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CHAPTER FOUR

It was a few days before I saw Tennyson again. Without consciously meaning to, we’d managed to divide up the few classes we had together with sitting by Althea’s bedside, so one of us was with her and one of us was in class. We emailed each other our notes, but apart from that, it was complete radio silence.

Then we all got called back to Wilde Manor. There had been another attack, a bad one, and Tennyson wanted the whole pack together to discuss strategy. Hannah and Nikolai stayed behind to keep an eye on Althea and Other-me. We didn’t want Althea to wake up alone, and there was nobody else we could trust around Other-me. Harper was just as bewitched by Other-me as the rest of the school, but on the other hand, Sam would have torn her to shreds given half a chance.

The pack meeting was a shambles. Everyone was angry and scared, and they seemed to blame Tennyson and me as much as they blamed my father. Normally, Althea was the one who could calm everyone down, but she wasn’t there. Tennyson stood in front of the crowd as they yelled at him, hurled abuse and accusations. He just stood there and took it. It got too much for me to stand, and I stepped forward to say something, but Tennyson met my eye and gave a little shake of his head. He had a plan. I just had to trust him.

It was hard for me not to stick my nose in, but I did trust him, and I wanted him to see that, so I kept my mouth shut.

After a while, the crowd began to quiet down.

“If you’re quite done, then perhaps we can begin on the matter at hand,” he said. His voice was clear and confident. He sounded like an alpha.

I stood back and watched in awe as he took control of the group, organized them into groups, and gave them specific tasks. He seemed to know everyone so well, even those who hadn’t originally been in the Wilde pack. He knew their strengths, their interests, and applied them to his overall strategy in a way that benefited both the person and the pack. He was wonderful.

I’d been hurt over the summer when he’d had no time for me. Selfishly, I realized. He’d been thrust into this impossible position, at such a precarious time for the pack, and he’d met the challenge head-on. Not just met it, he’d triumphed over it. No matter how things went with my father in the end, the way Tennyson led this pack was a win. I doubted even his mother would’ve found something to criticize. I envied him, in a way. He was still so young, but he’d clearly found his calling. He was a born leader.

Once the main business was over and the crowd began to drift off, he came over to me.

“You handled that well,” I said, not trusting myself to say anything more.

He leaned against the wall beside me. He looked so tired as he rested his head back against the stone, his eyes falling closed.

“I’m having dinner with my father,” he said, not moving. “You’re welcome to join us. Your brothers, too.”

I had a sudden flash of how that would go, Hamish hanging from a chandelier, Fletcher talking Tennyson’s father’s ear off about Call of Duty . Liam complaining in the face of everything Tennyson’s family had done for us.

“Maybe not,” I said. “Your father doesn’t deserve that.”

Tennyson huffed a quiet laugh, then opened his eyes. He turned his head slightly toward me, and there in the shadows at the back of the meeting hall, I was struck anew by how beautiful he was. I took it for granted most of the time; he was just Tennyson, but he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. And he was a man now, I realized. He was tall and broad, with a classic square jaw, which was shadowed with stubble. Without meaning to, I’d raised my hand to trace the line of his jaw, but then I remembered.

I dropped my hand awkwardly, then cleared my throat.

“You didn’t have a role for me in your strategy,” I said, to change the subject. “Even without my power, I can still help.”

“You’re researching the lodestone,” he said. “That’s the most important thing right now. Everything else is just a stalling tactic until you can claim your full power.”

I snorted. “No pressure.” But I smiled at him so he knew I was kidding.

I couldn’t keep standing there with him and not go back on my resolution, so I pushed away from the wall.

“Are we going back to school tonight or in the morning?” I asked, as a way to end the conversation.

He hesitated for a moment. “Actually, I thought you might want to stay here for a few days. There are a lot of texts in our library that can’t be moved. I thought you might want to look through them. And it might be safer to keep some distance from your double. I can get recordings of your classes so you don’t fall behind.”

It made sense and he was right, but it didn’t stop a twinge of hurt from stabbing through my heart. Logically, I knew it was the smart move, but it felt more as if he was trying to get me out of the way. I was useless as I was, might as well pack me off to the manor to read dusty old books while he made the moves on a prettier, smarter, more powerful version of me.

Completely illogical, but that was why they were called intrusive thoughts, I figured. If they were happy, logical thoughts, they wouldn’t need to intrude; they’d be welcome.

“Sounds good,” I said, forcing a smile before Tennyson picked up on my weirdness. “I’ll let you know if I find anything. And you’ll let me know if Althea wakes up?”

