by E Hall
I get to my feet and study the panes again. I smack the side of my head. “Dad, you’re a genius or sly or both,” I say loudly, hoping that wherever he is, he can hear me.
Chapter 22
Corbin
Kenna pulls a chair over to the wall, hopping up, and points wildly between the colorful glass creation, the stack of Pepper’s notes, and the Klave safely on the table. “Do you see?” she asks.
I study the stained glass rendition, not quite picking up what she means.
“He left us an appendix to the Klave.” Her words tint the moment with a long trail of awe.
Clove’s eyebrows dip with skepticism. He points to the window. “Up there? An appendix? I’ve been in here a thousand times. All I see is a beautiful blur of color, but if you see something else, then by all means, what does it say?” His hand spins in dismissal.
I get to my feet and fold my arms in front of my chest, showing solidarity with my mate.
“Right. Okay,” she says more to herself than us as if gathering her thoughts. “Did either you have a Lite-Brite when you were a kid?”
“A lite what?” Clove asks.
She shakes her head with a slight roll of the eyes. “Of course not. Corbin, you’re hundreds of years old. Clove, for all I know you were raised by Melchior’s giant bullfrogs.”
“Ha ha. Very funny.” Clove doesn’t laugh.
“Hey, brothers and sisters tease each other. Get used to it.” She smirks.
I think fondly of my pack and the way we rib and prank each other. I long to be at HQ. To a degree, I understand Kenna’s comments about her normal life and what it was like before all this madness and magic entered it.
She turns to us and paces slowly. “My mother worked the night shift at the hospital for most of my life. Our neighbor had a key and would check on me once or twice while I was sleeping. In case I woke up and no one was there, she’d leave me silly messages or images on the Lite-Brite. It’s a lightbox with a grid and a sheet of black paper over it outlining a design. Printed on the paper were letters that corresponded to colorful little pegs that you’d stick through the paper. Then when you were done, you’d turn it on and a picture or words would appear.” She points to the glass. “Kind of like that.”
“So you see a funny message from your mom up there?” Clove squints as though dubious about her grand proclamation of a connection between the stained glass masterpiece and a child’s toy.
Kenna tips her head back and stares at the ceiling as though frustrated. “No, from our dad, and there’s nothing funny about it. Wait, let me guess, you were never a kid. You’ve always been a surly fae. How old are you anyway?”
“Seventeen. Same as Pepper.”
“Right. Pepper. If you have your doubts about my revelation here, why don’t you find her? Leave this part to us.” Kenna shoos him toward the door.
At the mention of Pepper, he folds inward as though with a mixture of doubt and longing. “Yeah.” Then he gets to his feet like he suddenly has renewed resolve.
“Find Pepper, get her the heck away from the dread fae king, and we’ll plan on meeting back here.” Kenna smiles at her brother.
“It’s a plan,” Clove says.
Kenna steps forward like she’s going to hug him.
He edges backward as though not ready for that.
Her expression slackens, incredulous. “Oh, Clove, you don’t get to betray me, lie to me, attack me, and not give me a hug.”
“So much about that is wrong,” I mutter.
Her Alpha nears the surface as she clobbers him with a hug.
He’s stiff at first and then gives in, patting her back. And to think, I was once worried and verged toward jealous that he might like her.
“And just like that, once more we find common ground.” Kenna laughs.
Clove leaves with a wave in my direction. I help Kenna clear a large space on the floor, and we spread out Pepper’s notes, trying to create order, starting with the simplest translations first.
Kenna folds open one of the notebooks to a new page and begins copying down the symbols on the stained glass to see what they say.
Meanwhile, I study the Klave. It’s as if the ancient markings are written in a version of cursive. Each one connects to the next.
“Pepper marked several symbols with question marks followed by parenthesis with other possible translations.” Kenna points to some of the discrepancies.
For the most part, I start to identify individual meanings, cutting them out from the others. We both work on different lines. Nonetheless, identifying the translations is painstakingly slow. At times, it’s hard to tell if Pepper had settled on a definite definition or if it was a work in progress.
I watch over Kenna’s shoulder as she scrawls across the page before crossing out my first attempt to translate, and then my second, third... I’m all but ready to throw the notebook into the fire when I recognize the symbol for the scepter.
“There,” Kenna calls bouncing to her feet. “That’s the symbol for the scepter.”
“It looks like a stick to me, but okay. What else?”
We pour over the notes and cross-reference with the Klave and the stained glass until my stomach rumbles and my eyes burn from concentration. We take a break by the fire in the parlor room, warming ourselves and eating leftover pizza.
Afterward, I uncloud my head by staring out into the twilight across the dale painted in broad brushstrokes of flint and lavender. I draw Kenna into my arms, wrapping them around her. Her back presses against my chest as we stand by the window. Tiny snowflakes dance from the sky.
“Knowing that Greyson provided guidance, even if obscure and difficult to understand, gives me hope,” Kenna whispers.
“You’re startlingly optimistic and trusting.”
“Do you mean about Clove?” she asks.
“As you said, he lied, betrayed, and—”
“And he’s my brother. Like me, all he’s ever wanted is a family. We can give that to each other.”
