I grab the first one,The Anatomy of Wings, which just so happens to be written by a distant cousin. My parents rarely talk about him. Ever since the growing divide between Pure and Fallen, they’ve separated themselves as much as possible from allimpurerelatives. As I open the book, I consider reaching out to him. Partly because it would piss off my parents, but mostly because if he knew enough about wings to write a damn book about it, maybe there’s more he can tell us.
After looking through the table of contents, my hope plummets. If I wanted to understand the aerodynamics andfibers that make up our wings, this would be the book for me. But other than a chapter near the end about coloring, it’s mostly just clinical. So I skip ahead.
The color of our wings and their feathers has long since been a topic of discussion among many of our kind. Some believe it to be a depiction of our nature, the type of person we will be, and the actions we’ll take. Others believe it’s nothing more than happenstance. But I don’t think either of those is true. What I believe is far more scientific, with real data to back it up. It all comes down to genetics. The tiny atoms that make up the very essence of our souls. DNA from each of our ancestors gets pooled together in a metaphorical bucket, and the predecessors whose genes are most prominent will determine the type of angel you’ll become.
The rest of the chapter is a showcase of data points and science to prove his findings, and as interesting as it might be, it isn’t what I need.
I flip through the next book, a massive tome on history’s greatest angels that might have held good information once upon a time, but now only focuses on the Archangels and their helpers.
Ugh! Will we ever catch a fucking break?
Slamming the book shut, I push it away from me and slump back in the chair. What the hell was I thinking? As if a discovery would fall right into my lap the moment I got here. I’m foolish to believe that.
I massage my temples, hoping I’ll find the strength to press on. Instead, all I do is stress and mope. Fuck.
Maybe I just need a distraction.
I eye my brother’s desk, wondering if I should search through it. An invasion of privacy, perhaps, but it’s not like he even uses this space anymore.
In the first drawer, all I find are pens and several notebooks. I leaf through them, but they’re all empty. Untouched. The second drawer holds a single book.Angelic Secrets to a Higher Power of Living. Raduriel had been obsessed with it after graduating from SCU. He read somewhere that the Archangel Mikhael could recite every word from inside this old tome, so he began memorizing it, too. Some days I’d listen to him reading out loud, wondering what it was he hoped to gain from all that gibberish, since that’s what his words sounded like to me.
Maybe now I’d see what all the fuss was about.
I pick it up, placing it on the desk before moving to close the drawer when I notice something else.
A key.
It’s thin and long, and brown with age, but not rusted. Now what could this unlock, I wonder?
The third drawer of Raduriel’s desk has a keyhole, but when I try to push the key inside, it doesn’t fit. It’s unlocked anyway and empty aside from a few scraps of paper.
But I can’t find anything else with a keyhole. I even fiddle with the back of the recliner, wondering if maybe there’s a hidden compartment, but it’s only the inner workings of the chair. Whatever this key is to, it must not be that important if he left it in a drawer and not kept with him. But even as the words pass through my mind, I can’t deny the urge to find out for sure.
I look through the upper floor of the library. There’s a drawer or two with keyholes, but none that fit the key, and besides, they’re all unlocked and empty, anyway. Something inside mescreams that whatever lock this key is for, it isn’t some already unlocked, empty cabinet.
I try not to get too excited. It’s been years since Raduriel moved out of our family estate. The likelihood that whatever this key opens is even still here is slim, but I have to try.
The main floor of the library has even more fucking locks, as if we need a place to hide all our secrets. Instead of testing them all, I take one good pass around the room, paying close attention to each keyhole. Because of how thin this key is, there are only three places it might work, and I get started on the first drawer.
Excitement bubbles through me as the key slides into the hole, but as much as I twist it, nothing engages. Panic threatens to rise, but I shove it down. It’s only an old key, and one I found in Raduriel’s old things, no less. For all I know, this could only lead me to a stash of notes from our parents or his old test scores. The vain bastard.
There are only two keyholes left. Both are to cabinet doors, though one is made of glass and it’s not hard to see there’s nothing inside. Well, that makes my decision easy. I try the cabinet along the back wall, except it doesn’t work. The damn thing barely goes in at all.
Fuck!
I pull on the key, but it’s lodged in the hole. If I break this, I’ll never find out what Raduriel was hiding.
Honestly, I’m not sure why it means so much to me. It’s not like I’ll find a handwritten apology tucked away somewhere.
When I tug again, the door pops open and the key comes out, but my success is short-lived. Another fucking empty cabinet. Slamming the door closed, I lean against the shelf and breathe.
It’s not over yet. Maybe what I need is hidden in his room. I suppose it’s possible he had a copy of the key made and carries that with him. Not that I’ve ever seen him with it, but … stranger things have happened. With a determination to find a way insidehis room, I make my way back to the stairs, but before I climb them, something tugs at my mind.
The other empty cabinet.
Before I even know what I’m doing, I’m crouched low in front of it, the key pressed to the hole. I don’t breathe as I push it inside and turn. Not until theclick.
My hands shake as I pull open both doors and stare dumbfounded at what’s inside.
