Chapter 13

Thirteen

Monday comes like it does every week, but today isn't like any other Monday I've had before because today I'm no longer invisible.

The changes seem subtle at first: a girl gives me a tentative smile when she passes me as I'm switching books out in my locker, the guy I sit next to in my Creature History class acknowledges me with a nod when I slide into my seat, but as the day wears on it's obvious something has changed.

"Is something wrong with what I'm wearing?" I ask Ensley as I sit down next to her at lunch.

Tilting her head, she looks me up and down, taking in my off-the-shoulder graphic tee and ripped jeans. I fidget under her regard, sure there's something different or wrong with how I look today.

Ensley shrugs. "No. You look cute. Why?"

I sneak a covert look over my shoulder and notice several sets of eyes pointed in our direction. "I guess it's not a big deal, but it's just that classmates have been . . . noticing me." I feel silly once the words leave my mouth.

Ensley's brows hike and she scans the tables around the courtyard, probably not seeing anything out of the usual. I've almost convinced myself it's all in my head when she turns back to me and says, "I think you're right."

I lower my voice, irrationally worried we'll be overheard. "What do you think is going on?"

She leans back in her seat, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I think it's because you entered Chaos and made it through the first round. That took guts, Lock. Creatures noticed."

"You really think so?"

She nods and I take another look around, noticing that the majority of the stares in my direction are neutral, which is better than openly hostile, but it seems like the students at Nightlark are still making their mind up about me or how they feel about me being a Chaos competitor. I'm not naive enough to think that something couldn't push the consensus in a negative direction, so for now the extra attention isn't good or bad. It just is.

Ensley moves closer, lowering her voice. "We never did talk about why you entered in the first place," she says, letting the statement hang in the air between us.

I knew my friends were going to grill me over Chaos, but even after a couple of days I still haven't figured out how to answer the question about why I entered without revealing my feelings for Becks.

Becks' face immediately fills my mind. I haven't seen him at all today, and he's noticeably absent from lunch. Is he avoiding me? Maybe. I know he was upset at me for entering Chaos, and I'd been too chicken to reach out to him over the weekend. I'd hoped having some time to cool off would put him in a calmer headspace.

"It was a spur of the moment decision," I say, hoping the kernel of truth in that statement shines through.

Ensley barks out a laugh. "You're kidding, right?"

I shrug. It's not not true. "It just felt like something I had to do," I answer vaguely, and Ensley studies my face. "Why?"

"You know that answer isn't going to be enough for Becks. He moped around the rest of the weekend. He's really bent out of shape over the whole thing."

"He'll get over it." At least I hope .

"I don't know. He doesn't get like this often. He's concerned about you. I think he's seriously in his head about it."

A spike of guilt shoots through me because I'm not the only thing Becks is concerned about right now. I don't doubt he's worried about me; it's Becks' nature to be protective, and when I'm competing in Chaos all he can do is stand back and watch. But how much of his energy is wrapped up in his impending arranged life-mating? And as far as I can tell, Ensley is still in the dark. I don't want to betray Becks' trust, but he needs all the support he can get from those closest to him. His parents might not be fighting back against the life-mating, but I know that his sister will be on his side.

"Ensley," I start. "Has Becks mentioned?—"

The chair next to me is pulled out, the legs scraping against the stone floor with a cringy screech. I look over and Leo flops his lanky body into the seat. Pulling back my upper lip, I lean away from him.

"Gimpy, you surprised me," Leo says with a smile that shows too many teeth, so it comes across disturbing rather than friendly.

"Beat it," Ensley says.

Leo holds up his hands in surrender. "Hey now, don't kill the messenger."

"What do you mean?" I ask before Ensley can come to my defense again. I may despise Leo, but I need to start sticking up for myself in small ways if I'm going to take back my power.

Leo digs into his backpack, pulls out a small black rectangular device, and places it on the table in front of me.

"Chaos tracker," he says by way of explanation. "All the competitors are getting one. You're supposed to keep it on you at all times."

