Page 71 of Monster's Mystery

The librarian frowned. “No, I don’t believe he was. The Blackthorns have always been witches. But they were very progressive. When the school was opened, Master Blackthorn insisted that it be available to all magical creatures.”

“Was his wife the beast, then?”

“I really don’t think it was meant like that,” Mr. Brecken hedged.

“But why state it at all? Why not just say they fell in love?” I insisted. “That seems really pointed.”

“I suppose so.”

“Why was she the target of an attack?” I asked.

“It doesn’t say here, but you’re more than welcome to try to find more information on the Blackthorn family in one of the other history books,” Mr. Brecken said.

“Yes!” I replied eagerly. “Show me where they are?”

He led me back into the stacks. We put away the other book before he gave me two others.

“These should have the information you’re looking for,” he said. “You can borrow them for the evening. I doubt these will be looked for this early in the year.”

I curtseyed in thanks and brought the books up to my room.

Cracking open the first tomb, I skipped the first hundred pages until I got to the mid sixteen hundreds. “There’s got to be something in here about why the wife of a Blackthorn was attacked,” I muttered to myself. “Jealousy, perhaps?”

My eyelids kept drooping and I caught myself yawning several times.

“Come on, Siobhan,” I encouraged myself, slapping my cheeks. “Wake up!” It seemed the late night was catching up to me at the most inopportune time.

Finally, I read the paragraph I needed; the new Blackthorn bride was the target of an attack on the family because of their intent to open a school to all magical creatures. The dissidents didn’t approve of mixing magical blood.

I sat back in my chair, biting at a hangnail. “Again, that could be taken in two ways. They don’t want the school allowing for the potential of mixing magical blood, or they didn’t approve of a prominent witch marrying a beast.”

I flipped back a few pages to another portrait of the young Master Blackthorn. It had been painted when he’d been in his late teens, but his eyes hadn’t changed. I frowned at it. “But if you were born in 1644, what are you doing alive and wellnow?” I asked it, obviously not getting an answer.

The longer I looked at the miniature portrait, the heavier my eyes became, until suddenly, I felt myself lose my grip on consciousness.

I didn’t stop it; the sweet relief of sleep was too intoxicating.

My head dropped onto my arms as I slumped over my desk.

* * *

I was leavingthe academy by the kitchen’s back door. It was dark and the stars were already twinkling overhead.

“Come look at the stars with me,” Aiden called.

He was lying in the middle of the grassy clearing on his back, propped up on his elbows. He was smiling at me.

My heart thumped loudly in my chest and a pang of longing shot across it.

I brushed it aside and tried to walk seductively toward him.

His smile turned appreciative.

But then I noticed that the grass, which had started out fairly short, was now brushing my ankles. A few more steps, and it was at my knees. More, and I was wading through the grass up to my hips.

“What’s going on?” I asked Aiden, running the tips of the blades of grass through my fingers. “Did someone give the grass a growth potion?”

Aiden chuckled loudly. “Come here, my little Siobhan.”

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