Page 64 of Enticing Monsters

“Hold up,” I call out, squinting to try to see better.

The breeze makes the flowers sway, altering the light overhead, but once again, there comes a flash of white.

“What do you see?” Kian whispers by my ear.

I make a noise in my throat and work my way over to the flowers, pushing them aside. There, hidden by the overgrowth, is another path. Rather than the gray stones we’ve walked on until now, this path is purely white, nearly pearlescent.

“Follow the yellow brick road,” I murmur, taking a step onto it.

“Does that make me the Tin Man?” Tristan asks with a laugh.

“Dude,” Kian says, knocking his shoulder against his cousin’s. “You’re Toto, of course, since, you know…shifter.”

Tristan groans. “No way. That’s too on the nose.”

I ignore their arguing and share a quick glance with Foster before I head down the path. As we curve through the flowers, his fingers find mine and squeeze lightly.

It isn’t long before a building appears in front of us, one unlike the others we’ve spotted so far. Where before we’ve seen quaint cottages, this sprawling stone and wood structure looks more like a castle. It weaves into the blooms high above us, hiding in plain sight, the turrets and gables piercing the fluffy clouds above. The entrance, once grand, is now a tangle of twisted purple ivy, the large wooden doors long rotted and broken, their hinges rusted with time.

“I’m really hoping we won’t find the wizard,” Tristan mutters, and the quick thump followed by a yelp clearly indicates Kian whacked him in response.

“That makes two of us,” I agree, pushing at the door.

The massive wooden door opens with an ominous creak, allowing us all inside. The air is thick with the scent of old parchment, damp wood, and the faintest hint of something sweet, like wildflowers in bloom.

“What is this place?” Kian whispers, edging up beside me, his hand flexing and releasing as if he’s fighting the urge to grab a weapon.

“I guess we’ll find out.” I lift my chin, moving forward through the hallways.

Cavernous rooms full of stained-glass windows pass us by, but not even a single piece of furnishing remains. Each empty room we pass makes something tighten in my chest, anxiety building with every step.

A long, wide hallway catches my eye to the right, and I angle down it, my heart thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings.

Bright light at the end of the corridor calls to us, lightening the gloom, and I find myself holding my breath as we approach. I have to blink against the glare, my watering eyes taking a moment to adjust before Foster makes a sound suspiciously like a moan from by my side.

I can’t say I blame him as I take in the room. The wall facing us is made of windows, most covered by wooden panels, but one is bright and open, allowing light to flood the room and illuminate row after row of books, the stacks nearly touching the ceiling.

Throughout the center of the room are long wooden tables and benches with fluffy navy cushions inviting you to grab a book and settle in. There appears to be two levels, though I don’t see a staircase to get to the second one. I wonder if it’s hidden somewhere in the stacks.

The floors are covered with a carpet of soft moss, a velvety green that thrives in the dim light. Shafts of pale, otherworldly moonlight filter through the opened wall, casting ghostly shadows across the space and illuminating corners that seem to hold memories of time forgotten. In some areas, the furniture has turned to gnarled wood, roots twisting from old chairs and tables, as though the very library has grown from the earth itself.

In the farthest corner, an enormous stone fireplace stands cold, its hearth long abandoned. Above it, a faded tapestry still clings to the wall, depicting a scene of the fae courts—immortal and enigmatic, forever frozen in a moment of regal celebration. Despite the decay, the air remains full of enchantment, as if the very walls of this place remember the magic once housed here, and still, in some way, hold on to it.

The silence is profound, broken only by the occasional creak of old wood settling or the soft rustle of unseen creatures flitting through the space. Candles are lit throughout, the color of the flames a vibrant shade of pink. When Kian attempts to blow one out, it simply sways slightly but remains burning.

Surprisingly enough, there’s no dust. I have no idea if it’s because someone has been here recently or if magic is at work, like it is for the candles. For all of our sakes, I hope it’s the latter.

“I’m not sure if this is the information we’re looking for, but it’s certainly information,” Kian drawls, reaching up to ruffle his hair, taking in the walls of books.

It’ll take us an eternity to read them all, but at least we finally have a starting point.

Somethingin these tomes will help us save V. I’ll look for however long it takes.

“Flip through as fast as you can,” Foster suggests. “Look for anything on skinwalkers or the virus or strange illnesses.”

Tristan and Kian both nod, and I wind through the shelves, trailing my fingers over the books as if waiting for one of them to speak to me.

I’m moderately stunned to discover most of the books are in English. Is that a common language here? Or at least…was it, before the world ended? Or has someone translated these texts in the past one hundred years? That could explain the lack of dust…

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