“The one thing Amal fears most is a dread lord and faille working together.”
“If you believe that—” Her chin lifted. “Then why did you return to Westvale? Why not stay with Gray?”
“Because I believe the answers are here.” He did, too.
“Is that faille intuition or wishful thinking? Or the need to do something out of pride?” Laura’s tone wasn’t harsh; kindness lay beneath. “There’s no shame in stopping. In admitting the limits in what you can do.”
My jaw tightened. “I know that.”
“People died because you tried to do something, Noa.”
I jolted back, my spine pressing hard against the chair. Instantly, Laura’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” She smoothed her hands against the table. “But letting others help doesn’t lessen you—a year ago, you were living a human life, laughing with your friends, doing stupid things without worrying about anything worse than a hangover. Maybe a broken heart, or a stubbed toe. Noa…” Her voice wavered. “Stay here with me. Give the information to someone else. Let them fight the battles.”
“What about all that talk in the tunnel?” I asked. “About being the star, being called to do something when we’re lost, when we’re standing alone? About drawing others to the light, and shining the brightest?”
“I was wrong. I never should have put that on you.”
I rubbed the scars on Laura’s wrist, then rubbed against my own scared, ruined sigil. “You didn’t put that on me. This is what I was born to do. Be this person who fights despite the odds, even because of the odds, the lost causes. You reminded me of it, that’s all.” I gripped her hands, willing her to understand. “I know you’re scared, and you need to feel safe. But this is just another tent, isn’t it? Where we have the choice to leave? And I can’t stay here with you, hiding in the archive, researching in dead books for answers. I can’t do that.”
Moisture sparkled in her eyes. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You and Levi will never lose me.”
“That sounds so final.”
“No, it isn’t. Your path led you here, to these books, the research. Even to Anson, as a friend. Or more. Trust me. The fate that sent you here is also sending me to where I need to be.”
“Noa…”
The computer chimed with a search result. Laura printed out the pages and read the details out loud.
According to the database, archaeological sites around the human world reported similar rune designs, found on foundation stones in crumbled temples, Viking swords dredged up from peaty river bottoms. Even pottery shards dug from the dry American deserts were decorated with the same inked rune.
“No written record, so the meaning is speculative.” Laura’s voice echoed through the hushed archive. “Most scholars believe it represents a gift from the gods. It’s a powerful talisman, often linked to sorcery, sacrifices, and a transference of power.” She frowned. “Associated with black witchcraft.”
“Maybe the witches know.”
Laura stared over the sheaf of paper in her hands. “The Gemini Witches are dead and the coven scattered.”
“I met a witch at the Farmer’s Market. Perhaps she knows something.” I pointed at her papers. “Can you print off a copy of that rune?”
An instant later, the whir of a printer rattled through the silence. Laura pulled a page from the machine and handed it to me.
I folded the paper and shoved it into a back pocket.
“Noa.” The concern in Laura’s voice stopped me. “Be careful. It might be winter, but the enemy is still hunting for you.”
“Yes, Mom.” But I hugged her before I left.
“I mean it!” Laura shouted. When I glanced back, she was holding the archive door open. I wondered if she planned to watch me until I disappeared up the stairs.
CHAPTER 12
Noa
The walk to the Court District took twenty minutes. While the sidewalks were clear, the shoveled snow ended up in the street, and I stepped wide to miss the icy mounds. The bitingly cold air didn’t bother me, not after the cloying enchantments of the archive. Children laughed. A car engine revved—tires spinning on the ice. People rushed to finish shopping before the next storm hit. Even the scents of roasting meat from the fast-food franchise reminded me of the human world rather than a world filled with wolves, nymphs, witches, vampires. Magic.
Oddly enough, fewer humans lived in Westvale than had lived in Sentinel Falls, but the bohemian flavor drew the tourists who came for the colorful wall murals and the crafted candles and potted herbs. Lights glittered through windows, inviting people inside to get warm. Eat something. A few parked cars cluttered the plowed road through town. Small pedestrian groups crossed at the intersections—the teenage wolves and humans jostling, laughing, linking arms as if they had no care in the world except getting to where they were going.