“I can too.”
“It’s not either-or. It’s both-and. You can be my family. He can too.”
My wolf growls low in my throat.
She spins to face me, draping her arms loosely around my neck and clasping her fingers. “I get it. You don’t trust him.”
I nod because she’s exactly right.
“Just trust me.” She lifts onto her toes and kisses me once, twice, three times.
I don’t think it’ll ever get old or tired or boring. Not even if she kisses me a million times. It’s warmer than the fire. Brighter than the stars in the sky. Fuller than the moon.
But even the moon goes dark.
Before heading back to the secret room, I position the Jeep outside the window and put the high beams on. Without the backdrop of the sun, the stained glass is dull, making the colors and shapes not as easy to differentiate as we continue to translate the symbols late into the night.
Later, I wake with my head resting on the leather chair and one leg bent underneath me at a pins and needles angle. An orange glow pierces my eyelids. I rub them and blink to adjust to the bright light of a new day.
Across from me, Kenna sits on the floor, hunched over. The scratch of graphite sweeps across a clean page in Pepper’s notebook.
“Make any progress?” My voice scratches, hoarse from sleep.
Kenna fans the pages of the notebook and then tosses it toward me. “See for yourself.”
She picked up where I left off and transcribed an entire pane of glass. But her handwriting is hardly better than the curling symbols. “Translate, please.” I thump my finger on the paper.
She huffs. “Remember what Pepper said about the former fae queens? So far, I’ve gathered that long ago, Melchior’s consorts formed a group, a failsafe of sorts. They called themselves The Court of Queens and worked to keep Melchior’s fanciful, vengeful, and selfish urges in check by keeping each other informed of what he was doing, his plans, gripes—you get the id
ea.”
“An angry ex-wives club?”
“Something like that.”
“Yikes. But I can’t say the guy doesn’t deserve it. Did you say fanciful, vengeful, selfish? Who, Melchior?” I chuckle. “Check, check, and check. But why didn’t they succeed, because that sounds exactly like the guy who’s remained in power all this time, and I know and do not like.”
“Hang on. Let me explain. Queens and consorts, same thing. The old-fashioned term is consort and suggests Melchior’s possession of them. They prefer the term queen. Anyway, they were his muses. As such, they could influence him in many ways, each unique to them. However, at least in the beginning, they were individuals fated with their own agendas.”
“And technically, they were fated to marry a different male fae that wasn’t Melchior.”
Kenna nods. “This was a problem because even though he chose a new consort every hundred years, he was still connected to the others. Over time, it was kind of like he built a library of muses to provide him with whatever he needed, wanted, whatever—spells, magic, charms, enchantments.”
“Considering a new king and queen should’ve taken over the court each year, he was banking his fae favors.”
Kenna nods. She’s in scholarly mode, and I feel like we’re so close to a breakthrough.
“We’ve established that he’s fickle.”
“And cunning, arrogant, impatient, stubborn, suspicious...a very self-serving fellow if you ask me.” Her lips pucker like she ate a lemon.
“I suppose he is the king of the fae. Those less than savory qualities are in their unseelie nature, so that’s not a surprise.”
She mock punches me. “Don’t fall back on your old prejudices and judgments. The shadow has been made stronger in the fae because of him.”
I kiss her forehead and soften the edges of my voice. “I’m sorry. Old habit.”
“One you’ll have to break. I’m fae too, remember.”
It’s something I try to forget because I continuously live with the fear that she’ll slip away from me.
“So back to my findings. The Court of Queens convened to keep Melchior in check, and to make sure one of the consorts wasn’t favored over another.”
She points to the translation. “It’s all a bit confusing in this section, and sometimes I’m going on a hunch as I decode. However, it seems as if one of the consorts—who was part of the angry ex-wives club—was gathering information on the other queens to serve her own ends. To become the ultimate queen of the fae. Her jealousy over the others and quest for vengeance ran even deeper than Melchior’s.”
“That’s disturbing. So she was like a spy?”
“When Lila left, he was heartbroken, I’m sure.” Sarcasm drips from her tone. “Taking advantage of this, the troublesome fae appealed to him, spilling secrets about her sisters and convincing him to allow her to place a curse on the Court of Ken and Clover.”
“Did the other queens find out? Do they know which one betrayed them?”
“They found out about it, but not the identity of which fae sister betrayed them. They disbanded the court and drifted apart. Remember, this was hundreds of years ago. After that, they had a general distrust for each other. I haven’t gotten to the next panel yet,” she says, pointing to the other stained-glass pane. “Anyway, I’m starting to see double. I need a break.” She rubs her eyes.
I take her place on the floor, poring over her notes and keeping a beat with my pencil. “This is getting interesting,” I say, but realize Kenna is fast asleep in the leather chair.
I drape a blanket over her and kiss the top of her head. There’s no knowing what’s coming our way, but for now, we’re together, and she’s safe.
I continue to decode and translate, tripping over and repeating words and phrases, but Pepper and Kenna’s additional notes help. I make progress as the morning light fades into afternoon.
