Page 25 of Broken Destiny

When Bren still ignores her, she clears her throat in a way that manages to sound almost sexy. I have no idea how she does it. She’s a mage, not a shifter or something Other - the category created for the least numerous of our races: vamps, fae, and a few more. Some of the powerful families still encourage racial separation. My father does. Whether it bothers her to know I’m probably a shifter, I can’t tell.

Bren finally looks at her, almost confused, before his eyes clear and he raises his hand to his mouth. He licks his index finger and extends it toward the beauty queen’s face. As her eyes widen comically in horror, I force myself to stop his wet finger from reaching the corner of her eye where she has mascara smeared, just the tiniest bit. Only Bren would notice something like that. As my large hand closes around his outstretched arm, he looks at me.

“What?” he asks innocently before turning to Trixie. “You have something right there.” He points at the corner of his eye and sidesteps her neatly without a backward glance, continuing toward the front steps. Trixie scrambles for a mirror in her fancy little clutch while I offer her a smug smile and follow him. She’s wondering whether he chose to intentionally slight her or if he’s just a freak. Whatever conclusion she comes to will determine whether she ever interacts with us again. Some women want to tame the anomaly, or at least take him to bed because it’s a novel experience. If she decides he was being rude on purpose, she may claim a vendetta or just ignore us. Regardless of her possible usefulness, I’ll go with whatever happens. I can make my grand plans, but Bren can tear them down in two seconds. Nothing is more important than him, though. If she gets her friends to laugh at him, I’ll destroy her.

Instead of booking it toward the back of the academy, Bren trots up the steps and I follow. I’m twice the size he is, but my shifter blood gives me enough speed to keep up with his lean form. The school is everything we’ve been told and could have imagined. There are a hundred Trixies and twice the number of her male counterparts. Apocrypha may advertise itself as regional, but magical families that live twenty miles away will send their children across the country for their schooling because of Apocrypha’s elitist attitudes. The academy only accepts the best, the wealthiest, and the most powerful.

Headmaster Perkins practically trips over his feet to meet us at the door. He was told to greet me, but his face falls with indecision when he sees my brother. He was given orders to greet me, not us. I look down at the little man, adopting the expression that makes grown men piss their pants. Still, Perkins didn’t get to his position by being a pushover. He draws himself up, adopting a blank expression.

“Master Addington,” he gushes, entirely ignoring my brother. My fists tighten with rage, but I keep them clasped behind me, well aware that the pose makes my muscular chest seem even broader. The tight t-shirt only emphasizes the cut of every one of my muscles. I can pose for an anatomical poster of muscle groups and each one would be visible. I love to work out. It helps fuel my determination and funnel it into something useful, but more than that, I use my form to my advantage against women and men alike. I’m unashamed to emphasize my most helpful attributes.

“We’re overjoyed to welcome you to Apocrypha, the Hidden Academy. We have your course schedule all drawn up, but you’re welcome to make any changes if you see something not to your liking. And we have your room as well, a single as requested by your father.”

I don’t follow Perkins as he gestures to the side door that leads to his office. The front hall is impressive, but I’ve seen better. Still, there’s a certain antiquated charm that I allow half my brain to admire while I keep the other half firmly focused on the man in front of me. My feet are planted on the marble flagstones under my feet, and Perkins belatedly realizes I’m not following.

“My brother?” My tone is pitched low and just slightly threatening.

Beads of sweat glisten on the mage’s brow. In a couple seconds, his entire bald dome will be gleaming with fear, uncertainty, and slight irritation. It must be difficult for him when twenty-four-year-old shifters start bossing him around. His eyes flicker briefly toward my brother. Bren’s gaze roams the hall; I won’t be surprised to see a detailed drawing of the place later. The number of stones in the wall will be correctly accounted for.

“We weren’t told to expect your brother, Master Addington. I’m not sure we can properly accommodate his…specific needs at this time.”

My fists clench tighter and my shoulders square. I’m ready to advance on the little man when an older, distinguished gentleman breezes into the hall leading to the rest of the building. He carries himself with power and ease, but his anger creates a tangy scent in the air. Bren stops my forward progress with a slim hand on my arm. His eyes are alight with excitement as he watches the robed man bear down on the headmaster. After an appraising glance at my younger brother, I settle back on my heels. Bren can see into the future, but his most remarkable talent is discerning the immediate future. If he wants to watch this play out when he rarely gives most people a speck of interest, there’s a reason.

