Page 19 of Beastkin
He clapped me on the shoulder. “My office is always open if you need to talk.”
I gave him a half smile before heading toward the locker room. But I stopped only a few feet away before I turned back.
“What did you do about the someone that disappeared on you?” I asked cautiously, not really expecting an answer.
A smile crossed his face, filled with pride. “I hunted his ass down and made him explain.”
I nodded, smiling back.
That didn’t sound like a bad idea.
Chapter 8
Phoenix
Iwaited until Thomas had gone to class, complaining of an upset stomach to throw him off my trail. He left with a huff, irritated that I wouldn’t let him perform a simple spell to cure me. I told him it was a genetic thing, something that magic couldn’t fix. That seemed to appease him.
The moment he was gone, I sprang up from the bed and got dressed. It was time to go to the library and see if my hunch about my parents modifying my memory was correct.
The pendant around my neck felt unnaturally cold against my skin as I hurried across campus. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of autumn leaves and ancient magic that permeated the academy grounds. Few students were out at this time, most of them already in class for the day, which suited me perfectly. The fewer people who saw me heading to the library, the better.
My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a reminder of the anger that had been building since I’d first suspected my memories had been tampered with. Who gives anyone the right to mess with someone else’s mind? Even if they were my parents, even if theythought they were protecting me, it was violation in its purest form. Up until now I had trusted them, at least in some capacity. I trusted they wouldn’t hurt me, that they only wanted what was best for me. But now I realized all of that might be a lie. Only time and a spell would prove if my trust was built on a foundation of lies.
The library loomed ahead, a gothic structure of dark stone and stained-glass windows that depicted various magical disciplines. Inside, the scent of old parchment and binding glue greeted me. The main hall was empty except for a few early risers hunched over their studies.
“Good morning, Mr. Emberwood,” the witch librarian said, eyeing me over her spectacles. “Early research today?”
I forced a smile. “Yes, Mrs. Wilcox. Just some independent study for an early class project.”
She nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer. I made my way to the section on memory and cognitive magics, careful to keep my movements casual. The library had high vaulted ceilings that seemed to whisper with the collected knowledge of centuries. Rows upon rows of ancient texts lined the walls, their spines worn from countless hands seeking wisdom.
After scanning the shelves, I pulled several promising volumes.Advanced Memory Manipulation,Ethical Boundaries in Mind Magic, andRecognizing and Reversing Cognitive Alterations. My fingers trembled slightly as I carried them to a secluded table in the corner, partially hidden behind a tall bookshelf.
I opened the first book, my eyes scanning the pages hungrily. According to the text, memory modifications often left subtle traces, dreams that felt too real, emotional responses that seemed disproportionate, or knowledge gaps that couldn’t be explained. I’d experienced all three. My suspicions grew stronger with each paragraph I read.
“There are several methods to detect memory tampering,” I murmured, tracing the words with my finger. “The most reliablebeing a reversal incantation performed with black salt and a focus object from the original memory.”
I cursed under my breath. I didn’t haveanythingfrom my time in Oregon. Everything tied to that place had been left behind. And the boy from my memories was too blurry to get a fix on. I had no idea who he was.
“Phoenix?” a timid voice said, pulling me from my thoughts.
I looked up to see the Beastkin I’d run into the day before, a pained but angry look on his face. My heart slammed against my ribs as I stared up at him. The massive Beastkin filled the space between the bookshelves, his dark fur catching the filtered light from the stained-glass windows. Those amber eyes I’d glimpsed yesterday were fixed on me with an intensity that made my mouth go dry.
“H-Hi,” I started, gulping audibly. I was having a strong emotional response to this man, but I didn’t understand why. “I think we met yesterday, right?”
His jaw clenched, and I watched as his hands slowly curled into fists at his sides. The air between us seemed to crackle with tension, and I had the strangest urge to reach out and touch him, to somehow soothe whatever pain I could see flickering behind those amber eyes.
“Met,” he repeated, his voice rough with an emotion I couldn’t identify. “Right. We met.”
Something in his tone made my chest ache. The pendant around my neck suddenly flared with heat, so intense I had to resist the urge to yank it away from my skin. I pressed my palm against it through my shirt, trying to muffle the burning sensation.
“Are you... are you alright?” I asked, genuinely concerned by the way he was looking at me. Like I’d somehow wounded him just by existing.
He let out a bitter laugh that made my stomach twist. “Am I alright? That’s rich, Phoenix.”
The way he said my name sent shivers down my spine. There was familiarity there, intimacy even, like he’d spoken it a thousand timesbefore. But that was impossible. I would remember someone like him. Wouldn’t I?
“How do you know my name?” I whispered, my fingers tightening on the book in front of me.