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  Claire absorbed the information like everything else Alena had said: casually. She’d deal with what it all meant later, after some food and that promised rest.

  Her stomach rumbled.

  “Anyway, wards tend to, well, ward. They alert you to something or act as a defensive measure. They can trigger pretty much any magic, as long as the person creating it can transfer the energy.”

  “So what sort of wards can your, uh, sorcerer make?”

  Alena grinned. “That’s different. That’s faerie magic.”

  Claire frowned.

  “What I just told you all applies to human magic. It’s not in our nature to be able to do magic; some of us—like me and my father, but also you, are especially attuned to the Veil and its energy—usually one very specific aspect of it. It runs in our family to have some sort of control over the elements. I can only control earth and to a lesser degree, I can control air. My father can control air, earth and he has a bit of control over fire as well. You are susceptive to the dead.”

  Alena took a right and they ended up in a man-made cavern with a ceiling-high iron floodgate. Support beams had been welded onto it in a star or sun-like pattern. An overpass ran from wall to wall across the width of it, accessible by another rusty ladder, which had been anchored to the wall.

  Alena headed up on it. “Otherkin are different creatures than humans. Shapeshifters are bound to their animal self on the other side of the Veil and can draw them through it with effort. They host their animal like you host Madame Stravinsky, although—because they are the ones inviting them in—they have some semblance of control over their beast form. The Aos Sí belong to the lands beyond the Veil, they are part of it. As such, they can manipulate its energy with far greater ease.” Alena crossed the walkway as Claire climbed up. She stopped at a very mundane looking key pad and typed in a code. “2714. Got it?”

  Claire nodded.

  While she opened a small door in the floodgate, Alena continued on. “A pure blood Aos Sí—if such a creature still exists—could in theory control and take on any aspect of the Otherworld; they could shapeshift, throw fireballs, host and manipulate the dead, etcetera. Otherkin like Ellen, our sorcerer, have only a part of that natural affinity. They have specialties. With practice, they could probably get access to all or almost all areas of magic, but they’d have to live a heck of a lot longer than the average half-breed lifespan—which is about thirty years longer than an average human. They tend to specialize by what comes easiest to them.”

  Alena waited for her to enter, then pulled the door shut behind her. The sound rang through the mirror image of the room on the other side of the gate and Claire lost her train of thought as she took in the space that met her gaze.

  Below her was a room probably the size of half a football field. It was dimly lit by more domed tunnel lights and currently unoccupied. It was far from empty, however.

  “The library.”

  Claire was left breathless at the sight of rows upon rows of books in ornate bookcases along the wall and stretched out in front of her like a mahogany pedestrian crossing. She couldn’t spot a single empty shelf or even a gap between the books. “There must be thousands!”

  Alena stepped up to the railing of the walkway and rested her forearms on it as she took in the room as well. “A little over sixty thousand, last count. Most have to do with the occult, history, mythology, and anything Otherworldly. A good portion of them are unique, you won’t find a second copy in the world. Manuscripts that have been perceived to be lost, books imbued with magic, eye witness accounts of supernatural events…all here.”

  Claire stepped forward and pressed against the railing. “Why? Why keep them stored away? Shouldn’t they be in museums? In libraries?”

  Alena shook her head. “Too dangerous. Some of these books could seriously harm someone, either by reading them or by following the instructions in them. It’s just not a risk we can take.”

  “Okay. Sorry. Then I guess it’s good they’re here.” Claire smiled.

  Alena nudged her. “Exactly. Come on, lunch and a bed. I think you’ve had enough lessons for today.”

  Claire took it as her cue to let the subject drop. “Yes, please.” As she said it, her stomach rumbled again. The few peanuts she’d had on the flight were long gone.

  Alena took a ladder down and guided her toward the aisle to the right of the room.

  Claire followed and craned her neck to take it all in. The thick rugs underfoot dulled the sound of her footsteps and made the room smell even muskier than the books did.

