Her cheeks heated at the thought. To make matters even more flutter-making, he’d seemed to like her. Or at least the look of her. She combed back over their conversation, hoping to turn up anything she could hold onto. What she kept finding were his eyes. Those ice-blue irises, searing into her with the kind of attention she had forgotten existed. Maybe she had never known it before.
Araminta had been only nineteen years old when she’d been trapped like this. For the briefest of moments, she’d thought being confined to a library wouldn’t be all bad. It could be agony to be in such close proximity to the living, yet still unable to touch their lives. Thankfully, the dark old building had any number of corners she could retreat to if it all became too much. She’d also assumed she’d be able to retreat into the million or so volumes shelved in the library.
But no. She couldn’t read them because she couldn’t touch them. Her hand passed right through anything solid. For the first decade or so, she’d allowed the curse of her life to drag her into the depths, but eventually she’d found a friend—a ghost, but beggars couldn’t be choosers—who gave her some helpful hints on how to pass the time.
She’d spent nearly an entire decade among the literature of the English Renaissance, reading over other people’s shoulders. It was frustrating when they read faster than her or if they closed the book before she was ready, but it was better than nothing.
During those years in deep, if piecemeal, study, she had devoured the entirety of Shakespeare, his contemporaries, and all of the major works of poetry. She read until she ached for it. All that love, passion, and humanity packed within those tightly spaced pages.
At first, it had been a way to draw herself closer to the life she left behind. As if she could reach through the ink and touch it in those mighty words. Then, it became more painful as she came to realize it was all lost to her. Forever. The words turned to sand in her mouth when she tried to read them aloud, and finally she stopped altogether.
Then, all in a moment, a glimmer of possibility had opened up to her in the person of this quiet, studious fae. Radagast Oberon.
Would he come back? Of course, he had to. That monument of words he had checked out would have to be returned. But even when that time came, would he see her again? Was it possible that lightning would be able to strike twice among all that paper?
Perhaps. And if it did, could they form a connection? A link from their separate spheres.
“No!” she chastised herself, stopping just shy of slapping herself in the face. “Stop that, Araminta. It will only hurt more in the end.”
Which was true. Hope was a luxury she found too rich and too costly. The little solace it offered only opened her up to the greater pain of inevitable disappointment. The golden taste of it only made her solitude more bitter.
For the first fifty years of residence in the library, she’d waited for a miracle. Pined for one. There were times when Araminta had imagined herself a princess locked in a high tower, surrounded by brambles. Guarded by a dragon. Remote, but not wholly inaccessible. If she just waited long enough, wished hard enough, the knight would carve his way to her.
The heroine of her own little fantasy, she had even counted the days then. Each one found her waiting in breathless certainty that someone would see her. Save her. She had walked alongside browsers. In front of them. She had stood still and let innumerable men pass through her.
“Eventually,” she would tell herself, “one of them will feel you. He will know, and you will be saved.”
But fifty years became seventy-five, and seventy-five a hundred. By that time, she stopped counting. The few glimpses she had shared with those who caught flashes of her had been like sips of water. When it became clear that she would never fully quench her thirst, she turned off the tap.
No, it was best to let Radagast Oberon do what so many others had done and fade into memory. Even if he returned once a year for the rest of his natural life, the only thing she could hope for would be to watch him grow old. To indulge in conversation, unable to touch each other, until one day he wouldn’t keep the appointment.
The notion of that wounded her almost more than the thought of being alone for eternity. How much worse would her isolation be when she had flirted with ways to break it? It was too much.
Chasing herself around like this, Araminta Harrington found herself exhausted. So much of her existence was spent that way. The toll of wandering the halls of the Othercross Library was a steep one.
Best to surrender to it. Rather than waiting by the doorway in hopes of seeing her shining knight again, maybe it was best to find one of those quiet corners. One of those dark, secret places where nobody replaced the bulbs, and even the spiders went in search of more company. If she was doomed to be alone, then why not lean into that? Do it totally?
The lights snapped off, and from where she stood, she could hear the low whistle of the librarian as she turned the key for the night. Another day had come to an end, just like so many before and so many still to come.
This one may have felt special in the moment, but she knew it would fade in time. The memory of it would become sallow, then brittle, then ultimately crumble into myth.
Chapter Three
Opening hours found Radagast waiting at the library’s door. He’d spent most of the night poring over Genealogical Annotations on the Oberon, and he was eager to continue with his research. The book itself didn’t bring to light any new revelations, as it only trod the same ground countless other books had already covered, but the footnotes were enlightening. Those pointed to first-person accounts of the Libby Oberon story, and Rad was certain that’s where the real gems would be buried.
Of course, if he was totally honest with himself, he had to admit that his early start to the day had more to do with Araminta than with genealogical research. Even though it was rather silly to be so taken with a woman he barely knew, he couldn’t help himself. He needed to see her again. And so, as the head librarian unlocked the massive double doors that led into the library’s foyer, he could barely contain his excitement as he stepped inside.
