Page 38 of The Alien in the Archive

“She’s not going to suspect that I’m hanging out with a guy who isn’t supposed to exist,” she snaps. She finishes going through the first stack of books, then she turns to look at me. Her eyes are wide, and there’s no mistaking the tremor in her hands. “We need to talk.”

“Clearly,” I murmur. “What happened?”

She doesn’t answer, going to another stack and kneeling to grab another book. “Yes, this is what I was looking for,” she mutters under her breath. She walks to the middle of the room and puts down the book on the table, flipping it open. I stand next to her, watching closely. “When I read about the human witches being able to move things with their mind, I didn’t realize it would justhappen?—”

“Page,” I place a hand on the book, stopping her frantic activity. “Breathe.”

She freezes, her gaze snapping to mine. For a moment, she just stares at me, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. Then she exhales sharply, shoulders slumping.

“I moved a glass.”

I blink. “You…moved a glass?”

“With my mind,” she clarifies, voice rising again. “I went to reach for it, and it just came to me, like…it just hovered. I wasn’t thinking about it, and then it just?—”

Her words tumble each other, her mind spinning out. I catch her hands, steadying them, if only in an effort to stop her inner monologue from screaming. Her hands are trembling, skin warm against mine, her pulse pounding.

“It’s getting stronger,” she whispers. “The telepathy, the energy…it’s like it has a mind of its own.”

I keep hold of her, not wanting to let her go until she’scalmed down—or maybe not at all. “Telekinesis is a common side effect of Elixir consumption.” I slide my thumbs across her knuckles, rhythmic and soothing. “You’re okay.”

“But I haven’tconsumedElixir!” she says. “I got exposed to it when I was a kid—a lot of it, yeah, but my powers didn’t even show up until recently…and they were subtle. Ever since I got here, though, they’re going crazy, getting worse. It’s scaring the hell out of me.”

“Page, your abilities are evolving,” I press. “Panic won’t help you control it.”

“I’m not panicking,” she snaps, snatching her hands away. She goes back to the shelves, scanning for other books. “I don’t want this…I didn’t ask for it, it’s not particularly helpful. I’m so,sosick of it.”

“Unfortunately, you can’t stop it or reverse it,” I say, giving her space but remaining close enough to protect her in case she manifests some new skill. “You learn to focus it, to harness it. But first, you need to understand it.”

She scoffs as she slams another book down on the table. I wince; I don’t want her treating my books like that. “That’s why I’m here,” she says. “Do you think I came all the way up here to chat in the middle of the night? I need answers, and you’re the only one who might have them.”

Her words, sharp as they are, strike something in me. The trust she places in me, even when she’s afraid, is staggering. She could have gone to Davina, to anyone else…but she’s here.

With me.

Mine.

Page flips through the book again, muttering to herself. The faint scent of ink on old parchment fills the air, grounding me, but there’s a sharper note beneath it that I quickly realize is her scent. I draw closer without meaning to, inhaling that delicious scent.

“Ouch!” she hisses.

I’m right at her elbow now, frowning. “What is it?”

She shakes her head in annoyance, drawing her hand up to look at her finger. “Just a paper cut,” she says. A bead of blood wells from the small cut, vivid and red. But there’s something else…

…a shimmer.

Elixir.

“Let me see,” I snap, taking her hand.

“It’s fine, Thorne, I?—”

Her protest dies as I raise her hand to my face, peering at the wound. My gaze locks on the crimson drop, the world narrowing to that single, damning point. The scent fills my lungs, the nectar of the gods, the lifeblood of planets…moving through her circulatory system, beautiful,beautiful.My hunger flares, primal and immediate, but it’s more than that.

It’s a need—a visceral, undeniable urge to claim what’s mine.

I don’t decide to move—I just do.

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