Page 27 of Gifted Destiny (Hidden Libraries #3)
Kodi
I ’m not certain that I understand what Zosia feels, but I know she isn’t okay. Her energy and strength are being co-opted – like she can’t tap into her reserves. My ghostly spirit doesn’t offer any energy, but I’m certain Garrett has extra.
Our nightly activities robbed her of sleep, but she seemed perfectly fine at the beginning of her shift. I can feel her vitality waning through the bond, though, and the descent seems unnatural. None of us wants to leave our mate, but we’ll accomplish our goals more quickly that way. Since Bren needs help containing his magic, he stays by her side.
I’m still getting used to the evolving friendship with the other men. The only friend I’ve ever had was Zosia. Technically, a friend is a friend despite their anatomy. However, I can’t deny that it feels different. It’s unnerving when we automatically veer into different areas after a single, wordless exchange.
Garrett begins on the first floor and Avery sprints toward the fourth with vampiric speed. I fly to the eighth because I believe I’m at a disadvantage without any physical senses.
As I zip up and down the aisles, I realize my mistake. My greatest asset is my bond to the library, not a sense of smell or touch. Although the building lays still and quiet, I feel the energy in every shelf, chair, and piece of wood. I want to marvel at this new connection, but my worry for Zosia gives me a sense of urgency.
The new bond is strange, especially when I’m incorporeal. Items typically carry little meaning, solidity, or presence while I’m in my ghostly state. The library, however, is more than an item or thing. Sage feels as real and as infinite as Zosia and it isn’t because of its material aspect. The structure of stone and wood, the paper, the furniture, or the books – these are inconsequential.
I can’t define what holds me or attracts me … it might be magic, but it isn’t like any magic I’ve ever encountered. The library is like the sun. Without her, our world wouldn’t exist or thrive.
I chuckle to myself as I finish my scan of the eighth floor. Bren’s magic might have scrambled my leftover brains because my thoughts don’t make sense. They’re also very conceited when I evaluate them from a different angle. I just theorized that our planet would be nothing without the library – that I am now a part of. If Bren could read my mind, he’d spout several quotes at me.
I glance toward the tenth floor as I float to the ninth. Mist forms a nearly impenetrable wall and the magical security I couldn’t see yesterday shines a bright orange. The arcane floor has its own security guard and its protection is many times stronger, so we haven’t considered searching it. I don’t see Finatan, though. I haven’t seen any of the goblins today and hope the ugly little creatures are okay.
The ninth floor is dedicated to social and political science and receives little attention. It’s no wonder considering the books are huge, ugly, and require a translation from legal jargon to normal words. I bet Apocrypha’s elite students receive their own version of the law from their parents and biased teachers.
As I search for the disturbance bothering Zosia, it comes into sharper focus. I don’t know when the shift occurred – perhaps when that idiot detective tried to grab the book; the change was so subtle that it took several hours to register. I can’t remember the taste of spoiled food, but I remember when something was slightly off – this feels like that.
I’m about to call the ninth floor a bust when a strange pulling sensation in my gut stops me. I think it’s instinctual, but I haven’t had instincts since I died. Something necessary for survival isn’t necessary after death. The tug insists that I stay on this floor – the anomaly is here.
I don’t question my intuition as I restart my search from the beginning. Similar to my first inspection, my thoughts swarm like bees. I worry that the others will think I’m slacking, that Zosia isn’t safe, that the goblins don’t want me here ….
The doubts are so intense and overpowering that they’re not normal in my ghostly form. I recognize the difference between my usual state of distraction and this outside influence. A spell or enchantment is attempting to waylay me, but the magic didn’t factor in my stubborn nature. I defied eternal rest to sleep with the woman I love; if necessary, I can search these shelves for centuries.
If the library allowed dust to accumulate, many of these shelves would be concealed under several layers. Some of the texts look like they’ve never been touched. Although I can’t acquire entire transcripts like Zosia, I can access general information. Several volumes define obsolete laws that existed centuries ago and some describe military formations in such detail that boredom threatens to erase me permanently.
A few books carry more magic than others do. Mages can spell the images to move or help the reader retain knowledge with less difficulty. I’ve never engaged in formal education, but I bet both magics are valuable.
I’ve almost reached the end of my second pass and each remaining book makes me doubt my already questionable instincts. Then, in the middle of shelf 9.MH.10, a tickle assaults the back of my neck. I shouldn’t feel anything because I’m currently incorporeal.
I whirl around, grasping for the offender, but I’m alone. Nothing has changed; I can’t even see any dust motes swirling in the air. The tingling sensation remains, though, and I can’t scratch the itch without a body.
I stand in the middle of the aisle and close my eyes, focusing on my connection to the library. It feels dampened, and I wonder if this rogue magic is blocking it. Instead of looking for something out of place, I search for an obstruction.
