Kristie Cook - Devotion

We sorted all of the council members into three camps: total support for Tristan and me, whether we had a girl or, somehow, we discovered how Dorian could lead; support for me, but not Tristan, believing Tristan was the traitor and would bring the Amadis down; and the belief that Tristan, Dorian and me, and possibly Rina and Mom, too, were dangerous to the Amadis, and it was time for new leadership. Rina heard many of these thoughts for herself, but she didn't seem too worried, not even about this last one.

"The instigator of such ideas is probably a new convert, not a council member, who has not had time to adjust and understand our structure," she said. "Sometimes they do not appreciate all of our rules and try to change our ways. Eventually, they realize their mistake. I will have Armand investigate our recent additions. We do not need such ideas to spread and take root."

"You don't think it's the traitor denouncing you? You're not worried about a coup or anything?" I asked.

"Alexis, darling, no one can take over the Amadis. The Angels have given our family the responsibility to lead them. Not anybody else. Until they say otherwise, we lead with the power they have given us, trust their instructions and have faith in God's plan."

"But they've sent you a message about a traitor. That has to be who's spreading the idea of new leadership, trying to gain power."

"Which is exactly why the Angels have forewarned us, so that we may identify the perpetrator and–" She peered at me and her eyes sparked as a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "–We squash them down until they understand who rules whom around here."

With such surety as that, I could almost believe she had total control over the situation. Almost.

But then I'd catch a slump in her shoulders. Saw light shadows under her eyes. Heard something in her voice that made her sound unlike herself. The changes in her became a little more apparent as those who didn't support Tristan–and sometimes me–became more vocal about their concerns the closer the coronation ceremony approached.

Did she rely too much on her senses? On the Otherworld? If the Angels' messages were so hard to interpret, how could she be so sure about any of this? The words "prophecies" and "curses" had popped up a few times over the last few weeks wrapped in thoughts about Dorian and my daughter. I couldn't help but wonder if a certain book held clues everyone had forgotten about, including Rina. Maybe it was time to find out for myself.

After a morning of dodging Tristan's excellent swordsman skills while failing epically with my own sword, I hastily showered and did a quick scan for mind signatures in the mansion. Tristan and Dorian had already started their math lesson in Dorian's room, Rina and Solomon were nowhere to be found, perhaps having gone to the village with Mom. I knew that was Mom's plan for the afternoon–to spend some time with Charlotte–but I didn't know if the matriarch ever made an appearance in the village. I didn't care. I saw the opportunity and seized it.

Quietly, I made my way to the hallway leading to Rina's office, figuring the Sacred Archives would be nearby. Only a few doors led off the hallway, all of them closed. I paused next to Rina's to confirm her office was empty. Still feeling no one nearby, I continued to the end of the hall and rounded a corner into another corridor–the mansion was a maze–where a door stood open into a vast area full of books.

I hesitated at the opening and peered inside.

No light source hung from the ceiling or walls or stood on any tables, yet the room … glowed. As if everything in it gave off some Otherworldly shine that provided a natural light. This is it. The Sacred Archives. As soon as I crossed the threshold, the atmosphere completely changed. The air felt different, heavier in a way, but cleaner, too, as if the room wasn't really part of our world. The air smelled as I imagined sunshine would smell. The whole space felt special.

Silvery shelves lined the walls, edge to edge, floor to ceiling, with exactly the right number of books to fill the entire space with no overspill and no open slots. Every book had a pearly white leather binding that gave off a soft glow, contributing to the room's light. I stepped to the closest wall, intending to make my way around the room until I found the book I sought. As soon as I eyed the top shelf, however, my heart sank to the pit of my stomach. I surveyed the rest of the shelves and found the same thing: none of the books had titles imprinted on their spines. How would I ever find the book I wanted among these hundreds of others?

With a tiny bit of hope, I randomly selected a book and pulled it off the shelf. The front cover remained untitled, too, so I opened it, and my heart sank all the way to my feet. No words scrolled across the pages. Only unfamiliar symbols. I flipped through the book and every page was full of these strange graphics, kind of a combination of Oriental and Middle East writing, but less defined. I'd never seen anything exactly like them, although the closest might really be tattoo art. If this was what Rina received in her messages, no wonder she had a hard time interpreting them. I returned that book to its place and selected another from a different shelf, hoping to find something more familiar, but, again, only symbols. Crap. I just want the Book of Prophecies & Curses. I need to see for myself …

A faint noise sounded behind me and I spun around. Completely on its own accord, a book had slid off a shelf and now floated toward me. My breath caught in my throat. The book stopped inches in front of me and simply hung there, in midair, all shiny and beautiful like a ginormous mother-of-pearl. I stared at it for a long moment, waiting for my eyes and brain to make sense of it or for the book to fall to the floor or … for something to happen. But nothing did. I glanced around and peered into the hallway behind me, expecting to see a mage playing a trick on me, but no one was there. Still no mind signatures anywhere on this level.

I made a slow circle around the book as it hung in the air, keeping my distance, afraid to touch it. Finally, with shaking hands, I reached out and grabbed it. The heavy book fell open in my hands, and at first I was relieved to see it didn't contain those strange hieroglyphics. I recognized both Greek letters and the Latin alphabet. Unfortunately, I couldn't read any of it.

From research for my own books, I knew enough about the Greek alphabet and how Greek words formed the basis of many English words, so I was able to figure out the title on the cover page: The Book of Prophecies & Curses. The exact book I wanted. How did the room know? Who was behind it? I only had to think the title, and it came to me as if sensing my desire. Who cares? Find what you need and get out of here.

I flipped through the pages, hunting for at least something in English. Numbers–the universal language–headed each entry. They were dates, going back to Before Christ, and increasing chronologically, with the last one dated many years ago. Prophecies and curses weren't very common. Under each date, Greek letters lined the page, followed by lines of Latin letters in a foreign language, probably Latin itself. I skimmed the last pages, hoping to find something I could make out, perhaps a familiar name. Two lines seemed to jump out at me as if somehow bolder than the others, but not, and I started sounding out the letters, hoping to understand–

The snick of a door closing sounded down the hall. Followed by barely audible footsteps. Panicking, I slammed the book shut. What if I wasn't allowed to be in the Sacred Archives? Mom had told me to leave it alone, but was it because there was some rule about the Sacred Archives or the Book of Prophecies & Curses? Or did she just want me to "behave"? In case I'd violated the Angels' space, I didn't want to be caught.