Chapter 21
Alanna
Mistake.
Distraction.
The shame feels like noxious gas, making my throat close up, trying to choke me. This is what always happens.
He called me his, and then he left. Only to come back more distant than ever, like it meant nothing.
Now he’s out again and will be gone all night, apparently “patrolling the perimeter.” Except I have weeks’ worth of data to prove that he’s never needed to do that before. I’m not naive. He’s just trying to get away from me.
I don’t even know what I did wrong.
My fingers drift to my neck, finding the tender spot just below my pulse. A faint bruise is already forming there, a passionate mark left by the same mouth that told me I was a mistake.
Tears slip out, unbidden and unwelcome. I swipe them away, wishing I could wrap ice around my heart like him.
I’m listless, detached from my body. It is a familiar haunting. It is the same helpless ache from the day my father packed his bags. He moved around the room without looking at me, because it is hard to look at the things you are leaving behind.
He was a man who wanted a simple life, and I was a complicated child. I asked too many questions. He couldn’t love a girl who felt the world so deeply it exhausted him just to watch. I was too much for him to carry.
Much easier to carry a bag, than a girl who is a storm.
I guess nothing has changed. I’m too much for Kade to carry, too. A liability. An inconvenience to be managed until I’m no longer needed.
In the suffocating stillness, broken only by my heartache, a strange empathy for the echo-beast strikes—a creature of misunderstood purpose, a force that can’t help what it is. It’s starving. And because of that, it’s hunted and feared.
The tears come faster now, hot and shameful, because I let myself believe, just for a moment, that this time would be different. The way he kissed me—it felt like he needed me more than he needed to breathe.
Was none of it real?
Lying in bed, I cry myself hoarse until my eyes burn.
Eventually, the well runs dry. The listlessness dissipates, leaving a vacuum in its wake. But it doesn’t stay empty for long. A flicker of defiance ignites in the hollow space in my chest.
Something doesn’t add up—the data is contradictory. He said I was his, he worshipped me with a possessive fervor that nearly consumed us both. Then, he called that same moment a professional misstep? Pretended it meant nothing to him?
I know what was between us—there’s no way it meant nothing.
And when you have data that doesn’t make sense, there’s one conclusion to draw: you’re missing a crucial variable. Which means . . . he’s still hiding something.
Goddamn it. The thought that Kade kept so many secrets from me, held me at arm’s length this whole time while I’ve been an open book makes the hurt flare in my chest all over again, threatening to drown out any logical thought. But I won’t let it.
He doesn’t get to do this. He doesn’t get to ignite a forest fire inside me and then act like I’m the hazard, all while holding back essential information.
He thinks I’m a distraction? The uncontrolled factor in his mission?
A problem to be solved? Fine. Then I’ll solve it.
I’ll form my own hypothesis. He and all the ancient texts see the echo-beast as something to be fought.
But we’ve already established that won’t work.
The echo-beast is a chaotic variable, but so am I.
Perhaps that’s not a weakness. Perhaps it’s the key.
But I can’t investigate that theory here. I need resources.
I need the library.
Moving with newfound purpose, I swing my legs out of the bed, leaving the tangled furs and tear-stained pillows without a backward glance. The front door beckons. Beside it sits the small wooden bowl containing Kade’s keys.
My hand hovers over them, hesitating. Am I really going to do this? Just leave, without a word?
Yes, I think, with a little more vehemence than necessary as my hand plunges into the bowl.
The feeling of momentum, of doing something, is all that stands between me and a tidal wave of hurt right now.
If I stay, I’ll just sink deeper. Do I just sit here and wait for him to come back, only to wilt when he looks at me with those distant eyes?
Or maybe he won’t come back at all, and I’ll feel so stupid for even considering it.
No. I can’t. I remember watching my dad’s car pull away like it was yesterday, and I refuse to be the one left behind this time.
I don’t hesitate a second time. I slip out of the warehouse into the damp night air, bracing myself to see Kade loping toward me with that superhuman speed, having heard the slight noise of the door. But as I ease it closed softly behind me, the night is still. He must have really left this time.
