Humming again, I pulled Amal’s journal closer, pretending to read until Laura said, “I’m not making excuses for Levi. But it’s common to cling to symbols of control when faced with impossible situations. Better than freaking out.”
I turned a journal page without looking at it. “I’ve lost my shit enough times to not criticize others for it.”
“Oh, good, because I’d hate for my friend to suddenly get holier-than-thou.”
Her tone had turned testy, when I didn’t want to fight with her. “At least I’m still your friend,” I murmured, “and it’s with kindness that I point out how Anson enjoys research. He’s always down here when I come.”
She sniffed. “It’s his archive.”
“And he finds the bloodlines of dead royalty as riveting as you do.”
Laura worked at holding her glare, but the pink in her cheeks gave it away, and a smile twitched her lips as she smoothed her fingers over whatever book was in front of her. “I didn’t think it was obvious.”
“He’s sitting with you nearly every time I come.” I glanced around at the book-lined shelves. “Where is he today?”
“In meetings.” Her blush wouldn’t go away. “We’re, um, meeting later.”
I touched the back of her hand. “I’m happy for you.”
“It’s not like we’re a thing.”
“But maybe?”
Laura busied herself with rearranging a stack of notes, flicking papers, matching up the edges. “Does touching Amal’s journal still bother you?”
“Not anymore.” Not physically. At first, I’d not been able to touch it without the frissons of ice numbing my fingertips. Only Amal’s words bothered me now, the intensely personal narrative. Reading it was like wandering where I had no right to be. Where the landscape was foreign and forsaken. Where I knew her dreams, her pain. The angry tears at midnight.
After a moment, I said, “Amal struggled. She never knew if her memories were real, or if she’d slipped into insanity. The emotional mud can be draining.”
“Have you found anything of value?”
“Snatches of her life. What she missed—the joy of food. Sunlight. Then the rants over how the kings tricked the queens.”
Laura leaned forward. “What happened?”
I shook my head, brushed at the hair that slid across my cheek. “She cursed the enchantments, making her forget—that and being turned. Most of it was senseless rambling. But she was obsessed.” I flipped through the journal until I found the pages, each one covered with the same drawing.
I shoved the book toward Laura. With each turned page, the quality of Amal’s drawings deteriorated into smudged lines and lost details. Amal had even scribbled over some designs, reminiscent of a child’s rage at the mistakes, arousing a mix of emotions. Sympathy and alarm.
Laura chewed on her lip. “The characteristics are runic, but I’ve never seen a design with this complexity.”
“She might have made it up,” I suggested. “Pure imagination. In her chaotic state…”
Laura huffed out a breath. “Chaotic thinking is all over the place. It doesn’t reproduce the design to such an exact state. The weaknesses are in a few details. The curve of a line not being right.”
She walked to a second table, picked up a hand scanner, and traced it over the design with the clearest detail. Then did the same with the designs that had slight variations. “We’ll run this through the databanks,” she said. “Let the computer tell us what it is.”
“That easy?” I teased.
Laura offered a fleeting smile as she returned to her seat. “Maybe you should let Fallon or Anson follow up on this.”
“Not take on Amal myself?”
“I didn’t mean that you were a weak female who needed alphas to save her. Only that I don’t want your need to help to lure you into an obsession. I talked to the woman from Cariboo,” she went on before I could argue. “The stories she told about Amal chilled me, Noa. It’s worse than High Citadel. Barend and Ago. An evil that seems invincible.”
I held her darkened gaze. “I have to do this, Laura.”
“Only because of Amal, how she gets into your head and makes it personal. And because of everything Caerwen has told you, filled your head with the old myths and prophesies.”
