Page 25 of Gifted Destiny (Hidden Libraries #3)
Zosia
T he hole in my chest yawns like an abyss as the physical distance grows between Bren and me. I feel more optimistic about moving forward, but the urgency to gather my guardians as closely as possible hasn’t abated.
I can’t explain why I feel like time is running out, but I wish the library could stay closed. Even if it was only for a day, we could spend time together, and I could get to know them as individuals. We could cuddle on the couch, watch movies, or play games. We could reinforce the emotional and physical bonds between us.
A lazy day isn’t in my future, however. The enemy’s emissary is on our doorstep, and I feel like I’m entering a battle. In a real skirmish, standing on our home turf should give us an advantage. Additionally, one of the detectives is a neutral party. Despite my mental encouragement, my unease remains when I finally order the doors to open.
The few waiting students barely glance in our direction as they veer toward their goals. They appear intent on answering a question or finishing an assignment they’d been pondering. I’ve always thought that the mission to find the right story or fact resembled a sacred quest, and I love being able to help them. Even if it all falls apart, I will remember this feeling and enjoy my brief moment as a librarian.
The BSP detectives allow the most determined students to check out their materials before approaching, but they hold my constant attention. According to lore, they’re not related by blood but cloned. This makes their eerie similarities seem more unnatural in my eyes. Pure science often creates defects in the cloning process. Is a combination of magic and science required or is it all magic?
Although they look exactly alike, their behaviors separate them. The one we don’t trust resembles a bull in a tight pen. His muscles are wound tightly with tension as he paces the small seating area, and his partner’s attempts to soothe him go unheeded.
The detective’s frustrated anger makes the library and my mates nervous. Kodi hovers close behind me, although he remains invisible to the students. Garrett somehow manages to place his body between the detectives and me the entire time they’re here. Like yesterday, Avery stands guard at my side and Bren waits in the archive room behind us.
When the trickle of students slows, the two detectives, Marks and Parks, approach the circulation desk. I’ve created a mnemonic to remember them – Marks is mellow and Parks is pissed. Although other students have entered, Marks must have compiled a list of those who were waiting for the library to open because he waits until the last one has completed their business. I watch the patron leave with envy, wishing I could follow them.
I’m sitting in the rolling chair behind the desk, and I’ve cranked the seat’s height up as high as it allows. The library has provided an ergonomic footrest to reduce the strain on my thighs. Her thoughtfulness is greatly appreciated, but her care feels lavish. I wish everyone had magical workplace accommodations.
“Ms. Abrams.” Detective Marks greets me with a curt nod. Garrett now flanks my other side, and the nondescript man’s gaze flickers to him, then Avery, then Kodi hovering just behind me. He might only be addressing me, but he knows I’m not alone. My mates’ emotions remain steady, but each of them has the capacity for violence. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us again today.”
“Of course. I apologize that our conversation was cut short yesterday.” The polite response is automatic. He doesn’t mention the phone call, and I follow his lead. “What can I help you with?” I might be polite, but I’m not going to make this easy.
“How did you lie to us?” Parks-the-pissed shoves his partner aside and tries to lean over the desk. I barely manage to prevent myself from recoiling. The counter’s width prevents him from getting too close; the goblins explained that it’s for the librarian’s protection. At the time, I’d been amused that someone might be angry over books. I understand now.
Garrett’s growl harmonizes with Avery’s hiss as the detective reaches for me. Pissed is no longer an apt descriptor. Parks appears manic and slightly unhinged. His eyes are bloodshot and his hair is disheveled. Detective Marks gently pulls his partner back, but he doesn’t prevent him from speaking.
“I didn’t lie,” I confirm after I’ve recounted yesterday’s incident in my mind. It seems like a lifetime ago.
“Another lie. Even the great and powerful Librarian cannot lie to the BSP. Your first lie was when you claimed that Brennan Addington wasn’t here. Where is he if not here? How did you lie? Who are you?” Spittle flies from the detective’s lips, but the counter’s width protects me from it as well.
Garrett’s body doesn’t move, but his muscles bunch and jump. The new bond clarifies his emotions, and I see that his fury is nothing compared to the feral detective. The griffin’s frightening expression stems from his overwhelming drive to protect his brother and me. My hand on his forearm only eases a small portion of his tension.
