Page 81 of Saving Destiny

The men capture my full attention when they stride directly toward the desk. The first one’s gaze is so intense that he doesn’t seem to see anyone else. The other glances around, but neither of them appears affected by the majesty of the library. This bothers me more than I care to admit. Even the most self-involved students and teachers can’t help but stare in awe at their surroundings when they enter.

I rise with the help of my crutches and Avery’s steady hand, swallowing the lump in my throat. Whatever this is, it feels bad in a way I can’t explain. I don’t leave the safety of the circulation desk, though. I want to keep the thick wooden counter between my body and the approaching men.

Avery’s emotions question me, so I send him a mental image of the men. It’s become second nature throughout the day to feed him images or useful information, and I realize I neglected to ask his permission. I’ll have to do so.

“Enforcers,”the vampire informs me through our mental link. His expression and his posture are as stiff as a gargoyle’s, but a tremor of fear underlies his emotions. This surprises and scares me. Avery never seems afraid.

Garrett materializes as if summoned by the library. He stands proudly on my left side after slinking behind the desk with more grace than a man his size should possess. The two uniformed men can’t match the shifter’s size and strength. It seems to bother the second man more than the other, and I get the impression that they’re used to being the biggest and the baddest in any room at any given time. Garrett is larger, but there are two of them. The library reminds me that there are five of us if necessary, and I wonder which circumstances would make that necessary. I stop my imagination before it runs away from me.

The lead man, only a step ahead of the other, rarely looks away from my two companions and me. The one just behind him constantly scans the area for threats. I might have guessed they were some form of law enforcement even without Avery’s help because they act like the attentive, movie detectives.

In real life, I’ve only encountered magicless patrol teams. They never seemed as dedicated to their jobs as they do in the movies. To be honest, they don’t do much. One too many of them has gotten in trouble for accidentally cuffing a supe. Their behavior has caused crime among the magicless to double in the past twenty years. Magicless police only handle traffic violations and domestic disputes after determining both parties aren’t supernaturals.

I’ve always heard that the supernaturals use their own enforcers and have a separate judicial system. I’m afraid my introduction to it is about to be harsher than I planned.

“What do they want?”I ask Avery through the mental link while keeping my face carefully blank. The question is also meant for the library, but she says nothing.

“I’m not sure. Just to be safe, tell Bren to stay hidden no matter what happens,”Avery replies.

Suppressing a shiver of apprehension, I send the warning to Bren but repeat it to Kodi. Neither responds with words, but I know they hear me.

The curiosity within me rises. Do these men or the organization they represent have any kind of jurisdiction over the library? Multi-tasking like a boss – or a sphinx – I attempt to research the question, but it’s impossible when I’m still clueless about which entity they represent. They don’t have any noticeable credentials stitched onto their uniforms, but the students who stayed seem to recognize them. I curse my lack of knowledge and hope that I can bluff my way through this new development.

“Ma’am.” The lead man says the greeting stiffly, but he doesn’t allow his gaze to linger on me. Instead, it bounces from side to side, clearly viewing Garrett and Avery as the threats. Although his dismissal wounds my prize, he’s probably correct.

Both Kodi and Bren follow my orders. Kodi hovers just out of visual sight in case they have the ability to see him, and Bren remains in the archive room. The room isn’t visible to anyone standing in front of the desk. The door to the room is concealed behind a huge bookshelf piled high with limited-use reference materials and tools that assist me. I can hear him when he speaks, but I can’t see him unless I wheel my chair behind the bookshelf. I’ve done so several times since our lunch break, but I pretend the room doesn’t exist.

I’ve never been called Ma’am before; it makes me feel old, but I prefer Ma’am to mistress. Both convey respect, I remind myself; I’m the official caretaker of a supernatural wonder and these men are supernaturals. Although they don’t wear rings like academy alumni, my instincts classify them as shifters. Besides being brawny, they’re nondescript and average, as if they are intended to blend in. My guardians and I are the opposite.

“Gentlemen,” I reply with a stiff nod. I intentionally draw on Avery’s proper manners to make myself sound older and more professional than a nineteen-year-old girl raised among the magicless. “Can I assist you with anything?” I hope that my respectful tone hides my nervousness.

