“I can’t call Maverick. He’s made it clear his lips are sealed.”
Mikey huffs out her nose as I pace before her, weaving around the books on the floor. She finally stands and walks over to a picture of my family on my parent’s dresser, pointing at my mom and dad.
I tilt my head to the side. “Here’s a sentence I never thought I’d say: I can’t wait until you can talk again.”
Mikey gives a low chuckle as she gingerly grabs the photo and lays it next to the book with the symbol on it. She points at the symbol and then to my parents.
My eyebrows furrow as I attempt to piece together her gestures. “You want me to ask my parents about them?”
She motions toward the bookshelf, and I throw up my arms in exasperation. “This is pointless. We need to find a better way to communicate. I can’t read your thoughts right now.”
Mikey rolls her eyes and starts pulling books from the shelves, like she’s looking for more secrets. A slip of paper falls out and she hesitates, motioning for me to pick it up.
I grab it. “There’s no way my parents know about it. It’s like when people have things about secret societies in their homes because they’re morbidly curious…”
My voice trails off as I unfold the slightly rough paper.
This is our final attempt to reach you. Pine trees stay green year-round, but even pomegranates die in winter. Our waters are receding, but if you come in with the tides, the sea will welcome you with open arms. Many things have changed, Ophio.
In three fortnights, the moon will fill. If you desire to return, simply seek and you shall find.
Signed,
Puck.
“Who’s Puck?” I whisper. As a response, Mikey points to the name Ophio. Strange name. “What’s this even doing in here?” I mutter, studying the bookcase. I march over and begin grabbing books again, half expecting for the cases to open and reveal a secret lair, but there’s no such thing. Glancing through the books, and with Mikey helping gently, I search for anything else out of the ordinary.
Nothing.
I pick up the volume Mikey’d shown me and leaf through. “It’s a normal history book,” I tell her, shutting it.
She prompts me to open it again. When I do, she points at the text. “Wrong.”
Three words now. It seems we’re making progress. “Wrong? What do you mean wrong?”
She takes it, accidentally scratching me once more. I heal as she rapidly scans the pages, spending three to five seconds on each. Finally, she stops and gives it back. The book shows the one-hundred wizards that held up the barrier before it arced. I expect to read what I was always taught: humans break in and slaughter the wizards, leaving them to fend for themselves, but… that’s not what I read.
Vampires, elves, witches, even the wizards themselves… this says they’re responsible for the deaths. That the orders came from those in power. Both in the second world and the first.
My jaw goes slack as I stare up at Mikey. Her brow furrows as she tries to make sense of it all
“There’s not a chance this is real.” I shut the book, my thoughts swimming with impossibilities. “It’s just one book. But…”
The logo stares back at me on the spine. On the insides of the hardcover. On almost all the pages. Everyone keeps saying history isn’t what we think it is. Theodor claimed I had no idea what happened in the past. Daemon said I’ve been so brainwashed by lies, I couldn’t tell a fairy from a god.
But which is the truth?
Mikey’s thoughts are reeling, too. I can’t hear it, but I can see it in her eyes. Her movements. Why she has so many books sprawled across the floor. There’s a common theme.
History.
I bend down and skim through the ones that are open. None of them are what I learned. They’re altered, like we’ve stepped into an alternate reality. Like the Mandela Effect is still working its greedy fingers around the past to restructure the future.
Mikey jabs a finger to my dad and then to herself. I watch her, unsure of what she’s saying. She repeats the motion.
“My dad?”
She forces her lips into a line and points more exaggeratedly at herself, nicking her sternum and drawing a dribble of blood.
I raise an eyebrow. “Your dad?”
She nods and grabs the book from me, holding it up.
“You’re wanting to take that to your dad?”
Another nod.
“Sorry, but you don’t even know where he is, Mikey.”
After a quick grit of her teeth, Mikey runs out of the room and returns, holding the sphere. She presses the button, nearly breaking it as she shrinks.
“Trench,” she manages to get out before returning to Bleeder form, out of breath. Her constant attempts to return to normal have charged the air with prickles of energy. It dances along my skin and tickles the back of my throat as what she’s saying registers.
“You want to go back?” She nods again, and I wave my hands in protest. “No, definitely not. That is a horrible idea.”
Mikey does her best to pout, but it’s more terrifying than adorable as her eyeballs nearly pop out of socket.
“I almost got stuck Raging Out there, and, if you don’t remember, the owners literally just tried to kill us.”
She squints and shakes her head.
I sigh. “Okay. Not kill us. Capture us. Same thing.”
She shrugs.
“How are you so nonchalant about this? You realize you are the most conspicuous creature alive like this, don’t you? Why not…?” I hesitate, the sound of a branch snapping filtering in through the window.
Our gazes trail to the breaking dawn, unidentifiable words whispered tailing the whistling wind. Mikey straightens and sniffs the air, wrinkling her nose. I follow suit, the distinguishable scent of dog assaulting my senses.
Paws and Claws is here.