The antique clock behind us ticks past more than one minute while I consider my answer. The other detective is clearly irritated by his partner’s behavior, but he seems unwilling or unable to do anything about it.
The calm response I’d composed isn’t what emerges from my lips – like usual. “Why do you keep asking about Brennan Addington? How is it relevant? Are your orders to find him or the culprit responsible for the phenomenon?” My direct tone is accompanied by a shrewd gaze. “What did Jonathan Addington offer you? What did he threaten? Who are you really working for?”
Parks’ muddy brown eyes widen as my questions drive him off the counter between us. I search his reaction for emotions or signs of enchantment or coercion, but he manages to maintain his composure.
“I am here on behalf of the BSP,” he objects in a weaker voice than before. His anger has dulled, but he doesn’t appear inclined to offer more. His gaze noticeably avoids his partner’s interest.
“I have not lied,” I sigh. If I weren’t bolstered by my mates, I’d already be tired and nursing a headache. “There is no one named Brennan Addington on the premises.”
“Ms. Abrams is telling the truth, just as she did yesterday.” I’m uncertain whether Marks is talking to his partner or simply stating a fact, but his next question is clearly meant for me. “Can you describe the nature of the strange phenomenon that happened yesterday morning at eleven o’clock?” His question might be verbatim from yesterday, which explains how the BSP detectives earned their credibility.
“There was a storm,” I reply with a small shrug.
Marks nods. “And is there a weather mage within this library? Their name is secondary to their abilities at this point of the investigation.”
Although it feels childish, I cross my fingers under the desk and out of sight of everyone – even my guardians. It’s a futile plea for luck as I prepare to reveal my guardian’s abilities in the presence of a potential enemy. I am tired of the wordplay and need resolution. “I cannot say with any certainty that one of my guardians is a weather mage. However, there is a possibility that his abilities contributed to the phenomenon.”
I take a deep breath. The mellow detective’s gaze urges me to continue, and Parks’ interest renews. “For the safety of Apocrypha and all others in the vicinity, the great library has prepared a contract. This contract states that my guardian will transfer his power to the library when his magic reaches a dangerous level. This transfer should deflect any further threat of danger.” My words are truthful, but I offer no guarantees.
“I’ll need to review a copy of this contract,” Marks says. His voice remains level and calm even as the other detective tries to flay me with his gaze.
“An original,” Parks interjects abruptly with avarice in his gaze. “We cannot be assured of a copy’s authenticity.”
A shiver of warning courses down my spine, but I’m uncertain how to prevent this detective from viewing the original contract without the book. I blink, and the thick book appears on the desk in front of me. I still haven’t decided when the book pops into existence on the desk in front of me. Both detectives act as if they are accustomed to seeing objects appear and disappear, but I’ve never seen the contract book without the goblins.
Garrett and Avery know what I need without any signal from me. They each support one elbow and help me rise. For some reason, I think standing is better during whatever is about to happen. Adrenaline makes my heart thud loudly, and I’m surprised the shifters can’t hear it. Perhaps they can.
I won’t have the strength to support myself and lift the massive book onto the elevated counter, so I gesture to Garrett. The shifter picks the book up but hesitates before placing it on the counter. I share the nervousness thrumming along our bond. The tome is ancient and contains meticulous records of the agreements signed by every librarian and guardian in history. It’s as vital to the library as her magic.
Garrett sets the book on the counter but hovers over it. I lean forward, too, as if my presence can protect it. Avery’s steady grip on my elbow lends me emotional and physical strength. Kodi paces in the air behind us, his energy crackling with agitation. Bren might be nervous, but I’m uncertain, and the lack of his bond feels like a grave mistake.
I hold my breath. The thick cover opens, and the pages flip to the designated contract without allowing a glimpse of ink on the previous pages.
The trustworthy detective, Marks, leans forward to skim the contract, and his hands remain clasped behind his back. After several tense minutes, he nods and takes a step to the side. Detective Parks leans across the table, but his hands are not hidden.
Awareness pricks me, and I shout a warning just as the detective reaches for the book, his eyes glittering with intent. Parks snatches the massive book … and his hands clasp around nothing. The next few minutes pass faster than my brain can process it.
