by Ivy Asher
I hike up several flights of stairs and rehome the census I just spent two days combing through. I pull out the next black bound volume on the shelf and look down, surprised to see writing. The records here so far haven’t been labeled on the spines or the front covers. I imagine this place would be some anal-retentive librarian’s version of a nightmare, so I’m surprised to see the gold title on the front of this one.
I’m even more surprised when I read what it is. The Call: Understanding Gryphon Courtship and Mating Habits. My eyebrows dip with confusion. How did this get here?
I pull down the next book in the row and open the familiar all black cover. It’s the volume I am looking for. I debate for a second putting the weird Gryphon dating and mating book back where I found it, but the image of some angry librarian screaming nooooo somewhere in the universe has me carrying it with me back to my table. Hopefully, the archivists that are always fluttering about can find its rightful place. I stack the census on top and open it up to start scanning it for my mother’s, father’s, or grandmother’s names while I trek back to my table. I round a corner and slam into a large hard body.
“Shit, sorry!” I offer as I bounce back and check to see if the collision fucked up any of the precious books I swore to an Archivist I wouldn’t damage.
“What are you doing here?” Ryn demands, and my gaze snaps up to find his stormy gray gaze looking around like he’s checking to see if anyone is watching us.
No one is.
I tense, waiting to see if Pigeon is going to freak out over his sudden appearance, but she doesn’t even stir. She’s been all swoony over Treno and his help the past couple of weeks; it seems the puppy love she had for Ryn has officially been put to sleep. I throw up a couple mental walls just in case Pigeon is pulling a fast one and waiting for me to drop my defenses so she can rip his head off.
“How did you get in here?” Ryn demands again on an angry whisper. He grabs me by the arm and pushes me into an aisle.
“Get off me,” I snarl, yanking my bicep out of his hold and putting distance between us. “Treno brought me here, you prick.” I move to go around him, but Ryn steps into my way and presses me back until I’m boxed in against a shelf. A deep growl fills the space between our chests, and I can’t tell if it’s his or mine.
“Watch it, Ryn. I stopped my gryphon once, I won’t do it again,” I threaten, as he presses in closer to me.
I don’t miss the pain that his gray eyes are suddenly flecked with before he blinks and it’s gone.
“Why would the Altern bring you here? Is he here right now?” he asks, anxiety coating his questions.
“No, he’s been with Lazza all week. Shouldn’t you know that, being that you’re a commander and Lazza’s third? Don’t you males have some big war to plan for?” I snark.
“Falon, why would Treno bring you here?” Ryn barks quietly at me, and something in his tone makes me stop trying to press his buttons.
“Because I asked him to help me find answers, and unlike some people, he’s helping me find them,” I answer flatly.
“Have you?” he counters, his gaze now puzzled.
“Have I what?”
“Found any answers.”
I sigh. “Not yet.”
Ryn’s gaze drops to my lips for a second. “Let me know if you do. Oh, and don’t tell anyone you saw me here.”
“Oh, so the usual then?” I snark like some peppy kid taking a drive-through order.
Ryn looks at me confused.
“Your usual,” I repeat. “You know, a large serving of vague, with a side of cryptic. Hold the truth, and add a dash of annoying and arrogant. Oh, and don’t worry, I didn’t forget that you like it all topped off with a heavy dollop of expect me to go along with everything...melted, of course.”
Ryn just stares at me blankly.
I roll my eyes and open my mouth to ask why the fuck I would tell him about what I find, but out of nowhere, he’s gone.
How the hell did he do that? Is this fool Batman or some shit? His scent trails away from me, and I’m tempted for a second to follow it in hopes that I can get some answers to why all the cloak-and-dagger shit in the archives. They’re just books. Why would anyone care if he was here? I stand there for a second and try to think through what that was all about.
I got nothing.
I push off from the bookshelf I’m still leaning against and chalk it up to more Hidden secret bullshit. That crap never seems to end when it comes to them. I haven’t seen the green-eyed spy since the day I was fake marked, and no one else other than the archivists gives me a second look. Not that I’ve spent much time anywhere other than here and my room. I’ve been doing exactly what I was told to do, which is laying low and staying as far away from Lazza and his posse as possible.
With the exception of Treno, that is. Yeah, he’s Lazza’s little brother, but he’s as far from evil as anyone can get. That, and no one has whispered pssst from the bushes and told me that I’m not allowed to hang out with him. Not that I would listen even if they did.
I make my way back down to my procured table and start scanning the pages. I get about halfway through when my heart does a little leap in my chest. I blink bleariness from my eyes and lean in, tracing each familiar name with eager eyes.
Noor Solei: Born 1619, to Anik Solei and Verse Solei.
Died —.
Mated —.
See archived writings XCPU.529 recovered in the year 1927.
Noor Solei...could that be a coincidence? My mother’s name and my middle name right there side by side. Gran’s last name was Steward, but what if that was her married name and not her maiden name? Maybe I’ve been looking for the wrong combo this whole time.
