by Kami Garcia
The English guy gave them the once-over. “Only students have access to the library, unless you apply for a Reader’s Card.” He pointed behind them. “But you can buy tickets for the tour over there, next to the Great Gate.”
“Thanks.” Link tugged on Floyd’s arm. “Let’s get tickets. Then we’ll ditch the tour once we get inside.”
By the time they made it through the line and reached the ticket counter, Link was getting antsy. “Two tickets, please.” He opened his wallet. “Ma’am.”
“Seventeen pounds,” the clerk said. “Sterling.”
Link looked at the twenty-dollar bill in his hand. Everything was different over here, including the money.
He swallowed. “Yeah, okay, Mrs. Sterling, ma’am. Could you give me a minute? I gotta find some cash.” He looked at Floyd, lowering his voice. “Jeez. How much cash weighs seventeen pounds? That’s more than Lucille Ball.”
“You’re a regular poster boy for the Mortal school system, aren’t you?”
Floyd rolled her eyes and plucked the bill out of his hand. As she slid it across the counter to the clerk, Link’s twenty transformed into a weird-looking purple bill with the number twenty in the corner.
“Here you are,” the woman said, pushing the tickets back toward them.
Link grinned as they walked away. Having an Illusionist around was pretty handy. He nudged Floyd with his shoulder. “Nice trick.”
“What, that?” She tugged on the hem of her concert tee sheepishly. “Please. I was doing that in kindergarten. Wait until you see what I can do with a credit card.”
“I’m thinkin’ about what you coulda done with my report cards.”
They joined the group of tourists gathered in front of a guide, who was just getting started. “With one hundred and twenty miles of occupied shelving and twenty-nine reading rooms, the Bodleian Library is the UK’s second largest library. The largest is, of course, the British Library.”
“Aren’t they all British?” Link looked confused.
Floyd clapped a hand over his mouth. “Shut it.”
The guide ushered everyone up a narrow flight of stairs that spilled into a long room, filled floor to ceiling with books.
Link stared up at the painted panels that ran the length of the room, with dark wood beams stretching horizontally below them. The bookcases were made from the same wood, with round pillars dividing them, like the fancy bookcases in Ridley’s uncle’s study.
Whole rooms just for old books.
It made no sense. You couldn’t fill one room with Link’s favorite books, let alone a whole building. There weren’t that many Star Wars novels in the world.
“This is Duke Humfrey’s Library, the oldest reading room in the Bodleian,” the tour guide said. “It houses maps, music, and rare books dating before 1641. You will notice that many of the volumes are chained to the shelves. Prior to the invention of the printing press, books were quite difficult to replace and were, therefore, extremely valuable. The chains are long enough to allow people to read the books, while assuring they remained in the library, where they belonged.”
Link pointed at the chains. “They lock the books up like the leather jackets in the Summerville Mall. Think they’ve got Harry Potter in there?”
Floyd frowned and pushed her blond hair out of her eyes. “We need to figure out how we’re gonna ditch this tour and find your friend.”
The tour guide led the tourists down the hall, and Link grabbed Floyd’s arm, stopping her.
“Let them get ahead of us,” he whispered, nodding at a nearby staircase.
When the last person in the group reached the end of the hallway, Link grabbed Floyd’s hand and pulled her up the steps. But he didn’t take into account how much faster a quarter Incubus moved than a Caster, and when he rounded the corner three flights up, the momentum sent her flying into his chest.
She was staring up at Link, trying to catch her breath, when a guy walked by. The guy took one look at Floyd pressed up against him and gave Link a nod of approval.
Link felt his face getting hot.
Floyd stepped away from him, smoothing her T-shirt. “It’s nice to see there are dirtbags in the Unified Kingdom, too.”
Link gave her the smallest hint of a smile. “I guess when it comes to dirtbags, it really is a small world after all.”
