquiry, it’s a matter of digesting and cross-referencing everything I can about the creature.
I have a whole list of questions to pursue.
Unfortunately, the texts don’t contain everything I need.
But my magic revels in this challenge, guiding me toward relevant materials with an eagerness that matches my own.
Today has been the smoothest I’ve ever felt using my Cognitive Resonance.
I file away a mental note to consider this later.
No, scratch that, head too full, can’t rely on memory.
I make an actual note in my notebook, and add a star for effect.
I chew my lower lip while scanning my notebook under the “echo-beast” heading.
I have whole other sections for questions about my magic and the crystal shard (really deep inquiries, such as “what the hell is it” and “why me”), as well as the Wardens (organizational structure, purpose, history, protocol for “containing” humans who can wield magic), the magical world at large (this list that knows no end), random questions about what Kade’s deal is (because “not entirely human” isn’t exactly an answer and I know an evasion when I hear one)—but none of these are pressing issues, so I direct my focus on echo-beast research.
Beneath the heading, my questions are written in neat rows, followed by the answers I’ve found so far. Dishearteningly, not as much as I’d hoped.
Pulling another tome toward me, my magic thrums as the book falls open to a passage about echo-beast origins.
When did the echo-beast appear? The text points to recent magical disruptions being a potential cause.
My pulse quickens. Perhaps triggered by the crystal’s activation?
That would explain why it’s drawn to me.
It’s only a theory though—the details remain frustratingly elusive.
Was it born, summoned, or formed? I add Kade’s working theory to my notes: chaotic anomaly, byproduct of magical instability.
But why me specifically?
I’m turning the page, engrossed in my discoveries when all of a sudden I feel a warm tug in my chest. I glance up in the direction of the tug—Kade is right in front of me, holding a small plate and a steaming mug. I blink owlishly, feeling confused that reality has intruded on my research.
“You’ve been at this for hours,” he says, setting the plate down on the wooden side-table beside my chair. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” I mutter, turning my attention back to the page. My stomach chooses this exact moment to growl loudly, betraying me.
I look up sheepishly to find Kade raising one amused eyebrow. Ugh. He doesn’t even need to say anything, I know he’s won.
“Fiiine,” I say, disengaging my mind—slightly—from the books. This flesh prison is so inconvenient sometimes.
The plate is full of snacks that make my mouth water.
Ripe cherries, apple slices with peanut butter, and a chocolate energy bar that looks like it came from one of those fancy grocery stores.
The mug smells like hazelnut, warm and caffeinated, a perfect latte.
My favorite. My exact favorite. Bewilderment settles over me.
“How . . .?”
“The mansion has several kitchens, Librarian. One’s just down the hall. For researchers who lose track of time.” He fixes me with a pointed stare.
My heart stutters with the unspoken question: how did you know? But I don’t know how to ask it. Instead, I slip an apple slice between my lips, giving my mouth something to do other than demand answers that I know he won’t give.
Kade’s eyes linger on my mouth before a muscle in his jaw clenches, just a fraction. Looking away, he continues with forced casualness, “Your magic works better when you’re not running on fumes.”
The practical explanation can’t quite hide an undertone of concern in his voice. I swallow the apple slice, surprised by how much better I feel almost immediately.
“Thank you,” I say, touched by his thoughtfulness.
No one’s ever anticipated my needs like this before—I usually lose myself in reading to the point of hanger before realizing that maybe I should eat.
It’s unexpected. And however he knew my favorite drink, it shows a level of care that I haven’t seen from him before.
Warm gratitude blooms in my chest along with something else, something heady and rich.
He nods curtly and steps back, but doesn’t leave. Instead, he leans against a nearby bookshelf, arms crossed, watching me with those gold-rimmed eyes. Not hovering, exactly, but . . . present.
“What have you found so far?”
I gesture to my notebook between bites. “More questions than answers. The origins are murky—could be born from magical disruption, could be summoned, could be something else entirely. And there’s this line .
. .” I hesitate, barely wanting to voice what I found.
But I plow ahead anyway. He needs to know.
“‘Discordant appetites, ravenous and unending.’ The rest of the page was waterlogged though, so I couldn’t get any more.
” I flip to the page where the rest of the text has bled away, smudged beyond all recognition, which only rekindles my irritation.
Kade grunts, a mix of taking in this new information and acknowledging my struggle. I’m not sure when I learned to decipher his grunts, but here we are.
Since I have the book open again, I take a moment to close my eyes, trying to focus the full force of my Cognitive Resonance on the ruined passage. Tell me what’s missing.
I push, receiving a vague impression of bottomless hunger, a search eternal. But try as I might, I can’t manage to compel the magic to reveal any more. Maddening. I need more mastery over it.
Sighing, I open my eyes and underline the “UNKNOWN” I’ve written in my notebook, the word looking as frustrated as I feel.
“Anything else?”
“Abilities we’ve already seen—cold spots, power drains, corporeal form. But it gets worse.” I turn to a diagram that still makes my stomach lurch. “Much worse, if they’re right about what it could become.”
Kade’s expression darkens as he looks at the artist’s rendering. “How much worse?”
“Self-sustaining. No longer dependent on external magic sources. The text speculates about a ‘fully realized manifestation.’” I take another slice of apple, the sweetness countering the bitter taste of fear. “It’s extremely troubling. This could become catastrophic.”
“It won’t reach that stage. Not on my watch.
” He straightens from the bookshelf, a shadow falling over his face as he takes a half-step closer, his broad shoulders seeming to absorb the weight of my words.
There is a hard, immovable certainty in his stance, as if daring the “fully realized manifestation” to even try.
The certainty in his voice is both reassuring and puzzling.
How can he be so sure? But the latte helps me think more clearly—he’s right about the magic working better when I’m not depleted.
My Cognitive Resonance stirs with renewed energy, a quiet hum urging me back to the scattered books.
Kade watches me for a moment longer, before he gives a curt nod and moves back to a distant part of the library, resuming his own quiet vigil and leaving me to my pursuits.
The ticking clock still pulses in my veins, urging me deeper, and I lose myself in the ancient wisdom around me.
There are still so many unknowns, and the need to understand outweighs any fear or frustration.