Page 40 of Eat. Prey. Love. (Apex Academy Capers #5)

The glow of the computer screen flickers against the lenses of my glasses, a soft hum of electricity whispering secrets in the quiet library. I tap a finger with deliberate care on the mousepad, opening an email that has just chimed into my inbox. My eyes scan the contents quickly, the words from my Smithsonian colleague igniting a flicker of excitement within my chest.

As much as I loathe tech some days, this application is quite useful.

“Examined documents from Apex and Capital Prep,” I murmur to myself, digesting the implications. “Magic Accords... Society families... need more information…”

The message is detailed but tinged with frustration. My walrus counterpart at the huge hybrid library in D.C. believes we have located missing pieces in a puzzle that has long been scattered across the globe. Key documents elude them—documents unmarred by the Council’s heavy-handed editing. History, raw and unfiltered, remains beyond our grasp, hidden away with purposeful intent.

“Of course, the Council would twist the truth,” I grumble, smoke puffing from my nostrils as I consider the implications. The real story behind the Fae’s banishment could change everything we know about the delicate balance between our worlds—and the tale we’ve all been told about why magic users have to be exiled or executed.

This only exacerbates my fear that we have inherited a problem that began with greed and will end in bloodshed.

I lean back in my chair, the ancient wood creaking beneath my weight, and gaze out the window at the stars peeking through the night sky. Somewhere out there lies the key to understanding, to unraveling the Council’s deception, and I am determined to find it. Our mate is tangled in this mess somehow and though we don’t know how, we have to protect her.

Flexing my talons, I fight the urge to smash things in response to our helplessness. Once I’m calm again, the talons recede and I feel the grooves of the keyboard beneath my fingertips as I compose a reply. The aquatic scholar’s belief that more accurate documents are hidden somewhere in Asia sparks a flame of hope within me, but it’s tempered by the reality of our situation.

“See if we can gain access from France,” I type, my digits stabbing the keys as I type. “Electronic access would be ideal, though I suspect a personal touch may be required to uncover these truths.”

Continuing my thought process, I type the information we’ve gathered in, giving only the most necessary details to my friend. The email sent, I recline in my chair and let out a long breath, watching the digital words fly away into the void of cyberspace. Until summer, our wings are clipped by duty; Dolly’s education chains us to l’Academie with an invisible yet unbreakable bond.

Fucking administrative garbage, if you ask me, but I don’t get to make the decisions.

The door creaks open, and Dolly strides in, her lithe body still radiating the energy from her dance class. Her sweat glimmers like morning dew on her skin, and she tosses her hair back in a fluid motion that speaks of rhythm and Giselle. I can’t help but admire her steadfast ability to keep going, even when there are obstacles at every turn. Her stubbornness is almost on par with my own, and that’s saying something.

“We have a lead,” I say as I stand to greet her. The words come out heavier than I intend, burdened by the weight of anticipation and frustration. “My colleague at the Smithsonian finally replied.”

“Spill the tea,” she insists, her eyes dancing as she plops onto the table. “I want to know everything .”

Frowning, I ignore the tea comment so I don’t have to admit that I have no idea what the hell it means. Instead, I pat her knee and smile indulgently. “He believes the academy in Asia may hold unaltered documents about the Magic Accords, but as you know, we’re grounded until summer break.”

“Fuck,” she curses, the expletive sharp and sudden like a crack of thunder. “I hate being the reason we can’t do shit. Being young is cool for a lot of reasons, but it’s a pain in my ass sometimes and not in the good way like this weekend.”

Snorting, I cover my mouth as the laughter shudders through me. Snack size’s descent into Fitz-like innuendo is amusing as hell, and every time she spouts something like that off, it makes me grin. I didn’t do that often before her arrival, and I like the change—despite thinking I wouldn’t. “Well, non-pleasant ass play aside, we still can’t go there to check it out for another two and half months.”

Dolly hops off the table, pacing alongside the row of them in irritation. Her dancer’s feet barely make a sound upon the floor as she moves, and it’s obvious her mind is racing through possibilities. “Then we keep digging here. We found dirt at Cappie and Apex, right? There has to be more under our noses in this damn school.”

She’s right; the secrets of the Council could very well be entombed within these walls, just waiting for us to exhume them.

“Then we’ll get back to it this weekend,” I vow, the librarian in me eager to scour every shelf and shadow. “I’m sure the rest of the family will agree.”