Link followed her through the doorway and into a huge library. Stacks of books towered above him, like the ones in the Caster Library, the Lunae Libri. Except these were even dustier. In the center of a large room, students were studying at long tables, while others read in carrels. He scanned the tables, searching for Liv’s blond braids. There was no sign of her, but Link spotted someone who looked like John—if John had been a huge nerd.
A big guy with short black hair exactly like John’s was sitting alone at one of the tables across the room. But instead of John’s usual black T-shirt and leather motorcycle jacket, this guy was wearing a nerdy blue button-down beat-the-crap-outta-me shirt that John would never have been caught dead in.
That can’t be him.
“Why are you staring? Is that him?” Floyd whispered.
“I’m not sure. But if it is, I think we’re caught in the Matrix.” Link walked over to the table and the nerdy guy who he wasn’t sure was John—until the guy held up his hand and Link saw John’s Binding Ring glowing brightly. Then the guy looked up, and Link saw his Caster green eyes and the embarrassed expression on his face.
“I knew it was you,” Link said. “Holy crap.” He grinned. “It’s like Invasion of the Body Snatchers, except they only stole your clothes. I hope.”
John grinned and pushed up the sleeves of his button-down, like that would somehow make it look cooler. “It’s for Liv. To help her fit in.”
“Yeah? How’s that workin’ for you?” Link raised an eyebrow.
John shrugged, and Link messed up his hair. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, man.” Link cracked an imaginary whip in the air with one hand.
John shoved him away, studying Floyd. “Are you gonna introduce your friend?” He said it casually enough, but Link understood what he was really saying. At least, what he was asking.
“Yeah, sorry. This is Floyd.”
“A Dark Caster?” John asked, as if he could see right through the colored contacts Floyd wore when she was around Mortals.
“Is that a problem?” she asked.
“Fine by me. I’ve seen Link with a Dark Caster girl before.” John turned to Link and raised an eyebrow.
“She plays bass in my band,” Link said, hoping the message was equally clear: Dude, long story. Don’t ask.
“Our band,” Floyd said, annoyed. “Which doesn’t exist anymore.”
“The infamous Sirensong?” John looked at Link. “Does that have anything to do with the reason you’re here? Speaking of which, where’s our favorite Siren?”
Link’s expression darkened. “That’s the thing. Rid’s in trouble.”
Or worse.
Link left out that part. He could barely stand to think about the possibility that Ridley was dead. There was no way he could say it to John.
John sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Is that supposed to surprise me?”
“It’s not that kinda trouble. This is serious.”
“It’s always serious.”
Floyd spoke up. “She’s missing, and we think Silas Ravenwood might have her.”
“What?” John froze at the mention of Silas’ name. He had more history with the Ravenwoods than any of them. “How did she get mixed up with Silas?”
“He was lookin’ for me. You and me, really. He wanted to avenge Abraham’s death, and keep Rid in a cage, or somethin’ like that. This tool Nox Gates sold us out,” Link rambled on, barely taking a breath. “We almost got away, but they found us. There was a car crash, and the Beater caught on fire. I don’t know what happened to Rid, but we’re pretty sure Silas has her. He’s the head of the Caster Mafia or somethin’ like that. So I need
you to help me find the labs.”
“Slow down,” John said. “I’m gonna need more than the CliffsNotes.”
Floyd put her hand on Link’s arm. “I’ve got this.”
He nodded, and she filled in the missing pieces of the story for John. Link was only half-listening. Now that they’d found John, all he could think about was saving Ridley.
As soon as Floyd finished, Link jumped in again. “So will you help us find her?”
John unbuttoned his beat-the-crap-outta-me-and-shove-me-in-a-locker shirt and took it off. “Considering we’re the ones Silas wants, it only seems right.” He balled up the shirt and tossed it on the floor.
Link was relieved to see that John was wearing a black T-shirt underneath. Floyd looked disappointed he was wearing a shirt at all. Link had almost forgotten the effect John had on girls.
John picked up a backpack. “Meet me at the King’s Arms pub in an hour. I can’t take off without talking to Liv first.”
