Chapter XXVI
XXVI
The strix’s wings span three to five meters, and the strix can fly for extended periods of time without needing to land. The strix is vulnerable to both magic and non-magic flame, and can also be killed by severing the spinal column.
Vic had not returned to the library since the night she found Rachel’s body. She wasn’t sure why she walked there now. After leaving the courtyard, she wandered aimlessly through the castle, meandering until she stared at the imposing face of the archives.
She couldn’t shake the similarity between Rachel’s murder and the attack in Meredith’s study.
She knew the strix was Aren’s doing, that Rachel’s death came down to nothing beyond coincidence.
Rachel had been the unfortunate victim of forces outside her control, collateral damage in a war that hadn’t started yet.
Whether it was Meredith or Aren who orchestrated the manananggal in Meredith’s apartment, Vic had no idea, and she wasn’t sure she cared.
She dwelled instead on the outcomes of the two attacks, how easily one could have become the other.
Vic felt none of the library’s mystique today. The books did not call to her with the promise of forbidden knowledge. She felt no compulsion to pull them down at random and explore. She just felt tired.
She carved the same path she’d taken the last time she’d come, all the way to its fateful conclusion.
When she reached the spot where she’d found Rachel torn apart, Vic stared at the empty floor.
There were no bloodstains marring the carpet.
The nearby books had been wiped clean and returned to their proper places as if nothing had happened.
She wondered what they’d done with the body. Why hadn’t Vic asked?
She would never have the chance now.
Her questions would become as lost to Vic as the books in this room, as her friends and her brother would be. Her part in the story had come to an end, and she would never get to repeat it.
Lightning never strikes the same spot twice.
This time, the voice that spoke in Vic’s mind was not her own. She spun and searched the stacks. Not there, it taunted. Vic rushed to the end of the shelf and scanned the aisle. Not there either.
But there was no one around her, and no one had spoken aloud. The voice had come from inside of her.
Come on, Victoria. You know what’s happening.
Vic recognized that voice. She’d heard it before, though she couldn’t place it.
I thought I was more memorable than that.
The faded Southern accent, the hint of mockery. That was Aren’s voice. Panic bolted up Vic’s spine.
In the dim recesses of her mind, Vic thought she heard a man’s laugh.
“This is the bind,” Vic said. This was what Xan had warned her about. Of course it didn’t exist only for her to pull power through. They were both bound.
The trap swung shut.
What do you think? Aren asked, and Vic stared at the shadowed edge of the bookshelf.
She couldn’t wrap her mind around the thought of Aren speaking without appearing.
She scanned the room for signs of movement, wanting him to materialize around the corner and prove this was all an illusion.
He wasn’t inside her mind; he couldn’t be.
She heard laughter again near the root of her brain.
“How long have you been in there?” Vic asked aloud.
How much have I seen, you mean? Before I decided to speak up? Her conversation with Max, her interaction with Xan. Kissing Xan. He could have been there for all of it, lurking in the corner, laughing at her. The enemy was behind the gates.
I’m not your enemy.
“Is this all it does? Give you a fucking walkie-talkie route to my brain?”
Did you really think you could use my magic without consequences? he asked. Magic is consequences, Victoria.
She thought of the door to Meredith’s apartment, the stone in the training room, all the little times she tried to pull on magic that wasn’t her own. It had never occurred to her that she might be tugging herself closer to the man on the other end of the line.
You opened the door, Aren said, sounding like a shrug. I walked through it.
Vic knew what he meant, the subtle reference to Meredith’s apartment and the door he’d helped open. He’d been in her mind for some time now. She backed away from the books. She had to get out of here.
She saw the library’s exit, the high arch visible over the stacks, and hurried toward it.
You can’t run from me, he warned. I’ll be here no matter where you go.
Vic tried to ignore Aren’s voice as it echoed through her mind. She tried to shove him down, away from her, to where she could pretend none of this was happening.
Your mother wanted you to be powerful. She wanted it very much. I can make that happen.
Max had said something similar, hadn’t he? Meredith might have given up that dream, but Max said he never had.
Aren chuckled, and Vic broke into a run.
