She rolled her eyes, like she expected my tone, even half awake.
“It's the best time to work on our history of Arcadia project, duh.”
I had forgotten about that project, and now I wished she didn't remind me. It was worth taking a zero if it meant ex-communication.
“Of course you wanna go to a library on a Saturday morning…”
I sat up, letting my phone fall into my lap, before I saw my screen illuminate my notifications, several private messages on Instagram. I ignored Luna’s voice in favor of swiping on Caellum’s messages. I wanted answers; no, I wanted validation.
Caellum: haha that's random.
Caellum: making a fan club for me? Guess that deserves some deets.
Caellum: Yeah, I do. Why?
I squinted, like I could read between the lines of his messages with just a stern look. It was a complete shocker when I couldn't. My fingers tapped fiercely against the glass screen of my phone, typing my response.
Me: I don't do fan clubs, cults, or anything that requires me to play well with others.
All smirks, I locked my phone and drew my attention to Luna, who was pulling on a knit sweater in a dusty rose color that didn't clash with her strawberry blonde hair. It complimented her.
It took me a minute to realize her eyes were wide, and I had missed something. She rolled her eyes, not bothering to repeat herself.
“Just get dressed. I'll meet you at the coffee cart downstairs.”
I pushed myself out of bed and just threw on my signature jean jacket. Changing for a library visit wasn't needed; my joggers and tank were fancy enough to browse dusty old books.
I grabbed my bag and stomped down the stairs, only motivated by the sunny outlook of coffee.
Luna held out a small hot coffee, while she leaned against the railing, waiting for me, before we made the trek across campus to the library.
Libraries were always quiet, but at this time on Saturday morning, it was creepy. We found a table warmed up by the sun and perfectly tucked behind shelves of books.
Luna took off as soon as her bag hit a chair. She was laser focused, and I was hitting a wall, while yawning into my to-go coffee cup.
I took my coffee with me into the same aisle of books I was in the last time I was in the library. I pulled the only book off the shelf that caught my eye—the only black book among the faded colors. I thumbed through the fragile pages, not sure what I was even looking for, when a drawing of a forest made me stop and stare. It was a simple drawing, not much detail, but I analyzed every corner of the page.
The candles on the stump in the center of the tall trees, the footprints in the dirt, and the feeling I got from just the picture without reading any of the words.
It was a sinking feeling, similar to when Bolton blurted out his insanities to me, hoping I’d jump on board.
I skimmed the words on the adjacent page, only stopping at the highlighted words: sacrifice, coven, curse on the town, and the number fourteen.
I don't know why those words jumped off the page, seemingly bold, underlined, and italicized.
The sinking feeling only climbed a mountain as I thumbed further into the book.
“Something worse than witches, a kind of power that couldn't be trapped by their human forms. They moved like us, spoke like us, felt just like us, except their purpose in Arcadia was greater than fulfilling God’s Word.
One of the thirteen fell into the Devil’s lust one winter. Their love only grew with the trees blooming in the spring. It wasn't until Pastor Oscar questioned his intentions with young Rosalie that we saw his dark side.
The thirteenth member of their unnamed coven stumbled over his words, and we caught his mark of evil on his neck, hidden under his collar.
I stopped reading, wondering why it all felt so familiar to me, when I had never heard of Arcadia before my dad dropped me off here. I sat down between the bookshelves in the small space, still holding the book and my coffee. I folded my legs together, reading more of the legend.
The devilish mark was burned into him with the fiery depths of hell.
He called himself Phrixus, a name as foreign as his tongue.
The council met on the full moon after the blanket of black weighed heavily on everyone’s eyelids. Our order and laws needed to be upheld, even among the Devil.
That night, Phrixus walked into my office demanding our ear.
“You are wise to fear me. I walk among mortals in this form, yet I do not blend in. I require the girl, as payment, and I will leave your fates to my gods, instead of at my own blade.”
The buckles on my men’s boots shook with fear, but I wasn't ready to accept defeat at the Devil’s hands. I was a holy man bound by my Bible and spirit that lifted me from my bed every morn. I placed my hand at my sword and steadied my gaze on the man. He looked as young as Rosalia, but the Devil can take many shapes.
I stopped again to contemplate the words I soaked up and how much those words fed the feeling in the bottom of my stomach. Sinking further into familiarity and despair at what transpired so long ago.
I closed the book and pulled the ones next to it off the shelf without inspection before making my way back to the table.
“Find material for your project?”
I sat down with a hard, loud thud against the wood, and then I looked up, like I expected the librarian to elicit some loud shhh from the desk centrally located.
“Did you know in the 1600’s there was a group of people with burned marks that scared the town shitless?”
Luna twisted the book towards her, reading the spine and immediately pulling them towards her. “You can't use these. They're artifacts. Fragile.”
I laughed at her; none of that sounded like a good enough excuse to me.
“What are you talking about? They were on the shelf. If they were so off limits, wouldn't they be under lock and key?”
She looked uncomfortable and tense all of a sudden. Even the thought of someone near her breaking the rules sent Miss Innocent into a silent meltdown.
I ignored her aversion to breaking the rules and took notes on the urban legend I chose for the project, leaving Bolton with no choice.
He wasn't here or helping, so I became a dictator, the queen he let me be. Crown, but no throne.
It felt like hours later, when the sun was sitting higher in the sky and beaming down on the wood even harder. I pushed myself inch by inch closer to the warmth, craving it after all the gloomy weather I had experienced so far here.
The laughter of males nearby caught my attention quickly. I was looking for any excuse to stop studying these old books for a project I didn't want to do to begin with. It was a welcome distraction, until I lined up faces with the laughter: Bolton and Nyx.
They breezed through the library, disregarding the quiet signs and even the librarian eyeing them. They ran this school, and everyone knew it.
King and the baron, with the good looks and abhorrent personality.
I didn't know what Luna saw in him. He barely spoke, and when he did, it was threatening. I was shocked he even knew how to laugh; it had to be at someone’s expense. Those two didn't enjoy anything but aches and pains—the kind that turned souls black and hearts to stone.
I dipped my head down into my book, hoping not to be seen. Maybe they were here for some quick errand, and I could be spared. Bolton’s fingers tugged down my book, as he leaned over, waiting for our eyes to meet.