“The King’s Legs. Got it.” Link held up a fist. “Thanks, man.”
“I’d help you even if we weren’t the reason Rid was mixed up with Silas. We’re friends.” John bumped his fist against Link’s, which told Link the only thing he needed to know.
He’s in.
Getting out of the Bodleian Library was a lot easier than getting in.
The pub John mentioned was right across the street, so Link and Floyd headed straight there. Even though Floyd was pretty skinny, she was always hungry, and Link didn’t want to risk getting lost. Everything over here was sort of crazy; between the accents and the cars driving on the wrong side of the road, Oxford almost felt like somewhere out of the Caster world.
“It looks like a nice place,” Floyd said as they approached a pinkish-peach-colored building with white windowpanes and black lanterns hanging on both sides of the door.
Link glanced down at his Black Sabbath T-shirt and jeans. “Hopefully not too nice.” He sighed. “What are we doin’ wastin’ our time? We gotta go.”
Floyd dropped a hand on his arm. It felt warm and full of life, like Floyd always did. “Chill out. Your buddy said an hour. We might as well eat.”
Link made a face.
“Right.” She shrugged. “I might as well eat.”
Inside, the King’s Arms was all dark paneling and vintage signs. A formal wooden bar dominated the main room, with liquor bottles stacked neatly on the shelves behind the bartender.
Floyd grabbed a table in the corner, next to the window, and dropped down into one of the plain ladder-back chairs. Link glanced at the menu on the table and scrunched up his nose. “Traditional ploughman’s lunch and fish cakes? Scotch eggs? Mushy peas? What is this junk?”
Floyd studied the menu. “It looks like the traditional ploughman’s is a plate of bread, pickle, apples, and cheese.”
“Pickle, cheese, and bread?” Link shook his head and pulled a pen out of his pocket. “I’m glad I don’t eat anymore.”
She stood up with a menu in her hand. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. I’m going to order at the bar. I assume you don’t want anything.”
Link looked around at the other tables covered with plates of food. “Get me a Coke or somethin’. You know, so I don’t look weird.”
Floyd smiled. “The Coke won’t help.”
“Yeah? Just don’t let anyone put an egg in my Scotch, and I’ll be fine.” Link watched her walk over to the bar like she was just another student.
Link grabbed a napkin and scrawled some lyrics across it. Ever since Sampson and Nox found him in the trees after the accident, song lyrics had been floating around in his head. The only problem was, they sucked—which was a new thing for him. He’d been writing songs for as long as he could remember, about everything from his lunch to all the times Ridley had broken his heart. Until now, he was pretty sure his lyrics had kicked ass.
He stared down at the black lines stretching across the napkin.
What if I can’t write anymore?
There were probably a lot of things he wouldn’t be able to do anymore without Ridley. She was more than just his girl—she was his muse. It felt like everything started and ended with her.
Lose. Muse. Bruise.
Why you gotta get me so confuse?
Like I lost my favorite pair a shoes …
He dropped the pen.
I suck. I can’t do this without Rid. I just gotta find her.
“What are you doing?” Floyd asked as she put his Coke down on the table. “Are you writing a song? Anything good?”
He crumpled up the napkin and shoved it in his pocket. “Naw. I haven’t been able to write since I lost … her.”
Floyd seemed to take the comment in stride and sat down. But if he’d learned one thing about girls in the past year, it was that they usually weren’t thinking whatever you thought they were. Floyd had that weird look on her face again, the one where Link couldn’t tell if she was going to laugh or cry.
Girls.
“Ridley’s lucky,” she said. “You stick with her no matter what she does, or how bad she screws up. I wish someone felt that way about me.”
“Rid doesn’t mean to mess up. At least, not most of the time,” Link said.
Floyd rolled her eyes.
“Deep down, she’s a good person,” he said. “She just doesn’t want anybody to know.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It does to me. She had it rough growing up.”
“Everyone had it rough growing up,” Floyd said.
“Yeah? After Rid turned Dark, her own mother wouldn’t even take her in.”