  The stench of moisture and fungus from the tunnels wasn’t as pronounced here, but the few whiffs she got reminded her that she was encapsulated underground. Any other day that might have made her feel claustrophobic, but after almost being kidnapped—or arrested, she really had to ask after what had happened—knowing she was hidden away made her feel safe.

  The richness of thick and old tomes on all sides, the large ivory-and-gold globe in the center of the room, the gargoyle ornaments staring down at her from atop the edges of the bookcases, and desks full of abandoned research soon chased away all thought of buried military men.

  CHAPTER SIX

  There has been a development, I suppose one could say. A third of the city was leveled yesterday by a powerful force. I felt it down to my bones—everyone with even an iota of magic must have. I rushed to the origin of the sensation and discovered mayhem and carnage. Nothing remained of the building but a twisted mess of materials, fused together into lumps of organic and inorganic matter.

  The source was a young boy, barely ten or eleven summers old. His body lay pristine among the rubble. When I tried to pull his spirit back through the Veil, I could not, so I took the body home. I must speak to this boy. Had he lived through this manifestation of power, he would have been far more powerful than I am.

  I must learn his secrets.

  – Simon Magus, “In Search of Heaven; Treaties of the Veil”

  AS FAR AS Claire could tell, the Den had once been part of the tunnel complex they’d walked through to get here. Certain tunnels had been closed with bricks and mortar or with heavy iron doors that were locked with deadbolts and big chain locks. It created somewhat of a square of tunnels and rooms with the library protruding out to one side.

  She followed Alena through the tunnels but lagged more with every step. The sound of voices and laughter—and thus the threat of having to be social while she was so tired—made her want to turn and run. She was about to suggest she could live without food, and ask to be taken to her room instead, when they arrived.

  “Hey, everyone.” Alena sauntered in. “Guess who’s here? And guess who got attacked by Inquisitio idiots at the airport.”

  A shot of ice water flashed through Claire’s veins. Inquisitio. The bad guys had a name now.

  “What?” A female voice filled with shock was the first to sound. “Are you okay?”

  “Hungry and tired. And pissed off. I blame you for not seeing this coming.”

  A slap to leather followed. “Do not joke, Alena! Now I feel bad.”

  Alena chuckled. “No need.” A pause. “Claire?”

  Claire jolted. She’d come to a full stop outside of the arch that led into the kitchen—out of sight. With a deep inhale—new people weren’t exactly her thing—Claire stepped into the door opening. “Um… hi.”

  Three pairs of new eyes settled on her. They belonged to members of one of the most diverse groups of people Claire had seen in a long while, at least outside of a grocery store or the café.

  The first of the three stood by the kitchen counter with a large mug in her slender hands. She was older and sported a bright purple pixie cut, tight leather pants, and an off shoulder grey sweater with three white stars on it. The legs of her pants were zipped up to fit chocolate brown Aldo booties. She had a pronounced hook nose and almost ice-like blue eyes. She looked like a rock star, and when she smiled at Claire, Claire took an instant liking to her.<
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  The second was male with dark skin. He sat by the table and turned toward her to look. When he grinned, pearly white teeth emerged. All she could see of his attire was a simple burgundy shirt that hugged every muscle group on his formidable body. She guessed him to be in his early forties.

  The third was also male, around Alena’s age, Caucasian with wild curly blonde hair and a matching beard. He had a slight pot belly that pushed at a faded grey shirt which, in cracked yellow letters, read: ‘The Force Is Strong With This One’. He wore oversized faded jeans which were held up by a big brown belt in the form of an old game console controller. His trainers were scuffed and worn. He looked up and smiled as well.

  The woman adjusted the quickest. “You must be Claire. Welcome.” She had a heavy accent that cut off every syllable. “Roos Molenaar, resident scryer and soothsayer.”

  Claire tried to console the image before her with the image Alena had painted of Roos. When Alena had said sixty-three-year-old woman, this was not what Claire had imagined. Sure, sixty-three was not exactly geriatric, but leather pants?