I read over the two lines of information four times before a passing Archivist draws my attention.
“Excuse me.” I wave at him frantically.
I push out of my chair and have to quickly bend over and catch it before the back crashes to the ground. I right it and then spin back around and wave the robed elderly male over. I don’t miss his huff of irritation, and I bristle as he makes his way over to me. I mentally add this dude to the list of other workers here who aren’t a fan of my taking up space. It’s about a fifty-fifty split right now.
“Can you help me find this?” I ask, pointing to the line and letters mentioned next to what just might be my mother’s name.
“You can submit a formal request for it, and I will pass it along to the proper channels,” he monotones to me.
“You can’t just point me to the right floor and shelf?” I ask, trying and failing to keep the impatience out of my voice.
“No. Even if it were that simple,” he arrogantly states, “these collections are not kept in this building.”
“What building are they kept in? I’d be more than happy to go there and make things easier,” I offer overly sweet.
He narrows his eyes at me like I’ve just said something highly offensive. “The Altern has permitted you space here and decreed we assist you. That does not give you free rein to explore every archive in existence. You will put in a request, which will be reviewed by the proper authority. If approved, the writings you have requested will be brought to you.”
“And how long will that take?” I ask, dropping the sugar from my tone.
“As long as it takes,” he clips back.
I tilt my head in a you just fucked with the wrong bitch kind of way. I’ve been looking for clues for weeks now. I finally fucking find one, and this pompous windbag thinks it’s time to put me in my place.
“Pigeon,” I mentally call, sugar dripping from my tone. “Wake up, little pidgey widgey,” I try again when I feel her stir and then practically roll over and ignore me. I mentally tap my foot and cross my arms over my chest at her antics. “Stop pouting, Pigeon, or I’ll take away your new favorite toy,” I threaten, calling up an image of dimple-chinned Treno and shoving it at her.
She calls my bluff.
Fine. I’ll jus
t take care of the prick myself.
I quickly run through what the potential consequences might be if I just so happen to deck the douche. But as much as I’d really love to do that right now, this is only the first clue. I need to be grateful and demure until I have everything I need, and then I’ll track the fucker down and let him know exactly what I think about his arrogant indifference.
“What’s your name?” I ask calmly, studying his features so I can easily recall them just in case he gives a bogus name.
“Purt,” he finally tells me after eyeing me for a suspicious beat.
“Purt, I would like to submit a formal request to view these documents.”
He grudgingly takes note of what I’m pointing at and then promptly spins on his heel and scurries away. Irritation simmers inside of me as I sit back down and continue scanning the pages for my father’s and gran’s name. It’s then that it hits me. That can’t be my mother, Gran’s first name was Sedora, not Anik—or maybe it was Verse that was the mother; it’s hard to tell gender from these weird ass names.
I sigh and let the excitement of finding a possible clue float away. Maybe my mother’s name and my middle name were common here? Once again I’m assuming my family was actually from this world. Maybe my parents never set foot in this place, and I’m just reading too far into fragmented memories and a crumbling ring. I could have been Stargate portalled here simply because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I let those thoughts float around in my mind for a while, but even as I do, it doesn’t ring true to me. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I just can’t believe this is all coincidence. The things I know...what I am...there’s no way that’s all by chance. I close the records I’ve been skimming through and sit back in my chair with a huff.
“No luck today?” a familiar deep voice asks from behind me.
Pigeon sits up like a hyper golden retriever who’s so excited it can’t keep its ass from wiggling. I give her the side-eye.
“Oh, now you wake up?” I observe, a heavy dose of judgment in my tone.
Pigeon sends me an image of a person batting a fly away. I snort incredulously.
“Right, because I’m the fly in this scenario.”
I flash Pigeon an image of flies on shit and then flash another image of her trying to be all fangirly with Treno. “I don’t see much of a difference, do you?” I ask her.
I can feel Pigeon’s eye roll, and I shake my head. I should probably just be grateful she’s talking to me at all. That’s the most we’ve said to each other since the whole fight over Ryn. I look over my shoulder and watch Treno make his way over to me. I try not to appreciate his long stride and powerful presence, but Pigeon is flooding me with hormones. That shit forces me to appreciate dumb things like his walk or the way his hair lifts on the breeze.
Pigeon is a weirdo.
“No luck today,” I admit, turning back around to face my pile of books.
He sets a hand on each side of me, leaning over to take in the books on the table.
“I thought I might have found something, but it turned out to be nothing,” I go on, as Treno sneaks a deep inhale of my hair.
I don’t know if he’s aware that he’s not so sneaky about smelling me, but I don’t point it out either way. So he likes to smell me, it could be worse. He could be a raging douche bag. An image of Zeph sparks in my mind, and I’m instantly flooded with irritation.
“What’s wrong?” Treno asks, apparently picking up on subtle cues of annoyance I didn’t even know I was emitting.
“Nothing, just not everyone in this place is very helpful. I want answers, but I also want to punch things,” I tell him on a hollow chuckle.