I pick up the device. It's thicker than my phone, but smaller in overall size. "What is it for?" I ask, turning it over in my hand. There don't seem to be any buttons or a screen.

"Just the messenger, remember?" he says, and then shoves out of the seat once again. "Good luck during the next trial," he says, leaving, but the wolfish grin on his face tells me "well" isn't what he wishes me.

"Can I see?" Ensley asks, and I hand it over. She turns it over like I did, but finally hands it back with a shrug.

The bell rings and I give my lunch a forlorn glance. I never even touched any of it, and my stomach grumbles to show its displeasure. After saying goodbye to Ensley, I drop the tracker in my bag and shove half a peanut butter and jelly in my mouth on the way to the garbage. After I dump the rest of my meal, I look up and catch the back of Becks as he slips out of the courtyard through a side door.

He was here?

My class is in the other direction, but I know the longer I put off talking with my best friend the harder it will be. This isn't going to be an easy conversation between the two of us, but it's necessary.

Going against the flow of traffic, I dodge bodies all the way to the other side of the courtyard and slip through the same door I saw Becks take. It dumps me into a stairwell that goes all the way up to the turreted top floor of the academy. It takes me a couple of minutes to scale the winding staircase, but when I reach the landing Becks is there, looking over the quad.

He doesn't turn when I walk up behind him, but his shoulders tense, letting me know he's aware I'm here.

"Don't you have class right now?" Becks asks, his voice weary.

"Don't you?"

He turns his head when I rest my forearms on the stone ledge beside him. His eyes are a dull green today and there are dark smudges underneath them. He regards me warily, and it makes my heart twist. Becks has never looked at me like this before. He's guarded, and I don't know how to fix that.

"How did you know it was me?" I ask, and he shrugs.

"I always know when you're around," he says by way of an explanation, and something about that makes me warm.

"So . . ." I say, not sure how to start the conversation.

Becks, picking up on the tone in my voice, tenses up again, and I frown. Becks and I have always been a refuge for each other, but that's changed. I don't know if that's because of Chaos, or because we brushed up against a line this weekend that best friends aren't supposed to cross.

At a loss for words, I finally settle on, "Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" he says, his eyebrows raising. "Isn't that what I should be asking you?"

"I'm fine. You saw me after the trial. A few bumps and bruises never slowed me down before. I'm pretty tough."

Becks frowns and his eyes darken as his gaze sweeps over me, almost as if he's seeing injuries that aren't there, but when he reaches my face the green hue brightens and my stomach bottoms out. What happened between us in that cavern wasn't my imagination. There's something brewing between us, I know it.

"I've been hurt worse in the ring," I say, my voice soft to soothe his roughness.

"This is different," he says, and takes a half step closer.

His hand twitches and he fists it, making the muscles in his forearm jump. I can't help but wonder if he's stopping himself from reaching for me. I wouldn't have to stretch more than a foot to place my hand on his chest, but I hold back as well. Even if our years of friendship weren't deterring us, his arranged mating hangs like an impenetrable barrier in the air between us.

"Why haven't you told Ensley about the life-mating?" I ask, breaking the spell that's enthralled us both.

Becks twists away from me to survey the school grounds once again. His jaw clenches as his hands grip the stone ledge, his knuckles white with the amount of pressure he's exerting. I half expect the weathered rock to crumble beneath his grip.

Conversation between us suddenly feels like a minefield, and I hate it.

"She's going to find out sooner or later," I say gently, thinking of how I found out about it in the hallway from another student. It's actually amazing she hasn't caught wind of it already.

Becks sighs and hangs his head. "I know, it's just if she doesn't know, then it won't . . ."

"Be real?"

He nods.

"Ensley might be able to help you with your parents. And if not, she can still help look for a loophole."

Another sigh. "There is no loophole, Lock."

I refuse to believe that. I'm already working on one, but I'm not about to tell him about my Chaos contingency plan.

"We'll get you out of this," I say, my voice filled with conviction, and when Becks looks at me his gaze is a mix of hope and despair that rips a hole in my chest.