“Were you present in this building earlier today? To be more precise, were you present this morning around eleven ’o’clock?” the lead man asks with brisk efficiency. His partner, or brother, continues to mimic an owl as he swivels his head to survey his surroundings. I almost expect it to go all the way around at some point and barely repress my shudder at the mental image.

The answer seeks to leap automatically from my mouth, but I press my lips together. His way of speaking urges compliance, but my instincts urge caution. I suspect this is the beginning of an interrogation. While I want to believe that they’re here to gather evidence on the Vanderbeek woman, I can’t assume this. Addington or Walthers could have sent them here to investigate us on false charges.

My movie watching and book reading has also taught me a couple things. The first is never to give more information than necessary. The second is not to trust that people are who they say they are just because they look the part; they haven’t even said who they are.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you’ve introduced yourself. What are your names and which organization do you represent?” I make my tone sweet and polite, but the lead questioner still looks at me with surprise. He’s used to having his questions answered without difficulty, and I suspect magic is involved. His attention focuses on me, instead of my guardians, for the first time.

The speaker pulls an official-looking badge out of his pocket. The metal glints in the sunlight and accompanies an equally official identification card with his face on it. The picture could belong to him or his owl friend. “Of course, Ma’am. I am Detective Marks. This is my partner, Detective Parks. We’re from the Bureau of Supernatural Phenomenon; I believe laypersons refer to it as the BSP.”

Their names and the name of their organization sound entirely made-up. I might have laughed if Avery’s wariness didn’t increase at hearing the information. According to the vampire’s worry, their arrival heralds something worse than a simple evidence-gathering campaign. Outwardly, he makes no indication, but our bond allows me to inspect his emotions.

The two men look like brothers, but their similarities make me wonder if supernatural clones exist. Are there more of them? Do they have similar names like Barks and Farks? And why does my brain insist on acting immature when I’m supposed to project an air of professionalism?

The speaker’s jaw clenches when I don’t immediately bow at his feet or otherwise respond. Something within me, perhaps the library’s knowledge, suggests his annoyance is false, though. It is only an outward show, although I’m uncertain how I know this. “I didn’t catch your names either. I assume you are the Librarian? An Abram perhaps?” His eyes flicker to Garrett, then Avery, and then toward where Kodi is hiding. The last is subtle, but it’s a warning that he knows the ghost is there. He doesn’t look behind me toward where Bren is hiding, so I ignore the warning.

“Correct. I am the Librarian. My name is Zosia Abram.” I’m stalling, and it’s not a smooth performance, but I have to trust my instincts. While there’s nothing outwardly wrong with these men, my past has taught me lessons that I can’t ignore. In this case, the lesson is that men who have prestige and force behind them don’t earn respect simply by saying they deserve it. Addington and Walthers both hold positions of power, and they are cruel, unscrupulous men. My intuition cautions me to hold my tongue, but I’m uncertain how much longer I can delay.

“Excellent. Now that we’ve established who we are, can you answer my original question? Were you inside this building at eleven ‘o’clock this morning?”

I open my mouth to say yes, but the front doors open with more force and noise than they usually do. The answer dies in my throat. Ansel strides through them, accompanied by Tremayne – the distinguished mage I met when I arrived on campus. Father or not, the shifter claims he’s my ally, and the newcomers likely understand this situation better than I do. Even Garrett seems confused about whether to cooperate, and I thought he was well versed in everything supernatural. Perhaps his father’s dealings with the bureau were always secret bribes. I’m curious to know how Avery seems so educated if Garrett isn’t.

Ansel still appears half-dead, but his face looks less gray than at his earlier visit. I study their expressions as they approach. Ansel looks as stumped at the men’s presence as I am, and I sigh internally. Perhaps these men won’t be my saviors. Then, they enter Tremayne’s line of sight and the mage’s white, bushy brows rise into his equally white hair. His appearance still brings to mind the headmaster in the popular boy wizard books, and I half expect him to speak with a British accent.

In his professorial robes, Tremayne presents as the perfect, stereotypical wizard. He only suffers from a second of confusion before returning to his perpetually amused expression. I doubt the mage is ever truly flustered, or his long life has taught him how to master his emotions.

I’ve decided to call the enforcement duo Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. It’s no less ridiculous than their given names. The speaker is the former because his partner only seems capable of scowling and glaring.

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