Page 16 of The Alien in the Archive

I exhale in a breathy moan that verges on obscene.

We’re still standing in the exact same positions—physically separated, but something has changed. He looks different than he did when he first showed his face, a little more life in those dead eyes.

“I have a proposition for you,” he says.

Does it involve doing that again? Because I’m down. “I’m listening.”

“A trade,” he says. “You tell no one I’m here…and I help you with your research. Help youunderstandyour powers.”

No…this is too good to be true, right? He’s playing me. Or…it’s toobadto be true, because this guy is maybe one of the most feared creatures in the galaxy.

“What are you getting out of this?” I ask.

He shrugs. “You keep my secret. And…well, I supposed you entertain me. It gets boring here in the darkest corners of the Obscuary.”

I start spinning out with conclusions once again, my mind racing to figure out the implications of all this. A Borean magister hiding in the archive,living herefor God knows how long; he wants me to keep him a secret, has been stalking me for weeks, this is definitely a bad idea?—

“Okay,” I nod. “That works. Sounds good.”

The language strikes me as silly; this feels more like a handshake than a deal with the devil. But then the Borean extends his hand, letting me come to him.

I step closer like a dog on a leash.

Reach out and find his skin cold as the grave.

“It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Page,” he says—because of course he already knows my name, he probably knows everything about me. “I’m Thorne.”

Then it’s done.

Deal struck.

I hope I won’t regret it.

7

THORNE

She doesn’t run.

She should.

But…she’s too stubborn for that.

I can feel the conflicting emotions going to war in her mind—fear of the unknown, exhilaration at the prospect of exploring that unknown. She’s not the type to balk at things she doesn’t understand; in fact, I think she’s more likely to fling herself into danger purely for the sake of sating her curiosity.

She’s hungry too…just in a different way.

And it’s that curiosity that keeps her rooted in place, even as every instinct tells her to leave.

“Sit,” I gesture to a worn leather chair across from the one surrounded by my books. I keep my voice low, soft—the same tone I would use to calm a skittish animal. “You came all this way, didn’t you? Let’s not waste the opportunity.”

She hesitates, her eyes flicking from me to the chair and back again. Her bag is still slung over one shoulder, her fingers gripping the strap tightly…but I don’t think she wants to run. She’s made up her mind about that. Instead, this seems more like nervous energy.

She’s too excited to sit down.

Finally, with a deep breath, she moves toward the chair. She sits down cautiously, perched on the edge, foot tapping a quick rhythm against the floor. I don’t try to suppress my amusement; even with her fledgling telepathy, she’ll be able to sense it.

“Good,” I say, settling into my chair. The stolen furniture creaks faintly beneath my weight, the only sound in the room, save for Page’s breathing and erratic movement. To my surprise, Ashlan pads over to our guest and hops into her lap without invitation, curling up and beginning to purr. Page scratches him behind the ears as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. She doesn’t care about the lumivix, only her research.

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