Page 2 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
‘Stop,’ I hissed, worried it would set off one of the wards.
The beast’s tiny body trembled in annoyance as it bared its sharp teeth again. Dark eyes glanced down to see the torn scribbled mess of papers I’d left on that desk – my notes on transfiguration and healing that had taken me all day to write. Things I needed for my latest application.
My last hope.
An icy sense of dread washed over me, just as the dust sprite glanced up at me again, something smug about the slight tilt of its head.
‘No.’ The pleading whisper left my lips too late.
The menace snatched up my notes in its grimy, sharp mouth and scrambled away.
‘Stop !’ I shouted, rounding the desk and stumbling after it into the sinister remains of the library.
I needed those notes.Almaneeded those notes.
The clicking of the sprite’s wings guided me around corners and between drunken, leaning shelves, every turn guiding me to a more dangerous section of the ruins, my boots skidding on the remains of burnt, ashy books. I stumbled over twisted roots growing out of the wooden floor or jutting dangerously from the crumbling brick.
Dust stung my nose as I rounded another dim corner, only to hear a clamour of motion as I came to a skidding halt behind a derelict bookcase.
Nobody should be down here, especially not me.
Then came a hissed curse, making me duck into the shadows and move the abandoned scrolls aside on the shelf, fingers tangling with thick cobwebs, to see what remained of the entrance to the restricted section beyond. Through the rusted,filigreed gates stood a lone, cloaked figure, lit by the sickly-green light of an eternal lantern.
There was an irritable clicking as the sprite tumbled onto the shelf next to me and dropped my notes. I eyed it accusingly, considering swatting the winged pest out of existence, but another hissed curse turned my attention back to the restricted section. The figure stepped into the stream of light as the hood of their cloak fell back onto their hunched shoulders, revealing Finneaus Ainsworth. Bright blond hair uncharacteristically unkempt and still wearing his evening robes beneath his cloak.
Master Hale had said Finneaus was failing his classes, and not even his father’s heavy purse could save him from the humiliation of being an idiot.
I watched as he hunched over what remained of a reading table, the lantern sitting precariously on the edge. Head bowed as he grasped at the latched cover of an ancient metal-bound book and pulled, as if he could tear it open by sheer force despite the rusted lock. The familiar ancient family crest of the stag catching that horrid green light.
The air grew thick in my lungs, the pinching irritation of a headache almost overwhelming. My magic flared in response, heating my blood.
I knew that book.
Commander Ainsworth’s compendium, a forsaken text the Council should have destroyed long ago. A book encased in forsaken iron – a cursed metal that ensured no fey could touch it.
The book had been missing since the old Institute had fallen centuries ago, buried beneath the new Institute where the Mage Council now sat, hiding behind the pretence that they’d reformed. That they’d turned their backs on their dark King’s rule for the mortals and fey of this world to exist inpeace. Yet, here was a compendium that should have been destroyed long ago.
Finneaus continued to struggle with his great-great-grandfather’s book, not noticing the silver inscription on the spine, the warning. How a creature in service to the compendium’s owner was bound inside – one that would be over two centuries old, probably close to starvation and so rabid from its containment no simple spellcasting could contain such volatile hunger.
I should have retreated, made my way up into the Institute halls, returned to my room and changed before Alma caught me. I should have let the stupid fool open the book, let the creature steal his soul and then pretend to politely mourn at his funeral. Ishouldhave …
‘Bugger it !’ Finneaus hissed, the book clattering onto the table as he held his hand to his chest, blood running down his fingers from the sharp spine and dripping dangerously close to the cursed book.
Blood-sealed books require a sacrifice. That warning echoed in my mind as fear oVerrode my senses. Dark magic had a way of calling to us, even when we wished not to hear it.
‘What are you doing?’ I shouted, emerging from my shadowed hiding place. Finneaus let out a cry of alarm, spinning on his heel and almost knocking over his lantern.
His distress was quickly replaced by a sneer of pure disgust.
‘None of your business,troll!’ He shoved his injured hand into the pocket of his dark robes.
I ignored the slur , a vulgar summary of my bloodline. As a fey, I was used to prejudice. Being Kysillian only made it worse, everything from my pointed ears, gold-tinged skin, lavender eyes, and imposing height was met with disdain from mortals.
‘You shouldn’t be touching that book,’ I cautioned as softly as I could, hoping reason would get through to the spoiled halfwit.
‘You dare to tell me what to do?’ His thin lips curled. ‘If you’re looking for a reason to get expelled,Woodrow, I don’t mind providing one.’
‘I thinkyou’rein graver danger of that than me, Finneaus.’ My voice held a calmness I wished I felt. No matter how much he hated me, once he dabbled in the dark magic that text contained, there would be no coming back.
