Page 4

Wonder

She exits the current wing and passes through the courtyard, its pomegranate tree towering above the quad. The branches splay like an umbrella, each one loaded with heavy fruit, the dripping orbs saturated in deep burgundy.

Since Malice’s vault is the only immortal dimension in this library, human patrons mill around the outdoor area, some reclining on benches.

Yet there’s something peculiar about the way they regard the tree, their eyes never once admiring the fruit.

Indeed, they stroll about, concentrating more on their coffee, books, and electronic devices.

Then again, this is often the way among their kind. Although Wonder loves to read, she adores nature just as much. When others fail to admire the flora surrounding them, she feels the gravity of such neglect.

Disappointed by their impartiality, Wonder crosses the divide and steps through a new set of doors on the opposite end of the quad. The partitions shut behind her, insulating its visitors from the outside. In a wood-paneled corridor, a hush settles over the space, covering her like a shawl.

Sadly, this does nothing to quell the turmoil eating through her ribs. Exiting the corridor, she emerges into the 100s section, philosophy titles lining the stacks. Despite this being a human institution, Wonder takes advantage of the isolation and sags against a shelf, her fortitude slipping.

Once upon a myth, she loved a human. That human had blond waves and a charming smile, a benevolent smile, a mortal smile. He was different, and different had attracted Wonder.

That had been her first mistake.

The second mistake had been falling in love.

It had been unconventional, given she never had a single physical or verbal interaction with that man. Rather, she had cherished him from afar, pining until the situation became intolerable.

That’s when she made her third mistake. And that fatal error earned her a set of scars carved into her hands.

But those had healed. Whereas the object of her desire hadn’t.

Not after what she did to him, succumbing to temptation and causing him pain in the process.

For a goddess who once commanded the destinies of mortals, she had sealed the worst kind of fate for a human who hadn’t known she existed. A man who suffered because of her.

Wonder had overstepped her boundaries. She cannot do that again.

Thankfully, she won’t have to. Because Malice isn’t that man. He cannot be that mortal from another millennium, from another era, from another life.

They’re identical. Stars forbid, but they’re mirror images.

Physically, at least. On the outside, he’s a replica. On the inside, he’s the opposite. Thus, his features must be a coincidence, not a resurrection.

Albeit there’s no other way to justify his residence in a library or the objects that had outfitted the vault before it was destroyed.

Moments prior to that, Wonder had taken stock of the rusted telescope and piles of antique books, as well as the crate of envelopes stained with age.

There’s scarcely a logical explanation for those relics.

None of this makes sense, regardless of how many texts she has consulted, no matter how many pages she’s rifled through, no matter how many times she’s begged The Stars for help.

And while this mortal library is beautiful, it’s inadequate to furnish the right answers.

Only a forbidden place filled with restricted texts will yield the necessary information.

Only there, in the heart of The Dark Fates, can she unravel these quandaries.

The problem is, Wonder is banished. That great monument of knowledge is off limits unless she finds a way back.

Beyond her hiding spot, figures slip through aisles or sit in cubicles. Someone discreetly pries open a bag, plastic crinkling across the hall. Another soul unzips a pouch, while another turns a page.

Wonder yearns to take a few conciliatory laps around the repository. She wants to stroll, to watch the people muse and study. She wants to distract herself.

He knows about last night. He felt my fingers in his hair.

While sunlight drizzles through the windows, she projects an image of Malice sleeping, resting in peace, safe from nightmares because she’d been there to stop them. Picturing his taloned fingers curled around that book, she allows herself the luxury of trembling.

A hand pops into her line of vision. The set of masculine digits presents a hefty book bound in leather, gold foiling the surface. It’s a text about the history of meditation.

Wonder’s gaze drifts from a pair of broad shoulders to a face inset with pewter irises, surrounded by a thicket of tousled white hair. The male props himself against the shelf and regards her with a quirked eyebrow.

“Desperate times call for reading sessions,” Andrew says, regarding the book. “Consider me psychic.”

Wonder laughs. She approves of Love’s mate. He’s an ideal match for the feisty goddess.

Moreover, his reverence for the written word matches Wonder’s, except Andrew leans toward the fictional. As a renowned author in the mortal realm, he writes fantasy stories replete with magical wars, forbidden romance, and graphic sex.

In contrast, Wonder is partial to the facts. They balance each other this way, which has yielded plenty of invigorating discussions since Andrew became immortal.

To that end, he’s familiar with Wonder’s routine—monitoring Malice in the morning and then tucking herself in this area to recover—as well as her reading tastes, the books that help her cope.

