Nightshade (21 page)

“I’m sorry I got angry,” I murmured.

“It’s okay. You’re the boss,” he said. “No pressure.”

“I promise I’m not still mad, but I’m really tired.” I sat down on the bed. “It was a hard day.”

“It was.”

“Can we just leave this for tonight? We’ve already . . .”

“Like I said.” His smile was tight. “You’re the boss. Until you’re ready, I’ll leave you alone. See you tomorrow.”

He kissed my forehead and left the room. I fell back against the pillow, not feeling in control of anything, much less like anyone’s boss. My lips still tingled from Ren’s kiss, but when I closed my eyes, only Shay’s face was there.

SHAY FLIPPED OVER THE PAGE AND SCRIBBLED
a few notes while I fidgeted in my seat.

“I can’t believe they don’t allow outside drinks in here,” I said. “How am I supposed to read this much without coffee?”

“You haven’t read anything, Calla,” he corrected without looking up. “You’ve just sat there and watched me read.”

“You haven’t given me anything to look for in the stacks.” My eyes darted toward the book that lay in front of him. “Have you come up with anything useful yet?”

His mouth flattened into a thin line.

“Look, I’m not being critical,” I said. “I was just asking what you’ve got so far.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Well, the book seems to be divided into three parts.
De principiis priscis,
which I’d guess is the origin story of your world. Then there’s a section called
De proelio
. . . .” He paused, watching me expectantly.

“‘Battle,’” I said.

Shay nodded, the corner of his mouth crinkling upward. “Somehow I thought you’d know that word.”

I smiled, stretching my arms over the back of the chair. Even the suggestion of a fight made my muscles twitch restlessly. I’d been sitting for hours, first at school and now at the library. Shay watched me with amusement and then turned back to his notes.

“Maybe it contains the details of the Witches’ War?” He glanced at the book. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“What’s the third section?”

He frowned, pushing strands of golden brown hair off his forehead. “It’s the one that makes the least sense. I can’t figure what it is.”

He opened the book, flipping pages until he had reached the end of the volume.

“It’s the shortest section by far.
Praenuntiatio volubilis.
”

“An announcement?” I picked up a pen and began doodling on the notepad that lay in front of me.

Shay turned his attention to the Latin dictionary. “I don’t think so. It’s more like a prophecy or an omen. But the second word,
volubilis,
implies that it’s not set in stone; you know, like the idea of fate or destiny. Whatever that section describes is something that can be changed, altered.”

“So the book ends with a description of something that is supposed to happen in the future?” For some reason the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

A disgusted grunt rose from his throat. “No. I skipped to the last page to see if it might have a conclusion that helped contextualize the rest of the book.”

He turned the pages until he reached the final lines of the text.

The prickling at the back of my neck traveled over my shoulders and arms. “What does it say?”

His voice was laced with irritation.
“Crux ancora vitae.”

“What?” I stood up and paced alongside Shay’s chair.

“I think it’s a proverb or something. It means ‘the cross is the anchor of life.’ I didn’t know that your witches were Christians.” His finger moved along the lines.

I continued my restless path around the table. “They most definitely are not. And the contents of that book are not Christian. Whatever that proverb is, it isn’t Christian; it means something else.”

“You must be wrong, Calla,” Shay said. “If you take into account the form of the Latin and what I’ve been able to discern about this text by comparing it to other rare books: the script, the illuminations, all that stuff makes it fairly easy to date. It’s a late-medieval, early-Renaissance book, so it could definitely have a Christian influence. And then there’s the cross thing.”

“The book may have been created in the Middle Ages, but its contents were not. The Old Ones predate Christians.”

“But if this book is pre-Christian, not medieval, then what the hell does that mean?” Shay shoved the tome away from him with a disgusted snort. “Someone needs to talk to this fool about how to end a narrative. No conclusion, some lame proverb,” he said. “And a picture.”

I stopped just short of his chair. “A picture?”

“Yeah. A picture of a cross.” He pulled the book back toward him, staring at the final page. “I guess it does lend some credence to your idea that it’s not Christian. It definitely isn’t like any crucifixes I’ve seen.”

I inched closer, my heart fluttering. “What do you mean?”

“Why don’t you take a look?” He raised his eyes to mine. When he saw the fear there, he stood up and moved close to me.

“Calla.” He took both my hands in his. “I understand why you’re afraid of this book. But you’ve come this far. I think you have to look at it.”

I began to shake my head, but he gripped my fingers tightly. “I need your help.”

His eyes held mine, kind but challenging.

I wanted to object, but I knew that from the moment I’d committed to meeting Shay at the library, there was no point in turning back. “Okay.”

He drew me back to the table. My hands began to shake as he turned the book to face me. Shay sat down in the chair, crossing his arms behind his head.

“Weird, huh? I mean, the way the bars are different on two of the ends. It makes the cross seem asymmetrical even though the pieces are the same length.”

I stared at the image and then at Shay. “Don’t you recognize this?”

“Recognize it?” He glanced down at the cross. “What do you mean?”

“Shay, this is the tattoo that’s on the back of your neck.” I tapped the image with my finger.

He laughed. “I don’t have any tattoos.”

I blinked at him. “Yes, you do.”

“I think I’d remember if I’d gotten ink,” he argued. “I’ve heard it’s fairly painful.”

He flinched when I reached around his neck, pulling back the collar of his shirt. The tattoo was there, just as I’d remembered it. The cross, an exact likeness of the one that stared back at me from the Keeper’s text, lay etched in black ink on the golden skin along the nape of Shay’s neck.

