I made a slow circle around the book as it hung in the air, keeping my distance, afraid to touch it. Finally, with shaking hands, I reached out and grabbed it. The heavy book fell open in my hands, and at first I was relieved to see it didn’t contain those strange hieroglyphics. I recognized both Greek letters and the Latin alphabet. Unfortunately, I couldn’t read any of it.
From research for my own books, I knew enough about the Greek alphabet and how Greek words formed the basis of many English words, so I was able to figure out the title on the cover page: The Book of Prophecies & Curses. The exact book I wanted. How did the room know? Who was behind it? I only had to think the title, and it came to me as if sensing my desire. Who cares? Find what you need and get out of here.
I flipped through the pages, hunting for at least something in English. Numbers—the universal language—headed each entry. They were dates, going back to Ancient Greece, and increasing chronologically, with the last one dated many years ago. Prophecies and curses weren’t very common. Under each date, Greek letters lined the page, followed by lines of Latin letters in a foreign language, probably Latin itself. I skimmed the last pages, hoping to find something I could make out, perhaps a familiar name. Two lines seemed to jump out at me as if somehow bolder than the others, but not, and I started sounding out the letters, hoping to understand—
The snick of a door closing sounded down the hall, followed by barely audible footsteps. Panicking, I slammed the book shut. What if I wasn’t allowed to be in the Sacred Archives? Mom had told me to leave it alone, but was it because there was some rule about the Sacred Archives or the Book of Prophecies & Curses? Or did she just want me to “behave”? In case I’d violated the Angels’ space, I didn’t want to be caught.
I let go of the book, hoping it would return to its place the way it had come because I had no idea where it belonged. It fell to the floor. Nearly bouncing on my feet with anxiety, I held my hand out, and the book flew up into it. I examined the shelves in the direction from where it had floated, but didn’t see an opening anywhere.
“Go home,” I whispered with desperation. The book jumped out of my hand, floated over to a bookshelf in the far corner, and slid into its home.
I turned toward the door to sneak out, but it was too late. No way to escape, and no place to hide.
Chapter 8
Martin stepped around the corner to my left at the same time Solomon appeared outside the door to my right. They stopped in the middle of the corridor, right in front of the Sacred Archives—right in front of me. Frozen in place, my heart pounding against my ribs, I waited for their demands of why I was in there. They both glanced my way, but neither of them said anything. In fact, they gave no indication of even seeing me, though if I were any closer, I’d be invading their personal space.
“Martin, good to see you,” Solomon said. “Did you bring news from the field?”
Martin licked his lips. His hand slid down the front of his shirt. “Not exactly. I met with Katerina.”
Really? How come I hadn’t sensed their mind signatures? Did Rina have a way to shield her office? Or maybe Martin did. Interesting . . .
“And?” Solomon asked, swinging his arms to clasp his hands behind his back.
Martin’s eyes darted around, as if ensuring no eavesdroppers hid in the shadows. Yet here I was, and he still acted as though he didn’t see me. He lowered his voice when he spoke.
“I’m concerned about Julia,” he said in a near whisper, his Irish accent stronger with his apparent worry. “She’s been a bit dodgy. I think she’s . . . being influenced or something of the sort.”
Solomon lifted his brows. “What is your basis?”
“The messages she relays between Katerina and me—they’re bloody wrong. She’s missing facts, not telling Rina everything, but lets on that it’s my doin’. Something is goin’ on with her.”
I knew it! I’d always felt wrong about Julia, and now Martin confirmed she was hiding something. From Rina, no less.
Solomon rocked back on his heels. “And what did Rina say when you brought this to her attention?”
“She was flummoxed at first, but then denied it, of course. Claims I’m being paranoid with the news of the traitor.” Martin leaned closer to Solomon. “Keep a sound lookout on that vampire, Solomon. She’s not right, and I worry for Katerina.”
Solomon nodded. “I will keep this in mind.”
Martin clapped Solomon on the shoulder, then disappeared with a pop. Without even a glance my way, Solomon headed on down the hallway. I remained in the Sacred Archives for only a moment, my mind spinning with what I’d heard. Was Julia really the traitor? What exactly was she trying to accomplish? And how could she, a vamp, possibly block Rina’s power? I stepped out of the Sacred Archives, trying to be as silent as possible, and the air of the real world hit me as I crossed into the hallway. Solomon spun on me.
“Alexis?” he said, his voice its normal boom again. He peered behind me then narrowed his eyes. “Where did you come from?”
With the sound of stone sliding against stone, the door to the Sacred Archives slid shut as if telling me my time in there was over. Solomon paid it no attention, as if he didn’t hear it, and I realized he must not have seen it, either. Could only Amadis daughters see the Sacred Archives? Because only we could enter it? Not something I could waste time thinking about at the moment.
I swallowed. “Um, I came from my suite. I was, uh, wondering if I could talk to you.”
Solomon studied me for a long moment, and I fought the desire to shiver under his gaze. No matter how much time we spent in the same house with the same loved ones, even knowing he was a good man, I just couldn’t relax around him.
“Of course,” he said, his face breaking into a wide smile, white teeth against ashy skin. “You’ve been avoiding me. Have you finally gathered your courage?”
He teased me. I could see it in his dark, gleaming eyes. He knew I was supposed to have spoken with him weeks ago to glean direct knowledge about vampires. Although they were my favorite of all the creatures, I’d been too scared to be alone with him.
“I promise not to bite,” he said.
I couldn’t help it. A nervous laugh burst out of me, and Solomon chuckled, too. And with that, I relaxed. A little, anyway. He led me to his study, right next door to Rina’s. Solomon twitched his finger, the door swung open, and he disappeared within, expecting me to follow.
I took a tentative step inside, drinking in the vampire’s semi-private space. He and Rina shared similar tastes in décor—dark wood antique furniture decorated the room. Like Rina, he had a large desk, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a sitting area next to a fireplace. On closer examination, however, their preferences were also completely different. While books and beautiful statues of angels and other feminine ornaments filled Rina’s bookshelves, Solomon’s displayed interesting carvings, tribal masks, and weapons, crude and ancient-looking.
“That wall is from my time in Africa,” Solomon said, following my gaze, then his eyes slid to another wall, where more wood carvings, ceramic pottery, wooden necklaces, and dolls that looked alarmingly like voodoo dolls decorated the shelves. “Those are from my home country.”