Kenna wakes up with a yawn. Unlike wolves, fae need a lot of rest and are prone to lounging and napping. I worry that she’s slipping over to that side of her magic, especially after being around Clove.
“Progress update?” she asks.
“Good morning, er, afternoon,” I say, tucking her in my arms.
When we part, I show her the notebook.
“I gather that after the spy queen’s betrayal, the Court of Queens disbanded. But I also understand that united or divided, they were extremely, dangerously powerful. Because Melchior had to go and be all greedy, it’s possible that if one of the fae wanted to be queen, as opposed to a more communal kind of arrangement as with the sisters in the courts, she could potentially rule, uncontested… until the nine muses finally assembled.”
For a moment, I imagine Kenna, dressed in a flowery, silk fae gown and with her hair in braids, studded with shimmering stones that sparkle in the sunlight.
I shiver, brushing off the thought because the girl in front of me has a laugh that makes me feel full of life, eyes that remind me of the goodness of magic, and lips that make me forget everything.
A book titled The Nine Sisters sits open on the table. I flip past several stunning and regal fae until I land on the page with Lila’s information. I flip to the next page. Instead of it being blank, it’s filled in with a sketch bearing Kenna’s likeness.
My stomach plunges and I slam it shut.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
But it’s not. Not at all. I fear fate gave me Kenna and like Logan, my mother, and so many others, fate will take her away.
Chapter 23
Kenna
“I can’t believe so much of this was right under our noses. Or, above.” I eye the window. “I still say we find my father.” My voice is little more than a murmur.
Could he have traded his life to the ghost pirates if they’re as bad as Clove made them sound? Surely he wouldn’t have done that. If so, how did he cross the veil and return to me?
Regret and sadness over losing him trail me like a ghost.
I haven’t summoned Alister because I’m afraid he’ll say something about my father that will make me miss him more.
The translations help me make sense of what’s happened but give me little sense of what’s yet to come. I continue deciphering each page from the book about the nine muses, gathering information on each of the former queens.
It’s hard to imagine this world of fantasy and magic coming to life off the page, and yet it crackles across my skin, presses against my bones.
Corbin is on a run, letting his wolf loose. I can’t tear myself away from this work. I wish I hadn’t lost time sleeping. My wolf slumbers inside me, and I feel bad for neglecting her. But I have to solve this puzzle.
I learn the fae queen, Mayra, who was before Lila, had writing talent. She must have been the muse of words and pictures, creating these books and passing much of what she learned along to the maidens.
The information for each of the queens spans several pages, but I don’t have time to delve into each if I want to make sense of the stained glass window. I tilt my gaze upward and continue. I gain a few highlights, namely that if all nine muses convene they’ll be a force to be reckoned with.
Corbin appears a short while later, beaming a smile.
I scent wolf, the woods, and chocolate.
“I brought you something,” he says. “Fuel for the journey.”
He passes me a paper bag. The top is folded over and damp.
“Sorry. I had to carry it back in my mouth.”
I peer inside to see several chocolate chip cookies. “These are from Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice. You ran all the way there?” My eyes widen because that’s really far and really thoughtful.
“I figured I ought to check on Pepper’s grandmother. I filled Ethan in on what’s been going on. It’s dishonest, but I had him charge Pepper’s phone and text her grandmother.” He shifts from foot to foot. “I told him to write that Pepper’s okay and that she’s staying with you in Cardington. I check
ed in with the rest of the pack, told them to track Clove and Pepper.”
I caress his cheek. “We have to believe that she’s okay. We have to make sure it’s true. Her grandmother doesn’t need anything else to worry about.”
He nods.
I pull out one of the massive chocolate chip cookies. “Best cookies ever.” I moan. I take another bite then scribble down the translation I was working on before I forget. “Listen to this. I learned more about the muses—” I flash him the cover of the book. “And see this here,” I point to a few of the copied and translated symbols. “It says that if they all come together, they’ll potentially be more powerful than Melchior himself, with or without the scepter. They’re wise, clever, and kind, which is more than I can say for him. Maybe if we could somehow summon them we wouldn’t need the scepter.”
“Should we send a text or give them a ring?” Corbin spreads his thumb and pinkie between his ear and mouth. “Hey, Melchior’s muse, he’s in a bad mood and we’re hoping you can help.”
I laugh and knock him gently with my fist. “We have to find them.”
“So now we have to find the muses, the jewel, and the scepter?”
“Don’t forget about Pepper.”
Corbin slouches in the leather chair as if adding another item to the list defeats him.
“Maybe Lila can help.”
“If I understand correctly, she was never officially inducted into their club because she left the fae—”
I bite my lip. “Hmm. You have a point.” Undaunted, I turn my attention back to the book The Nine Sisters. “Hmm. They each have a symbol.” I compare our notes and the biographies to the stained glass. “I’ve seen them somewhere else—” I scratch my head, my energy flagging as well. I eat another cookie, definitely hitting a late afternoon slump.
I never expected what appears to be a work of art to give us so much information. But we’re still missing pieces and a direction. My gaze floats to the map at the same time Corbin points toward the wall to the left of the stained glass.