  “Hi.” She waved.

  “That’s Ndulu Magoro, resident theriantrope, and Nathan Lee, SPR representative.” Roos pointed to the black man and the geek in turn.

  Claire found herself reeling again. Somehow, she had expected the werewolf to be an unkempt nature type and the high-ranking Society of Psychical Research representative to be…older. And dressed in a suit. She really had to work on her expectations if she was going to be here a while.

  “Hey.” Nathan raised his hand in greeting. He sounded American, like her. Maybe Canadian?

  She echoed the word.

  “Good day, Claire.” Ndulu inclined his head. His heavy African accent made her name sound positively foreign, with the weight placed on the “air” instead of the “Cl”. He also spoke slowly, as if to balance out his impressive bulk. “Good of you to join us.”

  Claire nodded and smiled. There was that damn blush again. “Thanks. I uh, Alena can be very convincing.”

  Roos laughed. “Yes, she can be.” She patted Alena’s leather-clad arm. “Now what is this about the Inquisitio?”

  She addressed Alena, so Claire—released from at least one gaze—scooted to the side, into a corner, so she could observe, but hopefully wouldn’t be observed in return.

  The kitchen was far less impressive than the library, but the room had enough space for a kitchen unit and a large dining table as ornate as the bookcases. An assortment of mismatched but antique chairs spoke of cozy communal meals and laughter over deep philosophical discussions.

  Alena’s face fell in the wake of Roos’s question. “The fuckers caught up with us in the parking lot. I buried them—literally. What’s a death squad doing in London? This whole place is supposed to be warded to high hell.”

  Death squad? Claire shivered. Why was everyone so blasé about this? How prevalent were these attacks?

  “I don’t know, but we’ll find out. Have you talked to your dad yet?” Nathan brushed crumbs off his shirt.

  “We just walked in. Claire’s starving, I’m starving, and we’re both exhausted. I’ll grab something quick to eat, give dad the barebones and pass out for a few hours.” Her gaze landed on Claire, who tried not to squirm. “Claire can have a proper lunch. Could you take her to her room after?”

  “Ndulu and I are about to be off. Roos?”

  “Sure, sure.” Roos gave her a reassuring wink. “I will take care of the girl.”

  “Thank you.” Claire’s cheeks stung uncomfortably. She dropped her head in the hope the curtain of her hair would shield her from even more attention.

  “Not a problem.” Roos’s disembodied voice was gentle.

  “Okay, with that settled…” Alena opened the fridge, grabbed some items, and then closed it again a few seconds later. “I am off.”

  Claire jumped when Alena’s hand fell on her shoulder. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you.”

  She nodded, but Alena had already disappeared.

  Ndulu got up.

  The creaking of the chair and his tired groan drew her attention. She had to look up to hold his gaze, something she quickly abandoned because the wildness she had envisioned a therianthrope possessing was right there lurking just under the surface. It gave her chills.

  “I must go now and perform my duties. Nathan and I will be at tonight’s meeting. Perhaps we shall talk then?” He walked over and reached out with a huge hand.

  Claire took it and shook. “S-sure.” She watched the discrepancy between the size and color of their hands. How could a human this big ever fit into the body of an animal? Did he turn into a huge animal? What animal, exactly? She racked her brain to find out if she had concluded “werewolf” herself or if Alena had mentioned it. She couldn’t remember. “Good luck with…w-whatever.”

  He inclined his head again. Like Nathan, he was wearing jeans, but his shoes were shiny and looked expensive.

  “See ya, new girl.” Nathan held up his hand as he passed along the other side of the table. “Good luck with the needles.” He winked.

  Claire frowned. “Needles?”

  “Don’t worry, he’s talking about the tests. On your blood.” Roos hung back against the kitchen counter. “Alena will do it, but it’s okay, I saw with the before host, it is not bad.” She rubbed her shoulder and then let go. The woman’s accent and word choice were amusing and intriguing.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “It’s good.” Roos waved her off. “Bread? There are things for on it in the fridge.”