The library door swings open with a gust of wind that tousles the pages of the ancient tome on the other side of my Smackbook. Chess strides in, his cheetah Giselle barely contained within the human guise he wears. Dolly stops pacing, tilting her head to give him a bright smile as he enters. She never fails to look happy when any of us arrive or worried when we leave.

“Rockland didn’t show today,” he announces, his voice laced with a mix of concern and curiosity. “I finished the work she left, but her office was as empty at the end of my shift as it was when I arrived.”

I raise an eyebrow. Rockland’s absence is peculiar, especially after last week’s explosive confrontation between our girl and the self-centered scavenger. It’s odd for her to relinquish control or let her talons slip from any thread of power, even if she’s smarting.

We need to keep an eye on this for certain.

“Perhaps she’s finally taken the hint,” Dolly muses, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards in a hopeful smile. We look at her skeptically and she sighs, kicking her foot over the carpet dejectedly. “ Fine, it’s probably too good to be true. A vulture doesn’t just abandon her hunting grounds—not without plotting her return.”

“Very true,” I murmur, folding my hands together thoughtfully. “You’ll have to make sure you stay on your toes despite her absence.”

Before either of us can present further theories, the sound of heavy footfalls on the stairs punctuate the silence. Rennie enters, his lithe humanoid form slipping into the room with feline Giselle. He left earlier, wanting to glide over the campus as he does several times a day. He’s certain the vampires will return and my mate cannot abide them coming back without us knowing the second they set foot on the grounds.

“Quiet out there,” he grunts. “The forest is still devoid of magic users or bloodsuckers. I’m not sure what they are doing, but they are not here. At least, not right now.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” I reply, feeling a temporary sense of relief at his report. Enemies are plenty, and one less emerging from the shadows grants us respite—however fleeting it may be. “We don’t even know how to fight those assholes. Everything in the records might be completely false.”

“We’re going to continue our search here this weekend, regardless of what activity is going on in the trees,” Dolly declares, her gaze fixed on some distant point only she can see. “If we run into shit we don’t know how to handle, we use everything we have and worst case, we run.”

“Excellent point, ma petite ,” Renard says as he hops onto the bookshelf behind me. “We cannot fret so much about things we do not know that we lose track of the things we must do.”

Turning in my chair, I look up, grinning at him. He leans forward, his rough lips pressing against mine briefly. Dolly comes over, taking her kiss next. She gets a softer, more careful kiss than me, but that’s not surprising. He is fine with being rough in the bedroom when she consents, but he turns into the romantic poet when we’re not behind closed doors.

“Always the bearer of lyrical declarations,” I say, my voice rumbling with appreciation.

“Someone has to be. You’re about as poetic as a bathroom limerick,” Rennie retorts. His humor is a shield—one he wields as deftly as any warrior with a sword. “And our feline friends, except for Chester, are no better.

Dolly’s laughter dances in the air, a silver lining to the cloud of tension that lingers over us. “I think Fitz’s limericks are very poetic. Not suitable for mixed company, but definitely full of rhymes and clever wording.”

“Never tell him that,” I groan. “He’s bad enough as it is. You’ve spoiled that tiger so much that even his twin can’t rein him in. We’re just lucky he’s focused on working on your Games training so he doesn’t bounce all over my library like that cartoon tiger.”

“Speaking of which...” Chess interjects. “Dolly, you need to fuel up for your afternoon classes. Let me snag you something that won’t make your ‘coach’ have a fit.”

“Ugh, fine,” she groans melodramatically, but there’s gratitude in her eyes. “Nothing too heavy, though. Dance and Games training are very different athletics, Chessie. I don’t want to barf on someone’s shoes.”

Once Chess heads off on his culinary mission, we all turn our attention back to the ancient scrolls and digital archives scattered across the table. Our focus narrows to the task at hand—unveiling the intertwined history of the Fae exile and those Council families shrouded in deceit. Time slips by, marked only by the rustle of pages and the muted clicks of a keyboard until Chess returns, bearing a tray laden with carefully chosen snacks. Dolly picks at the assortment with a discerning eye, settling on the meats and fruits .

It’s hysterical how much our bunny hates carrots, but I don’t dare mention it, or she’ll stomp away.

“Thanks, Chessie,” she murmurs before taking a bite.