“Tell me who I have to kill?” he asks casually, and I laugh, not able to help myself.
I tilt my head back and stare up at him. He stares down at me, the traces of humor I expect to be in his different colored eyes absent. We stare at each other for a moment, and I find myself peculiarly aware of how easy it would be for him to just close the distance between our lips. I wonder what it would be like to upside-down Spiderman-kiss him, and then I wonder what it would be like to kiss him normally.
I pull my gaze from his and sit up.
“Well, I can’t speed up the search for answers, but I can maybe help with the other thing. I have some work to do, would you like to come with me?” he asks, his smile and chin dimple on point today. “You just might get to punch some things,” he adds in a promising singsong voice.
“Well, in that case…” I start, and Treno chuckles and pulls my chair out from the table.
I stand up, and he motions for me to follow him out of the archives. I’m torn for a minute about abandoning my search for information, but I’ve been at it all fucking day. Not to mention, if I have to deal with that Purt asshole again, I may do something that gets me banned from this place, and then I’d really be sorry. I give myself permission to take a break, for the greater good, and move to follow Treno.
7
“Where are we?” I ask as I touch down and fold my wings behind me.
Treno is already striding toward the tree line on the edge of the clearing we just landed in. I look around for the guards that accompanied us on our flight out here, but I can’t spot them anywhere. Excitement courses through me as Treno smiles over his shoulder and motions for me to follow him. For a split second, I wonder if it’s wise to follow anyone out into the middle of nowhere, regardless of the world you find yourself in, but Pigeon is awake and just as eager as I am. Hopefully, if this somehow goes to shit, she’ll step in and rip some heads off.
I weave around large tree trunks and have to practically run to keep up with Treno and his long ass legs. Suddenly the powerful stride I was drooling over earlier isn’t so cute. The trees are a different color than the ones in the forest around the Eyrie. The bark is pale and lacking the red tones I saw in the massive trees protecting the stronghold of the Hidden. Their size here is big, but nowhere near the redwood sized behemoths that gave me shelter when I was on the run from Ryn and Zeph.
Treno stops and crouches between two trees. He traces something in the dirt. I catch up to him and crouch down to see what has his gaze glittering with determination and excitement like it is. All I see is a muddy puddle.
“What is going on?” I ask on a whisper, figuring there’s got to be more going on here and I just don’t get it.
“Why are you whispering?” he asks me as he stands up and starts to unlace the ties of his tunic.
“I don’t know, it seemed appropriate,” I reply on another whisper, unable to help myself as I look around. The forest is eerily quiet, and there’s a dense fog clinging to the trees in the distance. Add the puddle of happiness that Treno was just playing with, and I still have no fucking clue what’s going on.
“Why are you taking off your clothes?” I demand when I look over and he’s started in on the ties of his pants.
He chuckles. “So I have clothes to change into when we’re done,” he states as if it’s obvious.
“Done doing what?” I demand again, exasperation now coloring my tone.
“Defending…them,” he states evenly and then points to something over my shoulder.
I have the sinking suspicion that I don’t want to turn around and see what the fuck he’s talking about. With my luck, it will be a T-rex or something.
Surprise, you’re a gryphon...oh, and you also live in Jurassic Park now! Watch out for the lizards whose necks grow!
Like some dumb kid in a horror movie, I slowly turn around and search in the direction that he’s pointing. I don’t see anything other than trees. I chuckle and shake my head. I can’t believe I just fell for the quick, look over there trick. I’d bet money Treno will be all naked and tempting when I turn around. I’m about to tell him ha ha good one when movement in the distance makes me pause.
Four things I had mistaken as tree trunks move, one at a time, in the distance. I follow them up and up and up until my head
is tilted all the way back, and I have the sinking suspicion I might shit myself.
“What in the moose fucking unicorn is that?” I ask, taking several steps back, even though whatever the hell it is isn’t even close...yet.
Treno laughs and moves closer to me.
Don’t look down. Don’t look down, I start to chant because I’m ninety percent sure he’s naked now.
“That is a Cynas,” he announces casually, like the giraffe on stilts, with the long hairy boar’s head and antlers, is no big deal.
“And we’re going to kill it?” I question, an unsure squeak in my tone.
“Of course not,” he chuckles as though I’ve just said something he finds adorable.
The Cynas ambles closer, moving like one of those big weird walking machines straight out of a Star Wars movie.
“An infestation of Mogus has been reported in the area. They like to nest in dens that Cynas have already established, and that drives the Cynas out. So we’re going to stop that from happening,” he tells me, his tone all heroic and proud.
“The Cynas can’t just find a new place to live, or fight back?” I query as I spot more of them moving in the distance. They look like they’re grazing on the tops of trees.
“No, they’re very passive creatures. Cynas are useful to us for a lot of different things. Mogus are not. So today we’ll chase off the Mogus so the Cynas stay here where we want them to be,” he explains.
“And a Mogus is what exactly?” I ask and then follow Treno’s outstretched arm again when he points to something to the side of the grazing Cynas.