Parks growls with frustration when he can’t grasp the book, and his hands glow blue. Mage fire. The flames spark a fear within me that borders on post-traumatic. The bone-deep terror makes my knees weak and my breath quicken, but I can’t recall a reason for the association.
While I’m shuddering, Garrett is a blur of motion. In two steps, he uses the desk to vault his bulk over the counter and onto the detective. Beside me, Avery is growling with fangs bared. In front of me, Kodi is hovering over the book like a spectral umbrella, his body crackling with frenetic energy. Somewhere nearby, the unmistakable thud of a book hitting the floor precedes a shrill scream.
It only takes a second for all of this to happen and the library to recover. The book disappears, taking the suffocating fear with it. Kodi grunts with approval as it blinks out of sight and shoots back into the air, revealing the chaos beyond. Garrett straddles the would-be thief. The back of his neck ripples with the appearance of feathers before returning to flesh. His growl vibrates through the air.
The detective under him appears defeated and small, and his hands no longer glow. I take several deep breaths, reassuring myself that the book is safe and the fire is extinguished.
My heartbeat still races with the combined adrenaline from my mates and myself. Somewhere behind me, Bren’s power spikes in response to the near catastrophe. He hasn’t exited the small archival room, but he must be watching. Even without a mate bond, I can sense his yearning to help.
Detective Marks blinks as he processes what just happened. His expression is weary but resigned as he retrieves a length of chain from his impressive multi-pocketed belt. The metal links glow with the presence of magic. Garrett automatically shies away from them, and I feel the same instinctive aversion from a distance.
“If you’ll permit me?” Marks’ attitude isn’t subservient, but it isn’t commanding either as he stands over Garrett and his partner. My shifter mate adjusts his weight and flips the detective over as if the man weighs no more than a bag of flour. Parks doesn’t say a word.
“Detective Parks, you’re being restrained on behalf of the Bureau of Supernatural Phenomena for violating an artifact of power’s chain of custody. I hereby relieve you of your rank and magical power.”
“I didn’t want ….” The prone detective begins, his voice muffled against the floor.
“Please reserve any comments for the investigator in charge of your case,” Detective Marks interrupts. Parks opens his mouth, but Marks loops the chain around his wrists. I don’t see a clasp or lock, but the links glow and hold tight, melding together to form a tight bond. The moment the chain is secure, the former detective’s protests and attitude disappear. He doesn’t resist when Garrett hauls him to his feet unceremoniously.
After Parks is bound physically and magically, Marks turns back to me. “The contract is sufficient for the Bureau’s needs at this time, Ms. Abrams. You and your guardians are free to go about your business.”
I fall back into my chair, and only Avery’s assistance prevents it from rolling away from my graceless arrival. Bren is safe. The mantra replays like a welcomed song in the background while Marks continues.
“You have my sincerest apologies regarding the Bureau’s blatant disrespect for the library and your title. Although I needed evidence of my partner’s duplicity, I regret the distress it caused.”
I blink at his nuanced words and uncover his unspoken meaning. The Bureau’s members are supposedly incorruptible, so only incontrovertible evidence would suffice. Still, he hadn’t expected the nearly disastrous consequences.
I fidget with the pens on my desk as I contemplate my next words. “I might have some useful information on another matter.” I don’t add more, uncertain if the turncoat can hear us. His stillness mimics the gargoyles, but I can’t assume that he’s unaware.
Either Marks has perfected a stony expression or he’s unsurprised by my admission. “I shall return for a conversation after my ex-partner has been remanded into my superiors’ care.”
I nod again. Parks might not have acted alone, but I want no part of it; the Bureau’s affairs are their own. When Marks gestures to his former comrade, the man follows like a puppet on a string. His eyes are blank and his face is slack. Is the magic chain capable of doing that to anyone, or is it specific to BSP employees? I am in Tremayne’s debt. His arrival and subtle nudges yesterday prevented Bren from enduring the same treatment.
Shortly after the detectives leave, several students milling around the entrance also escape. Sometime during the excitement, the doors had locked without my instruction. It must have been an automatic response to the threat.
The few students remaining whisper to each other. Providing the academy with ample gossip and drama wasn’t on my list of duties, but I can’t seem to prevent it.