  Claire smiled. “Thanks.”

  While they talked, the two men walked out.

  Claire glanced up to watch them go, then opened the fridge and sorted through the shelves. Some items had name labels on them, so she let them be. Eventually, she settled on strawberry jam. There wasn’t any butter, so she’d have to do without it. “So.” She looked up at Roos. “Um, Alena said you scry? What does that mean, exactly? Unless you don’t want to talk about it, that is totally fine!”

  Roos laughed, shook her head, and handed her a loaf of bread and a bread knife. Then she opened a cabinet for a plate. “It’s fine. It means that I look into the past and the future. Like a fortune teller. Or I look at places where my body is not.”

  Claire cut into the bread with care but still ended up with a chunk that was thick on one end and super slim on the other. Ugh. “Have you always been able to do that?”

  Roos nodded and picked up her mug again. “Yes, even when I was a little girl I could see things. Things that had happened, people who had been where I was, or people that would be there and things that would happen. I learned here how to look into other places—places where I was not. And I learned better how to tell if it is past or future that I see.”

  “So, you’re happy you came?” Claire looked up from the bread.

  “Very! I am very happy to be here, and I have learned a lot. Always speaking English is not easy but I get better. And On speaks Dutch, of course, so I can still do that.” She sipped.

  Claire lathered her bread with jam. “On?”

  “Yes, he is um…” she frowned, then shook her head. “I don’t remember the word. Alena will tell you. He is specialized in languages. He likes to read much.”

  That had Claire smile. “So do I.”

  “Me too.” Roos smiled at her, as if they’d just sealed their friendship.

  Claire relaxed a fraction more. “Well, I look forward to meeting him.” Claire smiled when she realized that she really did. People who read were good people, usually.

  “You will. You will meet us all. Did Alena tell you about the meeting?”

  Claire nodded. “I’ll um, be hosting Madame Stravinsky, right?” She bit into her bread, which probably wouldn’t have tasted as sour without the reminder of tonight’s events.

  “Yes, after dinner. That is why you came; the girl before you, she got sick with the—” She ran her hand along her body. “I forget what they call it
in English.”

  “The rejection poisoning thing? Alena told me that would happen.” She paused and lowered her bread. “Wait, she only just got sick?”

  Roos shook her head. “No, but Alena made her stop three days ago. It goes slowly, a little bit more in the blood every time. She had to stop.”

  “But Madame Stravinsky has been taking over my body for a month now. I thought that…that there was only one host?” Claire couldn’t quite put her finger on why she was miffed. It wasn’t like she wanted the visitations but knowing she had been chosen had made her feel special somehow.

  “Maybe for training? I don’t know. But Alena would know.” Roos reached out and patted her arm. “Don’t think about it, okay? You are here now, and Alena will make sure you are always fine.”

  Claire nodded and forced herself to relax. She sighed to let some of the tension out. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks.” She gave her a genuine smile. Roos’s words settled her a bit.

  “Of course. I go to work now too. I can take you to your room and you can eat there?”

  “Oh! Yes, of course.” Claire checked the fruit bowl. “Can I take an apple?”

  Roos laughed. “Of course! Take anything but things with a name on them. Everyone gets really grrr—” She imitated an angry animal, probably a bear. “…if you take stuff with their name on it, but the fruit bowl is for everyone.”

  Claire nodded. “Thank you. Is there a glass in my room?”

  “I think so, yes. Should be. Wait.” She opened another cupboard and pulled one out. “To be sure.” She winked again. “There is water there, that I know. Ready?”

  “Yes, ready.” Claire adjusted the straps of her backpack before she picked up a big, shiny apple. It was as cool to the touch as the room felt on her skin. She put it on the plate with her sandwiches and balanced the plate in both hands.

  “Come, we go.” Roos guided her out and down the hallways. The layout didn’t seem too complicated, but she was too tired to map it out in her head. Claire foresaw a lot of wandering in her future.