I haven’t given up either. Even Shepherd gets something right occasionally. Blind pigs and acorns and all that.
Vic could get out of here. Vic could outrun him.
She could leave the castle and this awful man would stop following her.
He would realize she had no more use to him away from here, and that would be the end of this.
It had to be. She could get away. She could—back to the real world, back to the restaurant, if they’d take her, and forget all of this happened.
“I’m leaving,” she yelled, as if he couldn’t hear the thoughts screaming through her panic.
You can try, he said, a smile in his voice.
But the oddest sensation left her spine, like unseen eyes turning from her, and Vic knew that Aren had gone. Where, she had no idea, but she was alone in her mind once again. She threw open the library door and bolted into the cold hall.
She barreled up to their apartment like a woman possessed, and only dimly did she realize that the castle had not impeded her progress at all. The halls were quiet and still and no one interrupted her as she rushed inside.
“Henry!”
No answer.
A few feet inside the door, she slipped. Vic righted herself and looked down to find a piece of paper between her foot and the stone floor. She picked it up.
Scribbled in a half-assed hand was a note from Sarah.
Something big happened in Vermont. They’ve called the Sentinels away and are evacuating the recruits. They’ll take you to a secure location. Stay safe. —S.
Vic’s heart hammered in her chest. It was the Brotherhood, she knew it was.
Why else would Aren choose this moment to reveal himself?
The Brotherhood had done something, and the Sentinels had left to pick up the pieces.
Vic had been training with them for weeks, and she wanted, more than anything, to help somehow.
The realization that she couldn’t left a knot in her throat.
And where was Henry? Vic hurried into his room, calling for him.
The door was open and the bed was unmade and the drawers of his dresser were half-open and empty.
Henry’s suitcase no longer sat at the foot of the bed.
He was gone.
He’d gone on ahead and left Vic behind.
Had he left with the Sentinels? Surely not. He wasn’t trained—he wasn’t ready. He must have evacuated with the recruits. Why hadn’t he waited for Vic?
Vic knew they’d been drifting apart. Ever since they’d gotten to Avalon, their relationship had changed. A fissure between them, however minor at first, had grown and grown until Vic couldn’t see Henry on the other side.
But how could he leave without her?
She’d asked that question before. Again and again every time Meredith walked out their apartment door.
Vic’s chest felt tight.
She was going to leave anyway. She’d promised Xan last night. But here it was, plain as day. As sure a sign as any of Vic’s inadequacies.
Another door slammed in her face, another person leaving because she didn’t have magic. Another loss, all because she couldn’t belong here.
Vic threw her stuff into her duffel, blinking back tears.
On the threshold of the apartment, Vic remembered that she didn’t own a winter coat.
She shrugged out of Sarah’s borrowed puffer and shivered at the sudden temperature change.
She folded the coat and gloves and stacked them on the kitchen table.
She pulled on the leather jacket she’d brought with her and wanted to scream at the fact that a few weeks ago she’d thought it would be warm enough.
Showed how little she knew, like everything else did.
She put her fourth, and final, stolen dagger on top of the stack and left.
Her walk through the castle was silent, and Vic tried not to look around corners for shadows moving of their own accord.
Whenever she caught her eyes drifting to the darkened edges of the hall, Vic forced herself to keep walking.
She shoved all her feelings—about Xan, about leaving, about the heaviness dragging her into the ground—deep inside of her, like she could will her emotions back where they came from.
It had been only an hour or so since Max left her in the courtyard, but so much had changed. Some emergency had pulled the Sentinels away, and Vic knew they mobilized fast. The recruits were gone, too, and maybe the Elders, and god knew who, if anyone, had stayed behind.
She saw no one else in the hallways, and she felt as though she was the only living creature in the castle.
Until she found the entrance hall and saw a lone black bird watching her.
Max’s raven sat perched on the upper railing, exactly where Max had been waiting for her and Henry when they first arrived.
Vic couldn’t shake the creepiness of the animal’s watchful gaze, or the knowledge that the creature was closer to a god than an actual bird. The souls of eight men lived behind those animal eyes, and Max would join them eventually.
Vic shuddered at the thought and walked on.