Floyd nodded as if she understood, but her expression said otherwise. “You don’t have to tell me about having a crappy childhood. My dad is the head of a Dark Caster bike club in the Underground, remember?”
“I can’t even get my head around that,” Link said. “My mom wouldn’t let me take off my trainin’ wheels until I was ten, and my dad spent most of his free time at Civil War reenactments—mainly to avoid her.” He shrugged. “I can’t blame him. All that prayin’ and fussin’ gets on your nerves pretty fast, and if naggin’ was an Olympic sport, my mom woulda won the gold medal for sure. Drape a flag over her housecoat and skip that woman straight to the victory lap now.”
A waitress walked up to the table with an unappetizing plate of mismatched food on it, at least as far as Link was concerned. “One traditional ploughman’s,” she said. “Cheers.”
Floyd popped a piece of cheese in her mouth. “It’s actually good. Best traditional ploughman’s I ever had.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he said. “But where’s the plow?”
She stared at him. He shrugged. “Mortal food all tastes the same to me.”
Floyd nodded and turned her attention to her food. It seemed like talking about her dad bothered her, so Link left it alone and went back to writing crappy songs on napkins.
By the time Link finished writing his fourth song and Floyd had moved on to mushy peas and french fries called chips—which made no sense to him—he was starting to worry that John wasn’t going to show. He was about to bring it up to Floyd when the front door of the pub opened and he caught a glimpse of the familiar blond braids.
Liv, John’s girlfriend and Link’s friend before that, looked exactly the way he remembered her: blond and tall.
TDB. Third Degree Burns hot.
That was what Link had said the first time he saw her. It seemed weird now that he only thought of Liv as his friend and John’s girl.
Even if she was John’s hot girlfriend.
Liv was wearing the periodic table of elements T-shirt she’d had on when he met her. It only took her a moment to zero in on Link, and he could tell from the look on her face that she wasn’t happy. She headed toward him, arms crossed and scowling, with John behind her.
Sorry, John mouthed.
“Wesley Lincoln.”
The only person who ever called him that was his mom, and it was
never a good sign. Liv followed with a tight hug that was equal parts intimidating and affectionate. Link backed out of it as quickly as he could.
He smelled danger.
Liv pulled out the chair across from Link and sat down, glancing at Floyd. “Olivia Durand. I apologize in advance for my foul mood. I’d like to think I’m normally rather personable.” She turned to Link. “But I understand you want to take John with you to go after Silas Ravenwood.”
“Aw, Liv,” Link began. “It’s just—”
She held up a hand. “Hence the mood.”
John sat down next to her and put his hand on the back of her chair.
She pushed it off and glared at him, then turned her attention back to Link. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but Abraham Ravenwood almost killed both of you—all of us, really.”
“Well, you’re not so wrong—”
“And now you want to go after his great-great-grandson?” Liv asked. “What part of this seems like a sensible idea to you?”
Link tried again. “Not exactly sensible—”
“I told you, Ridley’s in trouble,” John said.
“I want to hear it from Link,” she said without taking her eyes off Link. “What kind of trouble are we talking about, precisely?” She held up her ring. “And why did this only go off on your behalf, rather than Ridley’s?”
Link sighed. There was no point trying to pull punches on Liv. She was too smart for her own good.
And mine.
He didn’t really know where to begin, so he just plunged right in. “Silas Ravenwood knows that me and John killed his granddad, Abraham, and he wants us dead: me, John—and Lena and Rid for helping us. Maybe you and Ethan, too. I’m not sure. But he’s the head of the Syndicate—it’s like the Mob of the Underground.”
“That’s an understatement,” Floyd added.
“Technically, it’s a statement.” Liv silenced her with one look. “And I’ve heard about the Syndicate from the Keepers training me.”
“It’s bad, Liv.” Link let himself sound as miserable as he felt. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t. He’s got a thing for Sirens. And Rid’s missin’. I don’t know what he’s gonna do to her if we don’t find her.”