“Of course.”

I left him there in the shadows and went to find my brothers. We’d moved up to the main house in the summer. It hadn’t felt safe leaving my brothers in the cottage without my mother there. Hamish and Fletcher seemed to love it, but Liam was deep into his surly teenager era and hated everything about everything. To be fair, I’d probably be mad if someone stuck me in a strange house and didn’t let me leave, but I was easily bought with Michelin star chefs and comfy beds, which didn’t seem to sway him at all.

They were in the wing of the manor that Tennyson had allocated for us, and had obviously no idea I’d be stopping by. Hamish jumped up so fast that he tumbled over the back of the sofa. Fletcher was a little more restrained, waiting to pause his game before rushing me. Liam, on the other hand, looked up from the book he was reading and narrowed his eyes at me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Hamish was a bit too big now to climb up into my arms, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He and Fletcher were talking at me a mile a minute, so I took the opportunity to think how best to answer Liam while the other two wore themselves out.

Once the novelty of having me home wore off, they went back to what they’d been doing, and I took the seat next to Liam. I didn’t want the other two to know exactly how evil our father was; they were too young for that kind of burden, but Liam was older now than I’d been when I got wrapped up in this whole business. He’d never quite forgiven me for not telling him about Sam and all the rest of it, so I tried to be as truthful with him as possible.

“There’s just some stuff going on,” I said. “Our father is on the rampage, but we’re all safe here, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Liam raised his eyebrows, then went back to his book.

“I’ll be around for a few days,” I said.

Liam kept reading. “Great,” he said dryly.

I sighed and got up to take my stuff to my room. It wasn’t really my room, just a guest room that had been allocated to me. It felt more like a fancy hotel room than anything else, although some of my stuff was in the closet. I fell back onto the bed and started to chew over what Tennyson had said to me.

Nope, that wasn’t healthy. There was no hidden meaning behind his keeping me here.

Then my mind drifted to how he’d looked standing there in the shadows with me.

Nope, also not healthy.

I needed a distraction. There was no point delaying, so I changed into my comfy home clothes and headed toward the library.

I only had a vague idea of where the library was. Normally, Althea would get the books. She knew where everything was, how it was categorized, and all that, so there was no point tagging along and getting in the way – her words.

In my head, I’d kind of pictured it similar to the library at school: brightly lit, impressive architecture, all that. Instead, when I eventually found it, it was more like a forgotten dungeon. You know when you find one of those underground fortresses in Minecraft that sometimes have rooms with books, and they’re all cobwebby and kind of creepy? It was like that. I hoped I wouldn’t have to tunnel my way out because I had not brought a pickaxe with me.

It was definitely easy to get lost in there. Row after row, stack after stack of books, all higgledy-piggledy, with no kind of organization that I could figure out. Had Althea just memorized where every book was? Surely not, there were more books down there than anyone could read in ten lifetimes. Nobody could remember them all.

And then I stumbled on the reason why Althea could find the books she needed, not to mention – I suspected – the reason she hadn’t wanted me tagging along.

A guy was sitting at a desk with books piled all around him. I supposed he wasn't a librarian, since it was a private library? A curator, maybe? And that curator was hot . Like, Henry Cavill in The Witcher level of hot. He even looked a little like Geralt, not quite as built and with dark hair instead of white. He was very pale, like he never left the dungeon to go out in the sun, and it was hard to judge his age. If vampires had been a thing, I’d have pegged him as one, but they weren’t. At least, I hoped they weren’t.

I was pretty sure Althea and Harper’s brother, Julian, had something going on, but that didn’t make the curator any less nice to look at.

He glanced up as I approached his desk.

“I don’t know you,” he said in a bored drawl.

“I’m Lucy,” I said.

He raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Your brother is a terrorist, and I will not change my mind. He is not welcome here amongst the books.”

I didn’t need to ask which brother he meant. “I’m not here about Hamish.”

I made a mental note to ask what that was about later, though I could take a fairly educated guess.

“I will not let any book out of this library that may come into contact with him.”

I shrugged. That seemed fair, honestly.

“Althea Wilde is super ill,” I said, trying for an angle that might budge him.

“I am aware.”

I sighed. “Look, I’ve got this lodestone thing, and if I can use it to get my powers back, then I think I can heal her, but I don’t know how to use it or where to start looking for something to help, like a handy user manual or something.”

Slowly, he closed his book and set it aside.