To get away from you, says a nasty voice in the back of my mind. But I’ve dealt with this voice before. The best way to silence it is to throw myself into an intellectual pursuit, so as I climb into Kade’s truck, I double down on planning what I’ll research.
The old truck smells like him, but I force myself to ignore it, focusing instead on my hypothesis: chaos is not a weakness, it’s the key. Soon, the miles vanish under the tires, and the city dissolves in the rearview mirror, replaced by dark country roads.
The Warden mansion is a hulking silhouette against the stormy, pre-dawn sky, its Gothic spires like daggers aimed at the heavens.
It feels less like a magical castle now and more like a fortress.
Steeling my resolve, I park the truck and advance toward the massive oak doors, full of purpose and nerves.
I am a magical researcher arriving to use the archives. I have been here before. I belong here.
The iron handle is cold under my palm, and, to my surprise, it turns easily.
The door swings inward, revealing the subdued interior of the entry foyer.
When I take a hesitant step across the threshold, the door slams shut behind me with a deafening boom that echoes through the hall.
Before I can even react, a wall of invisible force erupts from the ground, barring my path with a crackle that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.
I stumble back with a cry—and collide with the exact same crackling resistance behind me.
My hands fly out, only to find that a bubble of immovable magic has completely encircled me.
Panic lances through me. I press my palm against the barrier, but it’s like pushing against solid glass. There’s no give, no weakness. My brilliant plan, halted before I could even begin.
A deep breath keeps the panic at bay. Surely there’s a way out.
Closing my eyes, I reach for the power thrumming beneath my skin.
The crystal mark on my forearm pulses, and I don’t need to look to know that a faint iridescent light is streaming out around me as I try to find the logic that holds this prison together.
If I can just find the underlying organizational principle, perhaps I can un-organize it . . .
“Unless you want to spend the rest of the day picking bits of your own magic out of your hair, I’d recommend against that.
” The smooth voice cuts through my concentration like a knife.
My eyes snap open. Seb materializes from the shadows.
“The wards are sort of particular about guests trying to blast their way in. You know how it is.”
He studies my face, and genuine concern replaces his usual flirtatious smirk as he takes in my disheveled state and the puffiness around my eyes. With a sigh and a complex gesture of his hand, the barrier dissolves.
I stumble forward into the sudden void, catching myself on a decorative table.
“Make a habit of getting into places you shouldn’t?” he says, leaning against the wall.
I clear my throat. “Thank you. I thought I was welcome at this library.”
He cocks his head, his deep blue eyes searching mine. “You are. Maybe not unannounced and alone, though. You’re lucky I was the one on duty. Where’s your watchdog?”
I wrap my arms around myself, a defensive posture. “Kade’s busy. I needed to do some research. Don’t—don’t tell him I’m here.”
Seb’s expression softens with a knowing pity that makes my skin prickle.
“Kade’s idea of keeping something precious safe,” he says quietly, “is to lock it in a vault and then set himself on fire in front of the door. Wouldn’t be my approach, but then again self-immolation isn’t really my thing.
” His eyes hold mine, and I feel like he sees right through me.
“Has he mentioned anything about . . . permanent connections? The kind that choose you, whether you like it or not?” My blank look is all the answer he needs. “Figures.”
He sighs, gesturing for me to follow him deeper into the mansion. “Come on. But—you’re not going to like this—while you can come in, you can’t leave.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just call this place Hotel California,” he says with a lopsided grin, clearly trying to lighten the mood. I glare at him, which only seems to egg him on. “You know, ‘you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave’.”
“Never?!”
“No, not literally never—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head.
Then continues, his tone shifting from playfulness to one of authority.
“Listen, Alanna. You’re radiating magic.
You’re running around without a Warden, and you set off the wards trying to sneak in here.
The others know you’re here, and protocol dictates that you stay until you’ve been cleared.
But hey,” he adds, his smile returning, “look on the bright side. At least we have books.”
Seb gives me a sympathetic nod and gestures toward the grand, arching doorway of the library. “Come on. Whatever answers you’re looking for, they’re in here somewhere.”