It’s not obvious, so I meander down the aisle again. Just past the midpoint, the tickle becomes a sting. My ghostly form shudders and shivers; the sensation reminds me of when Zosia hurls something at me. I can prepare to pass through solid matter, but the reverse is unsettling.
I open my eyes. The shelf in front of me bears multiple copies of what appears to be the same book. It’s a set of military encyclopedias cataloging tactics, formations, and other dull topics. The only difference is a number instead of a title, and the uniformity of the wallpaper-like covers, size, and description makes my eyes cross. My brain really wants them to be a single entity.
I scan the shelf four times before I realize two volumes bear the title XV, which I think is fifteen in Roman numerals. I frown and search the entire lot again, looking for other duplications. Maybe fifteen requires two volumes?
Now that the book has caught my attention, though, it won’t let it go. It’s odd in other ways I can’t explain, except that it might be … glowing.
As I reach for the strange book, the ashen color of my hand reminds me that I can’t touch it in this form. Calling for the others along the bond would be easy, but I don’t want to alarm them if it’s nothing.
Regardless of whether the book presents a true threat or not, I’m useless to Zosia and the others if I can’t do anything on my own. I concentrate on the person I love the most, and my chest automatically warms as I remember the joy and contentment she gives me. My skin prickles when I contemplate the monumental opportunity I’ve been given – involved in her life as more than just a sarcastic bystander.
My solid form surfaces differently this time. The change starts in my mate mark, sizzling along the lines of the huge, swirling knot before spreading outward. Thankfully, a raging hard-on isn’t necessary every time. My dick twitches because lust supports the foundation of my solidity, but love is the ultimate catalyst. I love Zosia more than I loved life.
The tingle reaches the tips of my fingers and toes, and I fill my lungs several times while adjusting to the rush of sensation. Breath isn’t necessary, but it’s reflexive and calming. My physical senses aren’t overwhelmed this time because the floor is abnormally quiet and my sense of smell remains nonexistent.
The ambient magic from the floor above me nudges the edges of my consciousness, and a soft breeze ruffles my hair. There are no open windows and I haven’t glimpsed any vents or grates, but the library somehow maintains a steady current of freshly filtered air.
Although I’ve expressed my gratitude multiple times already, I mutter more appreciation for the new clothes. The shirt is softer, the pants are looser, and the boots are the right size. Besides my clothes and hair, the physical manifestation of my body is less intrusive than I remember. Digestive processes, hunger, thirst, and aches or pains distract the living, but I don’t experience any of these.
I shake out my newly reformed limbs and widen my stance, preparing to separate the copycat book from its fellows. My solidity enhances my suspicion that it’s not right. The entire set appears untouched, and I doubt the tomes are in high demand. Does the author – Admiral Benedict VonGertren – regret the time he spent on the thirty volumes? Or did the Admiral possess the ability to speed-write?
A wave of dread overwhelms me, but it’s too late. My fingers make contact with the leather binding. A yelp of shocked pain echoes down the aisle as a burning wave of electrical magic causes my muscles to spasm uncontrollably. The unpredictable movements rattle the book from between its companions, and it falls to the floor.
For a fleeting second, I’m overwhelmed with regret for treating a book so callously. The pain quickly banishes that thought.
Fuck. It hurts.
Unlike running into the door or being shocked by Bren’s magic, this pain rivals the intensity of last night’s orgasms. That felt so good and right, but this is all bad and wrong. I cradle my throbbing hand against my chest, but I’m no longer solid. The pain ebbs the longer I’m incorporeal. Instead of agony, it subsides into static numbness.
I mutter a string of curses that would make Zosia blush and see that the book is lying open instead of closed. As I lean over it, something dashes across the page. What in the magical fuck …?
“Are you all right? I heard you yell. I also think I felt something.” Garrett’s low voice nearly scares me into a second death.
I didn’t hear the shifter approach because I’m entirely focused on my discovery. I know I didn’t imagine the movement. The cursed book appears like a complete duplicate. The open pages explain how to construct special armor for partially transformed shifters. The text is more interesting than I’d suspected because magic and supernatural traits alter battle tactics.
“What are you doing? What’s that?”
“Don’t touch it!” The scream is instinctive and louder than I intend because Garrett has actually reached for it. He jerks back, gaping at me. If it hurt a ghost, it could definitely do harm to the living. “It’s a book, but there’s something in it.”
“Words?”
I glare at the shifter, but his sarcasm hides his rattled confusion. Can he sense the wrongness too? I’m more prepared when Avery glides noiselessly into the aisle, but he maintains a safe distance.
Before I can explain, the flap of wings signals Zosia’s arrival in sphinx form. Bren arrives at the same time, and the narrow aisle can barely accommodate us. I hover in the air several feet above the book, prepared to protect the others at a moment’s notice.