“See, I told you. No tats.” He tried to twist out of my grasp, but I stilled him by gripping his shoulder.

“Shay—you do have the cross inked on your neck. I’m looking at it right now.”

A shudder passed through his body. I relaxed my hold on him, giving his tense muscles a gentle squeeze.

“Calla,” he whispered. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” I crouched beside his chair. “I have a hard time believing that you’ve never seen the back of your own neck.”

His forehead wrinkled. “I must have at some point. And I don’t remember ever seeing a tattoo. Is that where it is?”

He shivered as my fingers traced the lines of the cross on his neck.

“Yes, right here.”

“Give me your compact; I’ll go check it in the bathroom mirror.” He jumped up from his seat and then looked at me, waiting.

“I don’t have a compact.”

“You don’t?” Shay frowned. “I’ll figure something out.” He dashed away and I lowered myself into his chair, returning to the book I’d been reading.

A few minutes later, I looked up from the page to find Shay glaring at me, wary and nervous. “So are you pulling my leg or what?”

“You found a hand mirror?”

“I borrowed one from the librarian at the circulation desk,” he said. “I told her I was having a problem with my contact and the bathroom mirror didn’t magnify enough.”

“You wear contacts?”

“No.” He pulled up another chair. “You haven’t answered my question.”

I squared my shoulders. “I have no reason to lie to you, Shay. Are you saying you looked at your neck and saw nothing there?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I saw my neck, the bare skin of my neck. No tattoo. And definitely not a weird cross tattoo.”

“I’m sorry. The cross is tattooed on your neck,” I said. “I don’t know much about the Keepers’ magic, so I can only guess. But they must have cast something on your sight so you can’t see it.”

I looked at the image once again, my fingers tracing over the page. “They’ve instructed the Guardians to keep our world hidden from you, even though we’ve been asked to protect you. For some reason they don’t want you to know anything about this.”

His face went white. “You’re saying my uncle put a spell on me so I wouldn’t know about the tattoo?”

“He’s not your uncle.” I tried to make the reminder gentle but firm. “And yes, I think he must have.”

Shay put his elbows on his knees, hiding his face in his hands. I hesitantly rose from my chair. My limbs quivered as I stretched my arms around his shaking body, drawing him against me. My heart was racing. As much as I knew I should maintain some physical distance from Shay, seeing him like this and not doing anything was too cruel.

His hands dropped from his face, encircling my waist. Warmth seemed to slide from his fingertips over the length of my body. He leaned into me, resting his cheek in the hollow between my neck and shoulder, sending electric tendrils like vines over my skin. I gently brushed his messy golden brown hair, biting my lip so I wouldn’t kiss his forehead.

“Thanks.” His quiet murmur was strained. He cleared his throat. “It’s a little hard to cope with the growing realization that I have no idea who I really am.”

I laughed quietly.

Shay tensed. “Is that funny?”

I twisted my fingers through his hair. “No. It’s just that to me, it sounds a little interesting. I’ve always known exactly who I am and what I would be.”

He straightened and I released him from my arms though I remained crouched next to his chair.

“Do you wish you were something other than what you are?”

“No,” I said quickly. “We are who we are. I have no desire to be something else. But right now I’m afraid of what it means for those who I care about.”

Shay looked at me, slowly lifted his hand, and caressed my cheek. Looking into his eyes felt like stumbling upon a hidden garden.

I quickly returned to my own seat, short of breath, my heart pounding.

I could feel his eyes on me as I scratched shapes on my notebook page. “I wanted to learn what was in the book because I needed to know more about the Keepers and Guardians.”

I turned to face him. Shay watched me curiously. I was relieved to see that he didn’t appear offended by my abrupt retreat.

“But it’s clear that everything that’s happening here is about you, Shay. We need to find out who you are.”

He didn’t speak, but nodded once.

I pointed at the leather-bound tome. “So we know that cross is on your neck. But we don’t know what it means.”

Shay turned back to the image. “Are these triangles on my neck too?”

“No.” With some reluctance I dragged my chair close to his so I could look at the book.

“But you think they’re important?” He pointed at my notebook. I glanced down and was shocked to see that I’d drawn at least ten triangles across the white page.

“I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen them before, but I don’t know where.” I chewed on my lip for a moment, letting my mind wander.

“Oh!”

I rummaged through my bag and pulled out my Organic Chemistry lab workbook.

“Are you having trouble in chem?” Shay frowned as he watched me flip through the pages.

I shook my head and kept turning through the book until I found the introductory notes from Monday’s experiment.

“Look. I knew I’d seen this. It’s in the historical introduction to the alchemy lab.” I pointed at the triangles. “These are alchemical symbols.”

Shay rose and came to peer over my shoulder. “It’s a good thing you read the introduction. I just skipped right to the experiment.”

I smiled and continued to read. “These four triangles represent the four elements: earth, air, fire, and water.”

I looked at the image in the Keeper’s text and then back at the workbook.

“But I have no idea what that has to do with a cross.”

“Looks like you just found your first research question, Cal.” He tapped me on the shoulder.

“Fine. But is there anything else for me to work with besides that proverb? What is it again?”

“The cross is the anchor of life,” he intoned in mock solemnity. “That’s the last line of the book. Then the picture.”

I jotted the phrase down amid the scattered triangles on my notebook page.

“What comes before the proverb?”