Page 12 of Live To Tell

“You have influenced Leif before?”

“No. I would never do that to a friend.” I step back in disgust. “And I only used the stone for protection.”

“Apart from Wesley on the rooftop?” She looks pointedly at me, then turns her back and crouches down to open a brown leather trunk on the floor. “Your stone—I find that type of magical item always leads to trouble.”

“In the wrong hands, maybe.”

She looks over her shoulder. “And you think yours are the right hands, Rowan?”

Her words slap me, almost an accusation that I’d use magic to further my aims. We’ve discussed this numerous times—that’s no longer my desire, and in the past I only wanted to protect myself through gathered power. Now I’m bonded to one of the strongest supernatural creatures in existence and possess shadow magic. Magic I'm keen to explore.

Alright. I see Violet's point.

“Would you please explain why you've broken into this room?” comes a terse woman’s voice from the doorway.

Panic hitting, I turn and swiftly pocket the stone. If anybody notices this missing from the room, the academy will obviously know who took the item, and that’ll lead to trouble. But, now I’ve the stone in my hand I can’t let go, as if clinging on and begging me not to leave it behind.

Despite the lack of decent light, I recognize the short woman with her black hair in a severe bob-styled hair, wearing one of her oversized shirts over leggings. The librarian, Mrs. Eldridge, stands, hands on hips. “This room is out of bounds to everybody. Do you understand the trouble you could be in?”

“Everybody? Then why are you here?” replies Violet.

“As librarian and historian, I'm custodian of the magical artifacts stored within the academy,” she replies.

“Still, rather unusual that you choose to visit this particular room the day the tiara's placed here,” continues Violet.

“Mrs. Lorcan warned me this might happen and I'm keeping a closer eye on the place.”

“So, you followed us?” accuses Violet.

I've a good relationship with Mrs. Eldridge, the woman always helpful if I need to locate anything in the library and we’d often chat since—until recently—I’d visit alone. She assisted me and Violet in finding history books as we attempted to discover more about the old academy in the hope of finding names or more photographs, or the origins of the tiara. We found little. With the old library destroyed and the old Confederacy's decision to stay in the Dark Ages and not keep electronic copies, the only books available are modern accounts of the past—and no help.

“I'd expect better from you, Rowan,” Mrs. Eldridge says, and I grit my teeth at her condescension. “Have you found what you're looking for?” The question's directed at me, not Violet. Does she know I have the stone in my hand? “The tiara?”

“No,” mutters Violet. “But I intend to find it.”

“You're not taking anything from this room,” she warns.

“The tiara belongs to me.”

“No. It does not.”

“You sound rather convinced, yet you couldn't find us a picture, nor did you recognize the tiara when I asked in the past,” retorts Violet. “If not me, who does this belong to?”

“Following yesterday's incident, I now know the tiara is a powerful artifact—as does everybody else within the academy. The tiara remains in this room until we find the rightful owner.”

“You're avoiding my question and lying,” says Violet. “You came here to take the tiara.”

“Violet, shush,” I urge.

Tutting, Violet turns away to investigate more boxes. As she pries open the lid on an oak chest, Violet's knocked backwards across the room, smacking her head on a table leg. Her eyes flash with anger when Mrs. Eldridge chuckles.

“Do you think wards only prevent people from getting into the room, Violet, and not into the boxes?”

She hops to her feet and glares, unflustered by the knock on her head. “Where's the tiara?”

Something else catches my eye as Violet and Mrs. Eldridge face off. One of the bottles crowded onto a nearby shelf stands out from the rest. Most are either clear or brown glass and some are labelled. This one belongs on a store shelf—plastic, labelled but as make-up remover not a potion, and containing a clear liquid. I sidle in front of the shelf, facing the others, and reach behind for the imposter while Violet continues to argue with the librarian.

“Go on. Touch another box or drawer,” says Mrs. Eldridge smugly.

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