Page 64 of Faerie Marked

Hmm, interesting. I’d read somewhere how King Ty’s reign began around the same era, though no one knew for certain, the date merely an approximation. The Age of the Red Dawn, jeez. Who came up with these names?

I leaned closer still to make out the fading words and mouthed along with them.

At breaking light of black moon morn

A shifter child shall be born

An innocent and pure of heart

Born to rip the Fae apart

Born to rip the Fae apart

A wicked end, downfall’s start

And falling into endless night

Shall bathe the blood with sweet delight

There was more to the text, but goose bumps rose on my skin and I slammed the book shut, my eyes burning from squinting too long. I focused on getting my breathing in check.A shifter child…

Now I understood, in part, why the Fae hated shifters. If any of them put stock in this “prophecy,” then they believed a shifter child would tear apart their cozy world. They were skeptical of all shifters because of it, and generations of fear had bred a deep hatred of my kind.

Fairy tales, the same snarky voice said loudly in my head. I couldn’t get her to shut up.It would be ridiculous to hate an entire people because Oxana the Sightless had a vision thousands of years ago.

Still, the reading rocked me. My fingers trembled as I put the book back on the shelf where I had found it. Flashing a weak smile to the librarian on my way out, I made my way down the hallway and into the dim hush of night.

I needed air.

I should have left the book alone instead of trying to find information. It’s not like I didn’t have anything else going on, more important and pressing issues to tackle.

But what did it mean, a “black moon morn”? I wondered as I walked. The words stuck with me. Could it have meant an eclipse? Didn’tmostprophecies reference an eclipse? It seemed to be a common element in all cultures.

The whole thing just left a bad taste in my mouth and I wanted to forget everything I’d read. It was stupid to worry about, really. I’d found the poem in the middle of a book on myths and legends. It wasn’t real.

It’s not real.

Shuffling alone through the chilly night—thankfully there was no moon at all on this night, therefore no threat from moonlight—my mind turned back to thoughts of Mike. As usual. Mike and the prophecy, Mike and the dead students. Mike and the prophecy and dead students and a werewolf detective—

Footsteps sounded behind me. My ears twitched, noticing the sound, and when I turned around to see who was walking, there was no one there.

“Hello?” I called out.

The wind picked up around me but there was nothing on the breeze to give me any information, no scent carried to me. Not that I could do anything with my senses dulled by the potion spell.

Had I imagined it? I wondered if it was because of the potion or because I was finally losing my mind and seeing things. Or ratherhearingthings.

If I still had my wolf senses, I would be able to know one way or the other. I’d be able to take care of myself if there truly were someone following me. Now, I couldn’t afford to take any chances.

Something snapped behind me. I ran.

The books I’d checked out were heavy in my arms and weighed me down to the point where I thought about ditching them. Then I heard the pounding of heavy boots gaining on me.

Over my shoulder, I caught a glimpse of a man in black running after me. Real, very real! My fear skyrocketed until I could taste it, like licking the inside of a copper pipe. I made the split-second decision to duck into the nearest doorway. I didn’t realize until I was inside: I’d chosen the one hallway I’d tried to avoid my entire duration at the academy.

The hallway lined with mirrors.

Dammit!

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