“There. Now we can look at them. Find ones you want, and we’ll put them in the car. When you’re done with that, we’re burning this tower down.”
Mikey’s eyes widen at my words.
“I know it’s a historical place, but if he left us here, certain we wouldn’t break his spell to protect these books, that means he’ll return for them. And if he does, he’ll have nothing to come back to.”
Mikey tilts her head, unable to argue with that point. He can memorize all the spells he wants, but his grimoires are essential to his abilities. The fact he might have one on his person isn’t lost on me, however.
I make my way out to the car to check on it. It’s still parked on the shoulder, and there’s no sign of anything around us. I’m tempted to park it in the grass, more towards the tower, but that might be a dangerous move in case I get stuck and we find ourselves in another tight situation.
“Are you good? Do you need any sleep or food?” I ask Mikey as I cross the threshold from the hallway, stalking back inside. She’s already started a few piles.
“Food,” she grunts. She looks tired, but her mind’s whirring, even if there aren’t many thoughts coming through. She’s piling on information and learning all she can. When she gets her words back, I bet she’ll talk my ear off.
And I honestly believe I’ll welcome it with open arms.
I climb to the kitchen and rummage through it. I grab armfuls of snacks, reading the dates. They were preserved in time, so the fact they’re a hundred years past their expiration date shouldn’t mean anything, even if it skeeves me out.
I bring her the food and sit, chewing a cookie as I absentmindedly stare at the wood. Now that I’ve expended my energy reserves, my eyelids can barely stay open. The world blurs, and I have to consciously refocus my gaze. Perhaps I should have said yes to Nick’s offer. At least we’d be well-rested.
Mikey rips into a cereal box and dumps it in her mouth as she sets a stack in front of me. Most of them are history books, others seem to be folklore and fairytales, but I see nothing with a Mount Rook logo. Then again, Mikey’s brain seems to work a lot better than mine right now. Perhaps the lack of being able to speak has helped her energy levels, even if she just took on a skeletal dragon.
Thanks for the help.
I press my lips together as Samuel’s words take center stage. What did he do to me? Was the zombie bile because of him, or is something else going on with me?
Mikey sits before me and points up to the bedroom. “Go rest.”
I shake my head. “I already rested. I should stay awake and—”
“Go.” She raises an eyebrow. “I got this.”
My cheeks collect air as I go to protest, but my muscles are ready to relax. “Fine. I’ll go lay down in that bed upstairs. Come get me in a few minutes, okay? I’d rather not be here all day.”
Mikey nods as she gets back to work, grabbing the rolling ladder. I trudge upstairs and crash onto the bed, not bothering to shut the door behind me.
I’m out like a light.
A field of macabre flowers and plant life stretches around me, their perfume mixing with the scent of rot and decay, pomegranate trees framing the expanse. I sit in a glittering golden garden chair, a round table at my side. Dark, sooty fog obscures the edges, denying me the view of anything beyond this reality I’ve found myself in.
“Zeke Mahelona,” a raspy, echoing, feminine voice says, sending a sharp chill down my spine. “King of Bleeders.”
I glance to the left, peering across the table as a shadowy figure appears. It grows more solid by the second, revealing the shape of a woman. Unadorned shoulders form before her face, long black hair falling to the small of her back. Piercing purple-ringed pupils cut through me as her mauve smile reveals sharpened teeth. She’s gorgeous even with the spots of decay along her skin.
“Where…?”
The way her lips purse tells me she holds too many secrets to share with someone like me. Her aura makes my chest tingle, as if this is a woman I shouldn’t underestimate or provoke.
“What do you want from me?”
A hint of laughter twists the corner of her mouth. “I wish for you to release me. Do this, and I will unlock your full potential.”
Terrifying whispers accompany her words, as if she’s speaking through a thousand ghosts.
“Who are you?” I touch the chair under me, and the chill of the metal tells me it’s real, but I can’t shake the feeling I’m in a dream.
She watches me for a moment longer before her eyes turn black. “Your secret weapon.”
I jerk awake, the terrifying image of the woman burned into my retinas. The day, time, or year is a mystery, but, aside from my racing heart, I feel well-rested. Sleep lines imprint every surface of my body, and my mouth is wet with drool. I sit upright, groggy as I attempt standing.
I plop back on the bed, the dream sinking its chilled claws along my gray matter. What kind of dream was that? I swear I can still smell the garden.