When Becks hurts, I hurt too.

"Please pull out of the competition," he says, surprising me with the abrupt change in subject.

"What?"

"I can't protect you in Chaos," he says, his head dropping forward.

Reaching out, I lay a hand on Becks' shoulder, and he tilts his head to look at me. There's rawness in his gaze.

"I need to learn to live without your protection," I say.

I'd be lying if I said dropping out hadn't crossed my mind more than once since the trial. Becks is right about Chaos being dangerous, but the lure of Shadow Striker and all it can potentially give me are too strong to ignore, so I shake my head.

"Why do you have to do this?" he asks, his gaze penetrating, and I almost say, " For us ."

"I've already told you. You just don't like my answer."

"You don't need to prove that you're capable of defending yourself."

"If that were true, you wouldn't be so worried about me."

Becks shoves away from the ledge, pacing away from me and then back again. "The thought of watching you in those trials makes me feel like I'm going crazy," he confesses, plowing his hands in his hair.

I hate that I'm causing him this stress, but I believe it might all be worth it in the end.

"All right. Then don't," I say, a heaviness settling in my chest. It will be hard to face the trials without Becks there, but maybe it's for the best. "You don't have to watch. You should skip them."

He stops pacing and stares at me, utter defeat scrolling over his face. "I could never leave you to face them alone. No matter what, Locklyn, I'll always be there for you. To the depths of hell or the heights of the heavens. It's you and me against the world. Always."

Oh, my poor little heart. If I wasn't already full-on crushing on Becks, that statement would have pushed me over the edge.

"Becks," I whisper, stepping toward him, and then I'm in his arms. This isn't a passion-charged embrace like the one in the cavern. This is an embrace of comfort.

"I'm going to be okay," I say into his chest, and only notice a little how wonderful he smells and feels.

Becks' arms tighten around me, but I don't mind the extra pressure.

"I hope so," he says, and a small shudder runs through his body.

"Are we going to be okay?" I ask, my voice small.

Becks heaves a sigh. "Yes, of course."

I start to wiggle out of Becks' arms because the platonic feelings of comfort are starting to morph into something decidedly not platonic, and he lets me go.

"I'm sorry I was so cold after the trial. You just really scared me. You in Chaos on top of everything else going on right now is just messing with my head."

"I understand." And I really do. If I were in his shoes, it would kill me to see him in danger as well.

"Come on," he says, throwing an arm over my shoulder and tugging me back toward the stairs. "We've got to get you to class so you don't flunk out and are forced into summer school."

"Summer school?" I give an exaggerated shudder. "Never. Who really needs a high school diploma?"

Becks chuckles. "Don't worry. I won't let anything bad like that happen to you."

I smile up at him because I truly believe him.

With Becks and Shadow Striker still on my mind, my feet take me to the Emporium. I'm no longer looking for confirmation that Shadow Striker is real, I know that it is, but what I want to know are details on how to harness the dagger's magic. I don't want to end up like the Vampire King, going mad from corrupted powers. I also want to know if Shadow Striker steals the powers, leaving creatures magicless, or just copies their gifts somehow and then gives them to its wielder. As much as I crave magic, I don't think I could ever purposefully steal someone else's abilities in order to gain them. Talon seemed unsure of that part of the legend and I'm hoping to uncover a few more details. I don't want to risk my life to get Shadow Striker only to find out that I can never actually use it.

I stand in front of the spired building that houses everything from novelty items for tourist to centuries-old artifacts. My parents often purchase items from the owner and our family friend, Mr. Brone, a shifter who sources some of his more valuable objects from estate sales and overseas brokers. He came into town about five or six years ago, taking over the Emporium from the previous owner. Rather than being competitors, he and my parents frequently send business back and forth. It's common for him to reach out to Mom and Dad to get appraisals on items or offer to sell things to them at a discount. I wouldn't consider him a super close family friend, but he's certainly been a steady fixture in my life for several years.

I'm here today because I don't know another place in Everton that has as well stocked of a collector's library as he does. Ours is probably second best, but since I couldn't find what I'm looking for in our book collection, I'm hoping Mr. Brone can help me out.