Once we’re all assembled, Zosia asks the first question. “What book is that?” Her human nose twitches as she sniffs the air, and her cat ears flatten against her head. It’s adorable.
“The ghost says not to touch it. He thinks there’s something in it.”
Now that we’re bonded through Zosia and the library, I realize something. Garrett’s normal tone sounds judgmental, but his emotions don’t match. He must have a resting bitch voice – if that’s a thing.
“It’s dangerous. There was a spell protecting it, so it took me forever to find, but the spell isn’t like the ones on the tenth floor. When I pulled it off the shelf, it hurt. It really hurt and automatically forced me back into ghost form. It fell open like that, but I saw something move across the pages.”
“Are you all right?” My mate waits for my curt nod before turning her intense gaze onto the book. Her tail twitches with short, jerky movements, but her paws remain firmly planted.
“Kodi is right. No one should get any closer to it than we are already.” Another delicate sniff provokes a scowl. “I think this is what I sensed. Can’t you smell that?” She directs her question at everyone but me. Avery sniffs elegantly, and his expression sours.
I question Garrett’s intelligence when he inhales so deeply that his chest expands. It’s immediately followed by coughing and gagging. I wince. The library won’t appreciate it if he regurgitates his protein shake all over her books. Thankfully, he manages to prevent recreating that horrifying scene from The Exorcist.
“What do you smell?” I ask. I can’t smell anything even when I gain solidity, but I don’t miss it. I can’t remember the sense being very useful when I was alive.
“Death,” Zosia replies in a flat, ominous tone. My distaste for the book increases.
Bren has circled around the row to stand opposite the others. Blue sparks no longer fizzle on his skin, but I can feel his magic just under the surface of his usual energy. This is a new skill, but I attribute it to his gift of power instead of the bond.
“Have you seen any of the goblins?” The mage asks while glancing sideways at me.
“Nope. Ah!” I point my wispy finger at the book. “There! It did it again!”
“I didn’t see anything,” the shifter grunts. Zosia doesn’t say anything. She was looking at Bren when the shadow dashed across the page.
The sightless vampire is the last person I expect to confirm my vision. “Kodi is correct. The book contains something … substantial. The manifestation is fragile, as if it’s not entirely here. Ironically, it reminds me of you.”
The vampire’s silver gaze finds me without fail. It’s the perfect opportunity to joke about how I’m definitely not all there , but my curiosity overwhelms my comedic ability.
“Is it another ghost?” Would I feel a kinship with another spirit just because they’re like me? I didn’t expect to meet another, considering how rare we are supposed to be.
“Not exactly.” Avery pauses as he considers his words. A day or two ago, I might have been surprised by his perception and wisdom, but no longer. He might act unassuming, but he’s as powerful as Garrett and Bren in his own way.
“The energy shares a similarity with a soul, but it’s very weak and possibly tainted by decay.”
I don’t know whether the shiver belongs to me or if it’s a ripple from the others’ emotions. Since bonding with Zosia, I have lost track of whether I’m solid or not. I feel the urge to pat myself down like a forgetful person. Wallet? Keys? Body?
“A trapped soul?” Zosia’s eyes widen and her ears flatten again. Her revulsion and fear mimic mine, and her question echoes my thoughts. “Is the book imitating a tether?”
Her chin dips, and her wings ruffle with agitation as she sinks back on her haunches. “Where are the goblins? Why does the library feel farther away than usual?” Her concerns gush as she shares her thoughts aloud. “At first, I thought the goblins might be angry after the detective tried to grab the contract book. Now, I’m worried something more than this book might be wrong. This … thing … doesn’t really feel like a book.” She lifts her paw toward the nearest shelf before staring at it in confusion. For a moment, she’s forgotten she doesn’t have fingers. “All of these other books are in my head, but that one is not.” She jerks her chin at the malevolent tome.
The others may also find her cute faux pas amusing, but I’m probably the only one who creates the horrible joke. They are smarter than I am and probably know that pas doesn’t mean cat foot .
“I know the copyright information for this book and the date it arrived in the library.” Zosia nudges a random book on the shelf beside her with the knuckles of her front foot. “I can recite any passage and tell you that it’s been removed from the premises twice. But that one ….” She glares at the book that shocked the metaphorical – or metaphysical – shit out of me. “That is not the fifteenth volume of Military Tactics and Strategies for Supernaturals. It doesn’t possess any arrival or circulation history. Any information I have in my head is for the real fifteenth volume.”
Her ears droop. I want to comfort her, but I’m not solid. Garrett is the closest. He crouches and gently rubs the nape of her neck, and she leans into him.
“I just wish the goblins or the library could tell us what to do,” she finishes sadly. Although we wait several minutes, the goblins don’t arrive.
Their absence makes the entire situation feel worse. I want to hold her and tell her everything will be all right, but I’m useless. I can’t even lie to comfort her.