Page 43 of Wings of Torment
A bark of laughter escapes as I stare at the verynotempty cabinet. Glued to the back of the windows is a picture. An exact copy of what I assume it looks like when empty. Someone went to a lot of trouble to keep the contents a secret. But was it Raduriel, or someone else?
Inside are old books, looking far more worn and faded than anything else in this entire library. Some have barely legible titles along the spine, and one doesn’t appear to have anything at all. When I pull it out, the once-supple leather is rough against my palm, and the pages are colored with age.
Not only is there nothing on the spine, but even the front and back cover are empty. Curious.
A commotion sounds from somewhere in the distance, startling me. I take the strange, untitled book from the cupboard and lock everything else back up. Until I can search the contents more thoroughly, I need to keep this discovery a secret. No one can know. Especially not fucking Raduriel. He’d be pissed to know that I found his key and whatever he’d been hiding behind the locked doors.
I quickly move my things out of Raduriel’s study room and into mine, making sure to leave his as untouched as possible. Only once I’m settled behind my desk, the door to my study room half closed, do I open the blank book.
The leather creaks. How long has it been since someone touched this volume? Decades? Centuries? Has Raduriel even read it?
These thoughts race through my mind as I flip through a few pages, surprised that there isn’t a copyright page. Just how old is this book?
Yet, the more pages I flip, the more I realize this isn’t some textbook from the archives. It’s a journal. Isaac Adams’s journal.The same Isaac whom my middle name comes from?
The pages are old and dry, the ink faded in spots, but most of what I see is legible. Daily accounts of his life, some with dates from before God was overthrown. My parents never talked much about him, other than to say he wasn’t all there. It used to piss me off that they’d given me my middle name based on some lunatic ancestor. Especially because Raduriel’s middle name came from our founding father, the angel who set the Adams family on a fruitful path.
But now, flipping through this journal, I think it might not be so bad to have a link to Isaac.
On the next page, the ink is splotched and running. Most of the words are garbled and illegible, but one stands out on the withered page.
Golden.
My heart races as I try to piece together what I can, but the only other words I can decipher arepowerandfear. I wince as I read the last word, knowing how much it would hurt Hayliel if she knew these three words were written together. But this damaged, worn-out page could honestly be about fucking anything, and until we can view this original page as it was written, we’ll never know.
I flip the page, happy to see this one less damaged, but it’s only a recipe. The next is just a list of numbers. Measurements, maybe?
After a few more pages, some filled with drawings and symbols I don’t recognize, I finally find something.
If I had not seen it with my own two eyes, I would scarcely believe it.
Golden feathers, shimmering in the first rays of the morning sun.
I felt a magnificent power radiating off him, even from so far away.
Beneath him, the earth lay scorched. Blackened.
Whether he’s destined to destroy or protect remains a mystery.
For now.
I reread it three times, and then again once more.
Proof. That’s what this is. Evidence that golden-winged angels once existed. Sure, the words might come from the old musings of a madman, but it’s something. It’s still fucking something.
Frenzy builds within me with the need to tell someone as I search for my slate. I find it still stashed away in my bag and don’t waste any time before calling Theo.
It rings twice. Three times. And I’m about to give up when he finally answers.
“Hey, man. You surviving?”
“Barely, but that’s not why I’m calling. I think I fucking found something.”
There’s a beat of silence on the other line before he finally speaks. “Already? You’ve barely been gone a full day. Are the libraries here just that lame or what?”
“The school doesn’t keep copies of old family journals. I found a passage about golden wings in—“
“Is gossiping with your friends what you Pures call helping?” Zeke’s voice comes through the speaker loud and clear, and for a second, I can’t comprehend what’s happening.
