Page 58 of The Secrets of Roan Island

“So, where are her things, Noah?” Jafeth says as if he already knows the answer, though I can’t venture a guess.

“In my room,” Noah mumbles. I’ve never heard him mumble before. The blush on his cheeks could almost be endearing if I wasn’t so angry with him.

Jafeth laughs. “Typical Noah, obsessive to a fault.” His gaze travels up and down my blanket-covered body. “Do you really want me to get her things? She’s rather lovely like this.”

Noah takes a menacing step forward.

“Stop it. Both of you.” I glare at Jafeth. “If you aren’t back here in ten minutes, I’ll… I’ll…” What could I possibly do to a Mavarri? It’s pointless to threaten anything, even in jest. “Fuck! Just bring me my clothes.”

I can hear Jafeth’s laughter all the way down the hall.

Once he’s gone, Noah goes to one of the shelves and pulls out a worn journal. “This belonged to my great-great-grandmother. She’s the last human we know of who turned without dying. Start here.”

I take the journal, hug it to my chest, and nod.

He walks away, but when he reaches the laboratory door, he pauses and turns back. “Thank you for staying.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m not doing it for you.”

“I know.” His expression is sad, but there’s a bittersweet smile on his lips. “Still, I’m grateful.”

29

Ruby

The translation glasses are uncomfortable and tax my eyes, though the ones Noah gave me are some of the best I’ve ever used. Money, I decide. I’ve used glasses like them before. As a researcher, it comes with the territory, and while these fit more securely, the readout is small. I pull them off and pinch the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes as I ponder what I’ve read.

It seems the Mavarri were once prevalent. Advanced. They ruled a world not so different from our own before coming here through portals, which is apparently what this part of the mansion is. They call it the Gate House and it used to be that you could get into their old world from here. But all of the entrances were sealed off after their world was decimated by wars between their clans. The remaining families, one of which was the Roans, came here and established a tentative peace with clear rules to maintain it.

But when humans settled in the area, the alliances became more complicated. The remaining Mavarri clans fought overwhat to do about the humans. Humans fought back. The Roans were the only survivors, mainly because they locked themselves away on this island.

A sound from the lab draws my attention, and I look over my shoulder. Through the cracked door, I see Noah bent over a microscope. His strong hands turn a knob, the other manipulates the lens. There’s something alluring about seeing him this way, so focused and dedicated.

My gaze darts back to the open journal, and I straighten my back with stubborn annoyance at my wayward thoughts. I refuse to give Noah Roan my attention. He doesn’t deserve it after what he did.

Before I’ve got the translation goggles back on, the bell hidden in the bookshelf near the door rings. The gentle tinkle bursts out with a high, bright sound anytime the portrait door opens. It's a warning system Shemaiah set up when he learned I was still here. The main concern being Hammish.

I shoot up from the chair, slamming the journal shut and stacking the books.

“Ruby. Quick,” Noah says from the doorway, his face drawn with tension. “Go. Now!”

I gather up anything that looks like it might belong to me, which for the moment is only the shoes I kicked off hours ago. Then I rush through the lab past Noah, careful not to touch him, and into the morgue. While Noah has been true to his word—he hasn’t locked me up in the room again as a prisoner—I haven’t left the Gate House in days. I’ve barely left the library, except to sleep. Noah and his brothers put a bed in the parlor next to the library, close enough for me to hear the bell if it goes off. I suspect Noah sleeps outside my door since he looks like death warmed over each morning.

He follows me. “As soon as he’s gone,” he promises and pulls the door shut.

I swallow, hating the cold, callous sound of that mechanism dropping into place, wishing there was something I could do to protect myself against Hammish that didn’t involve hiding. I’ve been locked in here at least twice a day for the last week. It’s usually Jafeth or Shemaiah who triggers the bell—it has yet to be Hammish—but Noah suspects he’ll come down here eventually. So we follow the plan.

I press my ear against the metal, but all I hear is a mumbled exchange.

The lock clicks, then the door creaks open, revealing Noah.

“It’s Shemaiah,” he says. “It’s safe.”

I lift my eyebrows and glance at the cold storage lockers.

“Safer,” he amends.

Emerging from the room of horrors, as I’ve come to think of it, I smile at Shemaiah. “Good afternoon, Shemaiah.”

---