“Excuse me,” he started, following the lanky librarian as she slipped around the reception counter. She plopped herself down on the leather chair behind it and, without acknowledging him, started sifting through the many documents that littered her desk. “I was wondering if you know Araminta Harrington. I met her here yesterday, but she told me that—”
“Never heard of her,” the librarian said in a dismissive tone, not even bothering to look up from her pile of papers. She went through them like a disciplined accountant doing her books, only stopping to occasionally lick her thumb.
“Really?” Radagast insisted. “She told me she’s here most days. She looked to be about twenty, give or take. Porcelain skin, long blonde hair, blue eyes that sparkle like the sea on a sunny day. She’s really beautiful and—”
“This is a library, young man.” The librarian finally looked up at Rad, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Not a dating reality show.”
“I’m not trying to—”
“Whatever. I’ve never heard of anyone called Aramisa.”
“It’s Araminta.”
“Araminta,” the librarian repeated, shrugging her shoulders as she said it. “Never heard of her. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
Knowing this wasn’t a battle he could win—not to mention that the woman was clueless about Araminta—Rad merely turned and left the librarian to her tasks. While he’d been hoping to get more information about the mysterious young woman from yesterday, he wasn’t too perturbed. He’d be there all day, and hopefully luck would be on his side at some point.
With his bag slung over one shoulder, he passed by “his” table and made a beeline toward the section where he’d met Araminta yesterday. When he rounded the corner, his heart all but stopped when he spotted her standing in front of a stained glass window. Her right hand gracefully rested on the marble parapet as the morning light spilled over
her face. She was as beautiful as he remembered—so much that Rad only realized he was holding his breath when he felt pins and needles all over his lungs.
“Araminta?”
He walked toward her carefully, not wanting to startle her. She turned slowly, a lock of hair cutting across her face, and her smile was like a beacon. Even so, it didn’t mask the exhaustion that dimmed the light in her eyes. Hiding underneath her beauty, like a river flowing under the ice, was a kind of deep-rooted misery.
“Radagast,” she breathed. Even her voice sounded tired. “You came back.”
She moved away from the window and the light caught in the folds of her dress. She was wearing the same old-fashioned attire from the day before. Not that he paid much attention to fashion trends, but most young women wandering the halls of Othercross University wore ripped jeans and tight-fitting tops, not dresses you’d find described in a Jane Austen novel.
Maybe she was an actress or some sort of performer. That would explain it. Then again, none of that mattered—what did was that she seemed genuinely happy to see him again.
“You can call me Rad, if you like.”
“How’s your research going?” she asked with a smile. “Did the book help?”
“I think so,” Radagast replied, unable to hold back a broad smile. “I think I’m getting closer to unveiling the truth of what happened.”
“You seem determined.” She smiled again, and Rad felt that tightness inside his chest once more. Alongside that tightness was also pleasant warmth, one that flowed from his toes to the ends of his hair. “What do you think you’re going to find?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted, making a very conscious effort to focus on their conversation. Not an easy thing to do, especially when all he wanted to do was stand there and revel in Araminta’s beauty. “This all happened generations ago, but the rift caused by the story has never been mended. See, Libby was a prominent member of high fae society. She was being courted by anyone that mattered back then, until she suddenly fell into disgrace…and all because of Ewan Murphy.”
Araminta encouraged him to continue with a nod, as she settled herself at a nearby table. He sat across from her and dove into the story.
“No one’s really sure of the details anymore, but something happened between Libby and Ewan. The Oberon family argued that Ewan had done the unthinkable and forced himself on Libby, and they started clamoring for justice. Thing is, nobody believed them. They thought the whole thing was just a power move designed to bring shame on the Murphy clan. The Oberon family were punished for their ‘lies’ by being cast out of Othercross and scattered to the far corners of the earth.”
“Does that have something to do with all of that?” she asked, pointing to the crown tattooed on his forehead.
He smiled. “It started out that way, and I suppose for some of my cousins the tattoo and the original reason for them are very much connected. You see, after being shunned from polite society, our forefathers got them to prove something, either to fae high society or to themselves. For me, it’s more about tradition than spite.”
Araminta nodded her understanding, then looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. “Do you think your ancestors were telling the truth?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “But I think there’s more to the story than meets the eye. I’ve gone through a lot of Libby’s personal correspondence, and some of Ewan Murphy’s, and… Well, nothing makes sense, to be honest. I don’t think Libby was a schemer. And Ewan, for all his faults, doesn’t strike me as a rapist.”
“But the Murphy and Oberon families have been clashing ever since,” Araminta said, wrapping up Radagast’s story with the one fact that he couldn’t dispute.
“That about sums it up. Though the families came to something of an understanding when my cousin Dain and Galwyn Murphy realized they were mates, there’s still a remnant of tension between our families. I don’t know if my research will change that, but it’d be nice to give some closure to those who need it.”
