I eased into the room and between the stacks, grateful that the door led to this part of the library. The stacks gave me a bit of cover.
My footsteps were silent as I walked toward the center of the library, following the scent of ash and fire.
Please don’t be alight.
The library had never gone up in flames before. The ghost just smelled like an inferno—smokey and hot—it didn’t create one.
Please.
I felt almost lightheaded as I moved toward the back of the library, passing underneath the soaring domed ceiling at the center of the space. Dark mist crept over the gorgeous stone floor, concealing some of the intricate design work that was the library’s hallmark.
I swallowed hard, my gaze riveted to the back where the mist was thickest.
Fates, how I wanted to run.
But I’d brought my ghost here. The library was innocent. The books were innocent.
Hell, the whole of Guild City was innocent.
The shadowy ghost had already driven me from my cute little flat, fear sending me to the library to hide until I solved the mystery of my spectral menace.
I didn’t know what haunted me, but I knew it was deadly. My dreams and the words of my old nana—a powerful seer—made that clear.
But I wanted to know.
Because as much as the dark shadow scared me, I was desperate to discover what it was. Why did it make me hot and cold all at once? Why did it smell like the depths of hell, but in a way that I liked?
As I neared the back, I swore I saw a man in the shadow—no, of the shadow. Like he was made of the dark mist itself. Tall and broad, he appeared at the corners of my vision…watching me.
Calling to me.
I swore I’d seen him in my dreams before, connected to me in the strangest way. He’d been devastatingly beautiful, like an angel fallen from the highest clouds.
It was his presence I felt now, watching me so intently. Warmth crept over my skin, banishing some of the coldness, an unnatural response to a phantom.
I turned toward him, and he disappeared as if he’d never been there.
What was I going to do if I caught him, anyway?
I had magic—plant magic, mostly—but not much of it. And I wasn’t particularly skilled because Nana had drilled into me that using it would draw him to me.
He’d found me anyway.
This monster, whatever he was, had such powerful magic that it made my bones shake.
My steps faltered, and I nearly turned back.
Then my gaze landed on the body sprawled on the floor a few feet away, surrounded by the dark mist. A human-sized body.
Fear iced my skin.
My mind flashed back to the dead rat I’d found earlier this week. At first glance, the poor creature had seemed asleep—until I’d gotten closer.
It was dead, its little body surrounded by the dark mist. I could tell myself that it was natural causes—old age, maybe.
But no.
The shadow had killed it. The rat had gotten too close and breathed in that dark mist, collapsing on the spot.
And now the mist had claimed another victim, a person with short golden hair that gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Black motorcycle boots and skinny jeans and a flannel top rolled up to her elbows.
Mac.
My heartbeat nearly deafened me as my stomach fell through the floor.
Macbeth O’Connell, one of my only friends.
I held my breath and sprinted toward her, cold with terror. She lay quiet and still, her pretty face slack. I grabbed her ankle and pulled, hauling her backward away from the mist.
My skin burned as if something watched me, but the figure of the man didn’t reappear. I could still feel him, though, and terror drove me.
Mac was a dead weight as I dragged her across the library toward the anteroom.
My lungs heaved, but I couldn’t help but ask, “Why do you haunt me? Who are you?”
No answer.
“Why Mac? Why my friend? Haven’t I been alone enough?”
Still, no answer. And the dark shadow was gone, the ghost’s presence faded in the early morning air.
He’d be back. No question.
I shoved away the thought and knelt near Mac, who sprawled on the gleaming stone floor. Her cropped golden hair was messy, and shadows darkened the pale skin beneath her closed eyes. She was far taller than me, slim and strong. Her limbs splayed out like a broken doll’s, and fear gripped my heart.
“Mac.” Gently, I pressed my fingertips to her neck, praying. “Come on, Mac. Please don’t be dead.”
A thin pulse beat weakly against my fingertips. Hope flared.
“Come on, wake up,” I begged.
She lay there, cold and still, her breathing shallow. I surged to my feet and raced to the small sitting room near the door. Persian rugs provided a cozy base for the plush, old furniture. A fireplace burned, eternally fueled by magic, and fresh flowers sat on the windowsill. Neither I nor the other librarians were responsible for them—they just appeared, fresh and beautiful each week.
There were many secrets in the library. Most of them more wholesome than the secret of the ghost who haunted me.
I headed toward the small desk near the window. No one had used it in over a century, and the tiny drawers were still full of the bits and bobs of another life. I’d poked around in there once, my curiosity impossible to resist.
Quickly, I rifled through the drawer on the left, finally finding the little vial I’d stumbled upon last year.
Smelling salts.
Ancient and gross, but hopefully effective.
Heart pounding, I raced back to Mac’s side. I fell to my knees, uncorked the vial, and held it under her nose.
She opened her eyes and sat up with a gasp, her face wrinkling in disgust. “What the hell?” Her blue eyes flew open, confused. “Seraphia? What’s going on?”
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, supporting her. “Are you okay?”
She coughed, looking around the library, her brow furrowed. “I’m at the library?”
“Yes. I found you on the floor.”
“Oh.” She frowned, then clutched her stomach and doubled over, shuddering. “I feel awful.”
Fear spiked. I thought of the rat who had died after wandering into the mist. “What’s wrong?”
“My abdomen. Lungs.” She gasped, trying to breathe. Her gaze flashed up to mine, fear in the depths. “I remember now. I came to see you, but there was this mist at the back of the library.”
“Did it call to you?” In the same way it calls to me?
“Um . . . no.” She shook her head, glancing back toward the rear of the library.
My gaze followed hers, searching, though I knew the ghostly shadow was gone. I was attuned to its presence . . . unfortunately.
“It just looked weird, so I went to check it out,” she continued.
I hadn’t been friends with her long—I’d been following Nana’s advice all twenty-five years of my life—but that was one hundred percent Mac. Bold and brave, she was never one to back away from a challenge.
“Then what?” I asked.
“I felt lightheaded.” She touched her temple, her knuckles bruised and broken. Probably from a fight. She was a bartender at the Haunted Hound, a popular pub in town and one of the magical gates to human London. “Then I collapsed, I think.”
Her face turned pale and almost green as she bent over once more.