The older man’s eyes flash with power as he approaches, barely sparing a glance for my brother and me. “That witch stole my ghost, Perkins. What do you know about that?” Rage vibrates through the man’s lean form.

“I’m sorry?” Perkins sputters. Something about the stranger makes him wary to the point where his head is now gleaming; he’s sweating so much I can smell it. There’s only one reason for that. This man has power over or information on the headmaster that could destroy him. No other subordinate would provoke such fear.

“The Abram bitch, the new librarian, has stolen my ghost. She ripped the tether right off him. Tell me, how does a shifter possess that kind of magic? What help did she have?”

While I’m still processing that surprising mess of information, Bren’s hand tightens around my arm. I glance over in surprise. He looks mad, and he’s never mad. The only time I’ve ever seen him angry was when our father killed his dog in front of him. It had the opposite effect Father wanted, sending Bren into a fit of rage instead of the fearful compliance from a seven-year-old he’d expected. Bren had almost leveled our massive estate with a blast of unpredictable power.

“You know I have no control over the library regardless of its position on our grounds, Walthers,” Perkins protests. The surname doesn’t ring a bell other than reading about him in the curriculum listing, but the library does. The Hidden Library, one of the two most influential powers in the supernatural community, has a new librarian? A shifter or a mage? If Walthers means a magical feeding tether, breaking one of those is inconceivable. Acquiring one is supposed to be even more impossible, and I file the angry man’s name away for that reason alone.

Perkins is still speaking. “If you have concerns, bring them up with Ansel, as he is the interim protectorate. Other than that, the only ruling body that has dominion over the library is the OSC delegation. Even then, the librarian will have a seat upon that council. You know that, Walthers, especially since she’s an Abram and the intended successor.”

I’m still processing that information, wondering how I can use the library’s power to my benefit when Bren pulls me from the foyer and back out into the sunlight. I consider objecting, but I can’t risk angering him further. The school could be obliterated in mere minutes. My brother wouldn’t care that the blast would take both of us with it unless he somehow shielded us. His magic is touchy and volatile, nothing like his visions.

“How dare they speak of her like that,” Bren mutters under his breath as he marches along the path toward the rear of the academy. I have no idea who he’s talking about. Students and professors stop to gawk at us. I try to act like I know exactly where I’m going and have a purpose other than just following my brother like an eager puppy.

The building grows slowly in my field of vision, and my skin crawls as we near. I don’t believe in destiny, fate, or any of that bullshit, but I swear I’ve seen this building in my dreams. It’s square in shape except for a dome that rises above the roof. What isn’t crawling in ivy is decorated with ugly gargoyles whose stone wings rise like demons’ on their muscular backs. I swear they watch us as we approach. If this place is what I think it is, they probably are.

I’ve only heard stories about this library that sound more like legends. The place, although mostly unassuming, rings with power. Bren skips up the steps like he belongs there, but I hang back, staring up at the building like it might mean my death if I step inside.

“Rett?” Bren asks, his face confused as he turns to see me waiting at the bottom of the steps. “Are you coming?” Thankfully, he’s lost the cloud of anger. He looks excited now, like this place is a present just for him.

I swallow the unfamiliar fear and meet him on the top step. “Is this what I think it is? What are we doing here, Bren?”

“She’s here,” Bren answers with a simple shrug, like that answers every question in the world. He opens the wide wooden door. Then, he waits for me. I study his earnest face before glancing behind me. The gargoyles seem to be growling soundlessly at me, but other students are watching. I can’t be a pansy and run away from a building. Besides, I belong with my brother. Conviction fills me as I join him in the portal.

“I have no idea what you’re doing,” I tell him under my breath as we enter the curious, star-covered foyer, “but I’m with you.”

Bren smiles at me, one of the rare smiles that actually express the emotion behind it, and he clasps me on the shoulder. “Good. This is where we belong.”

Without a breath of hesitation in his movement, he enters the main library. I’m only a step behind him, still in the doorway, when he falls to his knees in front of a pretty girl sitting in a chair. A wheelchair, I notice after a second glance. But I can’t focus on that because the words coming out of his mouth shock me into blankness.

“I am at your service, my lady.”

Chapter Thirteen

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