The giant wood doors squeak loudly as I push through them. Mr. Brone is sitting behind the front counter when I enter, his salt and pepper hair slicked back, and his black-rimmed glasses are perched on the end of his nose as he inspects some papers. Mr. Brone is a hawk shifter, and I always thought his nose reminded me of a sharp beak. He lifts his head and spots me, his dark eyes brightening as his mouth stretches into a smile.

"Locklyn," he says, and then rounds his desk to greet me. "To what do I owe this surprise visit? Are you here for something for your parents?"

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I'm not here for my parents. I was actually hoping you might let me have a look around your library."

He cocks his head, his eyebrows rising over the rims of his dark frames. "Is that so? It's been some time since you've last lost yourself in the dusty depths of my library."

He's not wrong. I used to spend countless hours up there reading through some of the weathered leather-bound books. My favorites were fairy tales that took me far away from my reality. But when I got old enough to help my parents with the store, at some point I realized life wasn't and would never be a fairy tale, and so reading them just made me sad.

"I know. I'm sorry I haven't visited more. I need to do some research for school," I lie, instantly feeling horrible about it.

He waves me off. "No worries about that. I remember what it's like to be young. The world is fresh and exciting. Enjoy these years. They'll be some of the best of your life."

If these years are supposed to be the best of my life, I'm in serious trouble. Rather than contradict Mr. Brone, I smile politely.

"You know the way up to the library. My knees aren't what they used to be, so I hope you don't fault me for not walking you up."

Mr. Brone is only a few years older than my parents and relatively fit. I'd wager money that he could zip up and down those stairs with no problem, and even if he couldn't, he could shift and fly up there. But I don't blame him for not wanting to make the six-flight trek up to the top of the Emporium.

"Of course not. Thanks, Mr. Brone," I say with a half-smile as he moves back behind the desk and grabs a key.

"Oh please, we've known each other too long for you not to call me Kerrim," he says as he hands me the keys.

I nod and thank him, and then turn toward the stairs. As I make my way up to the library my thoughts shift from Becks to Shadow Striker. The "what-ifs" haunt me, sticking to me like wet sand. Irritating and impossible to get rid of.

The door to the Emporium library is unassuming and small. If I were an average sized creature I'd have to duck as I walk through the frame, but as I'm on the shorter side I don't need to worry about bumping my head. The entrance, however, is completely at odds with the cavernous room beyond it.

I slide the key in the lock, open the door, and immediately suck in a large breath of dust-filled air, relishing the smell of leather and parchment. A feeling of familiarity, home, settles over me as I take in the two-story room of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A stained-glass window on the opposite side of the space lets in rose and purple tinted light, and sconces of white faelight ring the space.

After setting my backpack down on one of the two long rectangular tables in the center of the room, I walk to a familiar shelf to trail my fingers over some of my old favorites: The Tale of Twin Foxes , The Ogre and the Princess , The Saga of the Doomed Siren Pirate . All fairy tales I'd escaped into. And I didn't just read the stories, I devoured them, becoming part of them the same as they became part of me. For the short time I immersed myself in their tales I didn't just read about the princess who fell in love with an ogre who turned out to be a cursed fae prince, I became her. I sailed crystalline seas with siren pirates and rescued a merman from certain death. I became a cunning fox shifter and fooled a greedy dragon king out of his riches. I lived a hundred different lives in this library and wished each time that I'd magically fall into a story and never escape.

But that's not how life works, and every time I closed a cracked and aged spine I had to return to reality and a life where I was spurned and shunned for my lack of magic, judged based not on who I was but on what I couldn't do. Some days life felt unbearable, and even though I'm blessed to have parents who love me and two good friends who stand by my side, there are days that still just doesn't feel like enough, days where I'd give anything to be someone else, to walk in different shoes. But books could only take me so far, and eventually reading the tales of adventures I would never live started to make me depressed. And so I stopped.