“A lodestone?”

I nodded.

“ A lodestone, or the lodestone?”

I shrugged. “No idea. Is there a difference?”

He opened his mouth as if about to explain, but then snapped it closed, probably remembering I was related to Hamish. I felt in my pocket and took out the lodestone to show him.

The curator drew in a sharp breath and pushed back, the chair legs scraping against the stone floor.

“You walk around with that in your pocket?”

I shrugged again. “Honestly, I forget it’s there half the time.”

He shook his head. “Figures,” he muttered. “I suppose you’d quite happily stow an atomic bomb in your knapsack as well.”

He stood up so quickly that I was startled. He was much, much taller than he seemed while seated.

“Follow me,” he said, turning abruptly, then vanished through the stacks of books.

I hurried to keep up with him. He moved stiffly, awkwardly, as if the cold of the dungeon had seeped into his bones. Still, he was fast. He twisted and turned so quickly through the stacks that I almost had to jog to keep him in sight. By the time he stopped, I was out of breath.

“You are not to remove this book from this area,” he said sternly. “There is a desk at the end of this row, you may read it there. Once you’re done, leave the book on the desk and notify me that you are finished. Show me your hands.”

I furrowed my brow in confusion. “Huh?”

“Your hands,” he repeated, then held his hands out, palm up.

I copied him, then turned them over when he prompted me to.

He sniffed. “Clean enough. Be incredibly gentle when turning the pages. Only turn one page at a time.” He pulled a few bits of string from his pocket and handed them to me. They were heavier than I expected them to be. “Use these to hold the pages open. Don’t touch the pages except to turn them; the oils from your skin or the slightest pressure can damage them. This book is over a thousand years old and contains information not available in any other known text. It is worth more than your life, or the lives of your family.”

He gave me a very pointed look. Sheesh, what had Hamish done? I’d assumed he'd drawn some rude pictures in a book, but would that warrant this level of animosity? Well, maybe. This guy really loved books a lot .

The curator turned back to the shelf. Reaching up, he took down a large box, decorated with intricate patterns in silver. He held the box close to his chest, as if it were a newborn baby, and gently carried it over to the desk at the end of the row. He placed the box on the desk.

“This is a book cradle,” he said, pointing to a large wooden V on the desk. “I will place the book in the cradle. Under no circumstances should you remove the book from the cradle.”

Slowly, reverently, he opened the box.

After all that, I’d expected the box to be something impressive, with gold lettering hand-painted by medieval monks and all that, but it just looked like any old book that you’d find shoved at the back of a shelf in a thrift store. Maybe a little bigger. There were no markings on the worn leather cover, unless you counted the scuffs around the edges.

The curator carefully lifted the book out from the box and placed it in the cradle, setting the spine along the base of the V so that the sides of the book were supported when it was opened. The spine creaked as he opened the cover, and the yellowed pages crackled.

“No eating, no drinking, no naked flames,” he said. “Don’t even breathe directly on the book if you can help it.”

“Understood,” I said. I mean, he’d really driven his point home. Mr Subtlety, he was not.

“And do not let that thing anywhere near the text, do you understand?”

I thought he meant Hamish for a moment, but he pointed toward the pocket where I kept the lodestone. I wasn’t sure what harm a little rock could do to an old book, but he was the expert. I nodded.

“If anything damages the book, come and get me right away. Don’t try to hide it. I will know.” He glared at me. His blue eyes were so pale they seemed silver, and for a moment, I felt hypnotized.

I really wanted to ask if he was a vampire, but wasn’t sure it would be polite.

“Sure,” I said. I hesitated a moment before asking, “So, what exactly is this book?”

His glare turned from hypnotic to withering, then he sighed, as if he was stupid for expecting better.

“This book is a transcription of a series of scrolls believed to have been rescued from the library of Alexandria. It details several magical artifacts, such as that stone you have, how and why they were created, and how they should best be used.”

I nodded. “So, literally a handy user manual for my stone.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes. ‘A handy user manual for your stone’. Please do try not to destroy anything.”

I took the seat at the desk, and the curator backed away, not taking his eyes off me until he bumped into a shelf of books and had to either stay there watching me from the shadows or go back to his desk. I was honestly surprised he didn’t decide to just sit with me while I read, but I got the feeling he wanted to be as far from the lodestone as possible.

Because it was in the cradle, I had to sit up super straight and crane my neck to see the book. I rearranged myself so I was partially kneeling on the chair, then, carefully, I turned the first page of the book.