“Frick,” I whisper, wiping at my mouth as I attempt to slow my racing heart as I shove my thoughts aside. I’ll have plenty of time to unpack it while we drive to Sonny’s. “What time is it?”
It’s still light out, so I couldn’t have been asleep for long. Mikey would have woken me, right?
I trod to the doorway and exit, hearing Mikey still rummaging downstairs. Making my way to the balcony, I cough, suddenly needing some water.
Mikey peers up from her spot on the floor, clutching a book. I furrow my brow at the sight, my vision blurring for an instant. It looks like one of her hands has returned to normal.
And then I realize it’s because it is.
She beams up at me, half of her frame normalized. “Almost there,” she calls up the stairs, rising from the table. The tightness of her jaw and the way she keeps closing her eyes warning me she’s as exhausted as I was.
I try to fight a grin of my own. “Good.” Then, “How long was I out?”
“A few hours,” she admits, shutting the book. She moves her mouth strangely, still finding difficulty in talking as she slurs her words. “Don’t worry. I checked the car. It’s fine.”
“I should probably call Maverick,” I mutter, pulling my phone out of my jacket pocket. It’s running low on battery, but I can charge it when we get to Sonny’s. Surprisingly, it’s only about eight in the morning.
I walk back into Samuel’s room as the phone rings. I wait forever, but he doesn’t answer. I try two more times, and when there’s no answer, I try to keep the panic from my voice as I leave a message. “Maverick. Hi again. We got… distracted, but we’re safe. We’re still on our way to Sonny’s. Uh. Yeah. Okay. Bye.”
I hang up, staring at my screen as I try to shove away the cloying, conflicting emotions. When I finally do, I relay to Mikey that I left a message. She bites her cheek as a flicker of worry flashes across her features before going right back to business.
“These are keep,” she says, pointing to the pile in front of her. “Those are maybe.” She points to the piles behind her. “And those are burn.” Those books are on the other side of the room, all strewn about. I notice she ripped pages from a few and stuffed them in a notebook she’s been scribbling in. Peeking over her shoulder, I see symbols and scribblings and notes in the sides for herself.
“Need another,” she mumbles, offering me the notebook as she searches through the maybe pile.
She’s basically found what Nick had told us, solidifying his claims. She’s working through a history book, the information backing up the one we’d found in my parent’s room. Then there’s Samuel’s name.
I skim through her writing, trying to read the sloppy cursive. He was a High Wizard like I believed, but it sounds like he was corrupt. He kept his position out of power.
“We have… the world at our fingertips,” Mikey tells me as she sits back down, her words fitting strangely in her mouth. “Everything… is right here.”
I grunt as she takes the notebook, reading over what she’s written. “The manifesto… it’s a lot. But… I think… missing things. Like… things left out… to protect secret…” Frustration rises in her as she struggles to form words. “In case the book was stolen.”
I blow out a breath. “That would make sense if the biggest secrets were shared by word of mouth instead of paper. One’s a lot easier to trace than the other.”
Mikey’s eyebrows pinch together as a dark storm gathers in her chest and marinates her breath. “Maverick.” She meets my eyes. “We need to talk to him.”
“Then are you ready to go?”
She nods, seizing as many books as she can and letting the rest of her Bleeder form through. I rise and grab as many as I can, too. It takes two trips for each of us, and the car’s trunk and the space between the front seats and it are full. I swear I hear Vaporface grunt with the added weight.
Mikey stares at the maybe pile, giving it one more look-over before this place goes up in flames, but she hesitates, staring at nothing.
“What if he’s the bad guy?”
The question startles me, my arms filled with food and snacks. “Who, Maverick?” I pause, watching as she kicks a loose piece of paper she’d decided she didn’t want after all. “I don’t think he will be.”
I say the words, but there’s a part of me that doesn’t believe them.
“But… what if?”
I exhale. “Well. You know who he is. You know he could never be the bad guy. And if he was in the past, he’s obviously changed—”
“But… I don’t know him. Not like…” She runs a clawed hand through her hair, careful not to hurt herself. “He’s like family… but he’s like a stranger now.”
I don’t know what to say, so I give her a little bump with my shoulder. “Who really knows anything about their family?”
She shrugs, but my words strike me. My parents had a history book that goes against everything I learned, a cryptic note from a person named Puck, and lived through the barrier arcing and the war between first and second-worlders. Suddenly, I don’t know who the people who raised me are, either.
And I’m not sure if that should worry me.