I haven't been to the Emporium library to read for pleasure in over two years. A twinge of nostalgia spikes in my chest at the smell of the parchment and papyrus of the aged books in Mr. Brone's collection, and along with it comes the urge to search the fiction section for what new books he's acquired. But that's not why I'm here today, so I turn away from the temptation and travel farther into the room, where I know he keeps his oldest and most rare tomes.

Three hours later, the light coming in from the stained-glass windows has almost completely disappeared and I have to squint to read the faded page in front of me. My neck aches and my butt has gone numb from the harsh wooden chair. Worst of all, I've come up completely empty and feel utterly defeated.

What if Shadow Striker doesn't hold any power and I entered Chaos for no reason? My stomach bottoms out, because if that's true, not only will I remain powerless, it means I have no idea how to help Becks.

Frustrated, I shut the book, a first century edition of the Ancients that should probably be in a museum rather than the Emporium's unkempt library, and slouch back into the uncomfortable wooden chair. I would have preferred to sit in one of the padded armchairs sprinkled throughout the room, but for my research the single table in the middle of the space was best.

I shove away from the table to get some feeling back into my butt and legs when my gaze snags on a volume in the legal section of the library. I can confidently say it's a small bookshelf I've never given more than a cursory glance, but the gold lettering against the black leather binding that spells out Dragon Shifter Law gets my heart pumping a little faster.

From the condition of the binding and crisp white pages I can tell immediately it's not an old book. It was probably printed sometime in the last twenty years. It seems like an odd edition to have here. It's true that different creature species, and dragon shifters in particular, have their own set of rules and laws for their clans, but because of the secretive nature of the content not much is available for public consumption. It's considered proprietary information, and truth be told I'm not even sure it's legal for Mr. Brone to have this book. Perhaps a desperate dragon shifter traded it to Mr. Brone for extra money? If the local dragon shifter clan knew it was here, they'd surely demand its return.

I shouldn't even be looking at it, but after pulling it from the shelf I flip it open to the table of contents, scanning until I land on "Mating Rules and Rituals." With shaky hands, I turn to the pages, skimming quickly.

At first it only talks about how each shifter has to go before the council to get approval before declaring a mate. That's common knowledge and for the most part just a formality. I've never heard of a mating being rejected, but as I keep looking I finally come across what I'm searching for, the section on the dragon heir.

I only get through the first sentence before the door creaks open. I slam the book shut, sliding it across the table toward the piles of other books I'd already searched for information on Shadow Striker.

"Ah, Locklyn dear, you are still here," Mr. Brone says as he walks toward me. "I closed the Emporium fifteen minutes ago."

"It's that late already?" I ask, digging for my phone in my bag.

Sure enough, when I pull it out it shows it's a quarter past eight, and I've missed calls and texts from both my parents. Typing out a quick note with my thumbs, I send them an apology and let them know where I am and that I'll be home soon.

"Are you done with these?" Mr. Brone asks when I look up, pointing to the messy stacks of books spread across the table.

"Oh yeah, I'm sorry. Let me put them away," I say, snatching up a small pile and shoving the Dragon Shifter Law book on the bottom. I'm not willing to take the chance that if I ask Mr. Brone to borrow it he might just take it away from me.

For the next few minutes Mr. Brone and I return the books to their spots on the shelves in silence. With his back turned, I slip the dragon shifter book into my backpack, a knot of unease forming in my gut, but I assuage my guilt by reminding myself it's for a good cause. Besides, I'll return it when I'm done, and Mr. Brone will probably never even know it was missing. I have to have a look at this book though. How am I supposed to help Becks out of his arranged marriage if I don't understand dragon shifter law?

After Mr. Brone and I clean up the mess I made over the last several hours, I follow him out of the library and down the winding staircase to the ground floor.

"I hope you found what you were looking for," he says conversationally, and I think about the contraband I have hidden in my bag.

"Actually, no. I was looking for some information on an Ancient, but I'm starting to think it's a lost cause."

"Research for one of your classes, right?" he asks, and rather than contradicting him I just nod. That's easier than explaining my new obsession with Shadow Striker.

