Page 48 of Mirror of Vanity

As Justice finished freeing Garrick’s ankles, I returned my attention to the painting and the cryptic inscription that set us on this path.

I could only hope that in the end, my decision to trust Garrick, even a little, wouldn’t be our undoing.

Justice grabbed Garrick’s arm and hauled him to his feet. “Now, come on…king,” he stated, the last word dripping with sarcasm.

Garrick stumbled slightly, his bound hands making it hard to keep his balance. “I am the king,” he grumbled.

I stepped forward, positioning myself in front of Garrick so he had to meet my gaze. The flickering light of the Archives cast strange shadows across his face, making him look older, wearier.

“You told us the inscription.” I kept my voice steady. “What do you think that means?”

A hint of a smirk played at the corner of Garrick’s mouth, and he shook his head. “It’s so simple. I’m surprised you can’t figure it out.”

Justice’s hand tightened on Garrick’s arm, and he gave him a rough shake. “Don’t play games, Your Highness.” The words were heavy with warning and barely restrained anger.

Garrick rolled his eyes, the picture of regal disdain despite his disheveled state. “You need to find three statues that are based on either a painting, a book, or a door. The inscription speaks of the chosen one who can find the way forward. And for some unfathomable reason…” His gaze locked with mine, intense and unsettling. “Sawyer is our chosen one.”

A chill ran through me at his words. Me, the chosen one? It seemed impossible, yet I was the one with the visions, and they had guided us through the heart of the Archives.

Justice’s response was immediate and vehement. “She’s not going alone.”

Garrick shrugged, the movement awkward with his bound hands. “Then you don’t get the prize, vampire,” he remarked as if it were a matter of unquestionable fact.

I looked between them, seeing the battle of wills playing out in their eyes. Justice, fierce and protective, ready to fight tooth and nail to keep me safe. Garrick, calculating and cryptic, holding the keys to knowledge but always at a price.

The path ahead would be difficult and dangerous, full of impossible choices and uncertain alliances. But I knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that I couldn’t turn back now.

The inscription had named me as the chosen one. For better or worse, this was my destiny.

I squared my shoulders and met Garrick’s gaze. “Tell us more about these statues.” My voice rang with a new note of command. “And what exactly is the prize we’re supposed to claim?”

Garrick sighed. “I honestly don’t know. You’ll have to trust your instincts. After all, you’re the chosen one.”

The urge to throttle Garrick was almost overwhelming. My fingers twitched with the desire to wrap around his infuriatingly smug neck. Before I could act on the impulse, another sound echoed through the massive space of the library, bouncing off the towering shelves and ancient tomes.

It was a sound that didn’t belong, a discordant note in the silence of the Archives. A scraping, shuffling noise, like something heavy dragging across the stone floor. Beneath it, a low, guttural moan raised the hairs on the back of my neck and sent a chill down my spine.

Justice, Garrick, and I exchanged wary glances. Our differences and hostilities were forgotten, subsumed by the shared realization that we were no longer alone in this place.

“Maci?” Justice mouthed, his hand already reaching for his sword.

I shook my head, a sinking feeling in my gut. Whatever was making that sound, I knew it wasn’t the shadow dragon. This was something else, something darker and more sinister.

Garrick’s eyes widened, his face pale in the guttering light of the Archives. His aristocratic composure seemed to crack, revealing a glimpse of genuine fear.

The sound came again, louder this time, closer. It was the only prompting we needed to move, our bodies galvanized into action by the primal instinct to survive. We searched the main floor, hunting for the statues.

Yet, as the minutes ticked by and the sounds grew closer, a sinking realization dawned on me. There were no statues pressed together, no sign of the cryptic markers that were supposed to lead us to the chosen one’s path.

Frustration welled inside me, hot and bitter, threatening to choke me with its intensity. Had Garrick lied to us? Was this all a twisted game, a trap designed to lure us to our doom?

As the doubts and fears swirled in my mind, I knew I was far from giving up. I had come too far and sacrificed too much to let this setback defeat me.

“We need to move to the second floor,” Justice suggested.

Garrick tried to break away from Justice’s iron grip. “That’s where whatever is making the sound is.”

“Come on, chickenshit,” Justice grumbled.

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