For a brief moment midway through his comment, Araminta had paled slightly, but quickly regained her composure. “That’s a noble objective.”
“Nothing noble about me, I can assure you,” he said. “Well, maybe the title.”
“Lord Radagast Oberon,” she said with an amusing haughty accent. “It does have a ring to it.”
“Doesn’t sound as good as Araminta.”
What the hell are you doing?
He’d graduated from being taken with Araminta to actively flirting with her. That wasn’t like him. Maybe the librarian had been right to admonish him—this was a library, not some speed-dating venue.
Despite that thought, he didn’t let the conversation stop there. He made a conscious effort to rein in the flirting, but he was simply unable to stop the words falling out of his stupid mouth. Even if his lips had been sewn up, he suspected that wouldn’t be enough.
For her part, Araminta seemed either amused or flattered by his clumsy attentions. Maybe both. But as much as he longed to hear her speak in those dulcet tones, she remained mostly silent. Every time he asked about her—her life, her family, her work—she managed to deflect his question in such a smooth way that it took him a long time to realize what she was doing. He was desperate to know more about her but she seemed determined to remain an enigma.
“What’s going on back here?”
Radagast turned in his seat to find the lanky librarian standing at the corner, looking at him like he might be a dangerous lunatic. Her grey eyes darted around the space, then focused on him again. Before he could ask what she was talking about, she continued.
“We’re closing in five minutes so whatever it is you’re doing, wrap it up.”
She scanned their little nook one more time before disappearing into the bowels of the building.
“Five minutes?” he repeated, glancing at the window to see that it was already dark outside. He’d spent the entire day chatting with Araminta without knowing it. Hell, he hadn’t even noticed lunchtime come and go. “This is crazy. I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“Are you coming back tomorrow?” Araminta asked. The shyness in her voice was endearing. “Maybe I could help you in your research.”
“I’d like that, Araminta. Very much.”
He stood and took a moment to gather his things. With his bag slung over his shoulder, he turned around to wish Araminta a good night, but she was already gone.
Hurrying down the aisle, he scanned the open area of the library, hoping to catch a glimpse of her before she left, but there was no sign of her. With the librarian eyeing him carefully, he didn’t dare search every nook and cranny again. No, he had to face it, she was gone. Again.
“Tomorrow, then,” he muttered under his breath, fully knowing that morning wouldn’t come fast enough. “Tomorrow.”
Chapter Four
“It’s positively scintillating,” Araminta said, glittering with the joy of Rad’s visits. As if it weren’t enough to actually get to be with him, she had the unexpected opportunity to share it with someone else.
“Hmm. Sounds like it.”
Alistair Flayme seemed far more interested in the state of his cuticles than in Araminta’s tale of the fae who had been coming to see her. Given how little they saw of each other, she found his lack of enthusiasm for her good fortune just a little galling.
“You don’t know what it means to have a little bit of actual conversation after so long.”
That got his attention. Alistair’s bushy eyebrows shot up, and he pursed his ghostly lips, making himself appear even more piggish than usual.
“Thank you, I’m sure,” he cooed.
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I?” More theatrically hurt than anything, he brushed some invisible dust from the breast of his burgundy smoking jacket and settled into a regal sulk.
“It’s just that we get on so well. More than well, actually. I’ve got a connection with him that’
s downright…scary.”
And it was. To be on the cusp of giving herself over to the full wash of it all was a wildly terrifying prospect. Doing so would leave her so open to being hurt.
“After all the times I’ve come to visit you? It just feels a trifle ungrateful is all.”
As was his wont, Alistair was fully intent on making their little conversation all about himself. He painted it as though he dropped by for weekly, if not daily visits.
“Twice in seventy-five years.” Her voice was pointed, and the arrow of it hit home. With a gentle wag of his head, he acquiesced as much as he ever did.
“Well. I’m very busy, you know. There are so many places around Othercross that need a proper haunting, I can’t spend all of my time hanging around this dusty old library. How dreadful would that be?”
He chuckled lightly, but the truth behind the banter lodged itself in Araminta’s stomach.
“Dreadful,” she said darkly.
In an instant, he offered an apology of uncommon sincerity for him. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
“It’s all right.”
She did what she could to brush it off. After Radagast’s visits, doing so was surprisingly easy. What would have been the wound of the year lifted away at the memory of his eyes and the look flickering behind them.
She regarded the pudgy, preening ghost lolling beside her. It was no secret that she envied him, and he often offered her just enough kindness to not lord it over her. Being a ghost rather than a remnant—like Araminta—Alistair Flayme had been accorded the good fortune not being bound to any single location. On the contrary, he had passed a rather joyous few centuries haunting his way across any Othercross spot he chose.
Fae Lord Bewitched: Real Men of Othercross (Paranormal Fae Romance) (Real Fae of Othercross Book 4) Page 2