Pushing back from my table, I sigh as I look at my companions. “If my colleague is correct, finding anything unaltered by the Council in this mess will be impossible. Our best bet to figure out what the Fae want lies within the annals of the Asian shifter academy. There may be records untouched by Western tampering—chronicles that speak truth amidst the silence.”

“True. But we have quite a bit of information to go through here still. That’s not counting anything we find once we get into the hidden bunker here,” Rennie murmurs, his gaze tracing the lines that span years and empires. “While I’d love to just wing it across the continent to look on my own, I doubt they'll appreciate an unknown gargoyle dropping in unannounced.”

“None of us have contacts there,” Chess adds, a note of frustration coloring his usually calm demeanor. “We can’t risk reaching out blindly, not with stakes this high.”

“No, we cannot trust people who are not long-time allies, I agree.” I scrutinize the ancient timeline spread out before me, scales glittering faintly under the library’s soft luminescence. My fingers trace over dates and events, a pattern emerging that sends a ripple of unease through my being. “Wait… look at this. These aren’t just random occurrences.”

Dolly comes closer, peering over my shoulder as I note the specific events in Asia on each of the three timelines, then point at the ones Rennie and Chess have put on the boards. She frowns, tilting her head. “I don’t get it.”

“The events are deliberate—spaced out across centuries. It’s as if... as if magic users have been testing the waters, probing for the right moment to reemerge. ”

That stops all three of us in our tracks and we look at one another for a moment.

“You think they’ve been planning a return this whole time? Without anyone catching on?”

“Centuries of preparation,” I reply, my voice grave. “It’s not simply about returning—it’s about choosing the perfect time—a convergence of circumstances that could be exploited.”

Chess furrows his brow, his tail twitching in thought. “That means every historical event we’ve studied might contain a clue about their motives. If we can decipher their pattern...”

“Then we might anticipate their next move,” Rennie interjects. “What we don’t know is how Dolly fits into all this.”

“Yes,” I agree, feeling the weight of history pressing upon us. “The plot we’re uncovering spans far beyond our immediate troubles. It’s a tapestry woven throughout time, encompassing more than just the Fae exile or the Council’s machinations.”

“That suggests,” Dolly says, her fists clenching in a mix of anger and anticipation, “that there are pred families, outside of the Council’s influence, who may hold pieces of this puzzle.”

“Exactly,” I nod, meeting her gaze. “We must extend our search, seek alliances with those uninvolved with the Council—especially within the mythical shifter community.”

“Uncovering allies among them will be crucial,” Chess says softly. “Their histories might be untainted by the Council’s censorship.”

The weight of the cheetah’s words settle over me like a shroud. “We’ll need to converse with the gargoyles at some point.” I glance around the room, my eyes landing on my mate, waiting for him to weigh in.

“We may have to seek out the dragons, as well,” he replies with an arched brow .

I shift uncomfortably, looking at the pattern in the wood on the table. The thought of extending our inquiries to the families that exiled us makes my dragon angry. Neither of our previous families are known for their cooperation. And they sure as fuck haven’t tried to contact either of us since we were released from our groups—except to facilitate our assignment to Apex.

At least, I think our families were involved. I can’t imagine who else would have paved the way for it.

Dolly stops mid-reach for a parchment, her hand hovering in the air. “You mean we’re actually going to meet?—”

“Some of our relatives, yes.” I can’t meet her eyes, my own gaze drawn to a tapestry depicting the flight of dragons under an Eastern moon. “Most dragons dwell in Egypt, basking in its sun-baked sands. Except...”

“Except?” Chess prompts, tilting his head with feline curiosity.

“Except one,” I finish. “One who chose silk over sand for her retirement—my grandmother, the former Empress.”

Silence blankets the room. It’s one thing to plan a journey to Asia, quite another to face the prospect of knocking on the lair of dragon royalty in voluntary exile.

“Will she see us?” Dolly asks, breaking the stillness.

“See us? Perhaps. Help us?” I exhale a puff of smoke, a nervous habit from centuries past. “That remains to be seen. She’s... particular about her solitude.”

“Then we must be equally particular about our approach,” Rennie says, his tone firm.

“Indeed,” I murmur, imagining the reunion.

The last time I saw her—a millennium ago—she’d imparted wisdom as ancient as the stars. With a heavy heart, I steel myself for the task ahead. Her knowledge could be the ember that ignites our hope—or the flame that consumes it .

Fuck, I hate the assholes who set up this bullshit rebellion and everyone else involved.