"I heard about a specific story, but I'm starting to doubt it's even actually an Ancient. I can't find any information about it anywhere."

"Hmm," he says as we reach the ground floor and head toward the entrance so Mr. Brone can unlock it for me to leave. "What's the story? I've done my fair share of studying the Ancients over the years. Call it a hobby, if you will. I may be able to point you in the right direction."

I wave, unconvinced Mr. Brone will know anything when no one else has. "It's really obscure."

"Well, now you have to tell me," he says with an easy smile. "Try me."

We pause in front of the door. "Have you heard of the tale of Shadow Striker and the Vampire King?"

Mr. Brone's smile dims. "That certainly is an obscure tale. Where did you hear about that particular Ancient?"

"A customer who came into the shop asking about Shadow Striker," I answer honestly, the chance that he may actually know of the tale making my tongue looser. "I'd never heard about it before then."

Mr. Brone looks thoughtful. "Interesting," he says. "Not many are aware of that Ancient. It's a sordid tale of a corrupted soul and a weapon that never should have been forged. I suggest you see if you can switch the topic of your class assignment. There's not much information available about the tale, and even less truth. If you continue to chase after it, you won't be the first to find yourself left frustrated and empty-handed."

What a weird way to put it.

Rather than dampening my curiosity, Mr. Brone's warning only ramps it up. It's clear he knows more about Shadow Striker and the tale of the Vampire King than he's letting on.

"That may be true, but I find it a really interesting subject, so I'm not sure I'm ready to drop it just yet. Do you happen to have any books that mention it? Maybe I missed something when I was upstairs."

Mr. Brone shakes his head. "No, and you're not likely to find one either."

My insides deflate. "Why not?"

"It's one of the stricken Ancients, removed from the original canon. Most of the information we have on that tale is hearsay passed down from creature to creature."

"Yet you've heard about it," I say, pressing him.

He crosses his arms over his chest, seemingly uncomfortable with this conversation, but I can't let it go now. He's the first creature I've talked to who knows something about the tale besides Talon. "Was there something in particular you wanted to know?" he asks. "I may have the answer, but I'm not sure if your teacher will count me as a credible source for your project."

"Oh, I'm sure they will," I say, waving off that concern. It won't matter if my teacher thinks he's a credible source, because I'm not actually researching Shadow Striker for a project. "From what I know, the blade gives its wielder other creature's powers. I wanted to know if the blade stole powers from creatures or not. And if it really did corrupt the Vampire King."

He studies me. His gaze turning shrewd. "Who's to say? It's only a story," he says with a shrug, and frustration bubbles in my gut.

I'm about to thank him for letting me use his library and leave when he says, "But . . ." and I straighten my spine, hoping for a more definitive answer. ". . . if the dagger truly exists, from what I've gathered about the tale, I think it's entirely possible the blade doesn't steal powers but rather replicates them. Shadow Striker need only draw blood to work its magic, so if it's not taking a life, then I would assume it's not actually taking powers either. My theory is that when the blade soaks up the blood it's learning the creature's magic to replicate it. But of course that's just my opinion."

That makes sense to me, but is it enough to risk if Shadow Striker were actually in my hands?

"And as far as the poor Vampire King, the tale does suggest that he underwent some sort of change. There's more evidence that backs up the theory that his quest started nobly, but it's debatable whether it was Shadow Striker that poisoned his mind, or if it was something far simpler. I would think that any being with that much power would be susceptible to corruption. Don't you agree?"

I nod. He makes a good point.

I thank him for the information and his time, and he has to remind me another time to call him by his first name.

"Kerrim, right," I say, the name sounding weird on my tongue.

"Don't be a stranger, Locklyn. And good luck with that project. I hope you get a good grade."

I smile, and with a final wave leave to head home. I may not have found exactly what I was looking for by coming to the Emporium, but between the Dragon Shifter Law book hidden in my bag, and Mr. Brone's theories on Shadow Striker, I'm certainly not leaving hopeless or empty-handed.