Wonder accepts the meditation tome. “I’ll trade you, dearest. Your generosity for his mythology.”

Andrew’s jaw flexes. “Pushed you too far today, did he?”

“Doesn’t he always?”

“What was it this time?”

“He tried to defend Hades.”

The man snorts without mirth. “Fucking predictable. Let me guess. He thinks the whole abduction thing is misinterpreted.”

“I gather, your own retellings don’t go there.”

“On the contrary. But then, I write hot fantasy romance. The abduction has to be misconstrued at first, so readers will forgive Hades later when he bends Persephone over a table. It’s still considered one of the smuttiest scenes in my catalogue.”

The notion sends a flutter through her womb. Perhaps Wonder should read his work. Regardless, she hesitates. “Surely, you don’t believe flaws are unattractive in characters. I always thought that’s what gives them dimension.”

Andrew’s mouth slants. “I never said the god’s actions weren’t flawed.”

Ah. She likes this exposition better. Andrew had once said he prefers enemies-to-lovers stories because it means the pairings see the worst and best in one another.

Yet during their brief silence, his wry demeanor vanishes, replaced by acrimony and a warning he’s expressed before. “We shouldn’t trust him with that book.”

“We don’t,” she acknowledges. “But aside from taming Malice, knowledge requires observation, as does keeping the enemy close. So far, the text is harmless. We won’t gauge any weakness or give him chances to slip up if he’s empty-handed.”

“Fair. But say the word, and I’ll tear that book from the fucker’s hands.”

“No. You’re not to go near him.”

The request comes out stronger than intended.

But if Andrew notices, he doesn’t show it.

Nonetheless, she will never blame him for this hostile reaction.

After what the demon did to Love, Andrew’s desire to slaughter Malice is a daily occurrence.

Not discounting Anger’s fury over Malice’s treatment of Merry.

Depriving their captive of the only reading source he has left would be due compensation.

But while the threat seems mild compared to previous ones from Andrew, he understands the impact, and the logical half of him isn’t serious.

Malice will riot if they confiscate the book.

As it is, he’s on the brink because of the envelopes, whereas the edition about Hades and Persephone maintains a thin balance between cooperation and anarchy.

This, Andrew comprehends. He has written plenty of fictional villains and is perceptive about their motivations. To be certain, that perception is sharpening the longer he interacts with their crew and adapts to immortality.

Impressively, the man holds his own among them. Despite not being an actual god, Andrew possesses exemplary skill at archery, a product of his life in the human world. Additionally, his transcendence has endowed him with formidable reflexes.

Back to the subject of Malice. Back to the myth he’s reading.

After describing the literary exchange in the vault, she and Andrew pause in thought. Then they glance at one another, the motions unanimous. What Malice said about the romance section and retellings could have been a random inquiry. Though, it could have also been a duplicitous one.

Andrew squints. “If you’re thinking what I’m thinking—”

“I might be,” Wonder hints.

“Then give that myth a deep dive. Just in case.”

She had been thinking the same thing. For the demon doesn’t strike up conversations by accident.

Sunlight filters into the lane, trickling across book spines like a path leading someplace pertinent. It’s nothing unusual, a mere stream of illumination. Yet the visual is familiar, nudging her into the past, to a bygone era when she witnessed a similar effect in another repository.

In fact, the illusion is identical. But when Wonder blinks, the trail of light vanishes.

After Andrew leaves, she migrates to the 150s and squats near one of the bottom shelves.

Pushing aside a cluster of titles, she checks the stardusted plate embedded into the wall.

All right, so technically the vault isn’t the only invisible layer.

This one is of her own making, a compartment much like a human safe, except without a combination lock.

Popping open the recess, Wonder inventories the longbow, quiver, and stack of sepia envelopes. Claiming a deity’s archery is sacrilegious among Dark Gods. Yet Malice hasn’t once demanded they be returned. No, he’s more preoccupied with the letters.

Age yellows the papers, their charred edges resulting from the library battle with Anger. Beyond that, the missives bear an unnerving likeness to other memories.

The envelope crinkles in Wonder’s grasp.

Like the mythology book, she has audited these relics thoroughly, only to discover blank pages.

Special ink can obscure the content of paper, rendering it illegible unless read exclusively in The Dark Fates.

Therefore, Malice must have enchanted the notes prior to his banishment.

Wonder shoves the envelope back into the compartment. Questions cycle through her mind.

What information do the missives reveal? Why do the envelopes matter so much to Malice? And how far will he go to retrieve them?