Page 21 of Wings of Shadow
The symbols reform, showing me the intricate web of connections between all supernatural beings. I see how the actions of one can ripple outward, affecting the fates of many. And I begin to understand the unique role of seers in this cosmic dance—we are the watchers, the interpreters, the possible tipping point in the balance of power.
As I delve deeper into the Book of Vaelmir, the scenes grow more vivid, becoming intimately personal. I glimpse days yet to come, the myriad paths I could take, and the consequences that follow. And always, at the center of these visions, is Kaisner.
Our potential relationship unfolds in a whirlwind of possibilities. In one future, our love is a guiding force; in another, it becomes a catalyst for chaos and ruin. What strikes me most is the lack of certainty—each vision a branch on a vast, intricate tree of choices still waiting to be made.
I see how a single decision can send ripples through time, reshaping not only our lives but the fate of the world itself. How can I navigate this tangled web of futures and ensure that I make the right choices for us all?
When I finally lift my head from the pages, the magical clearing has been swallowed by darkness. The gentle afternoon light that warmed my face when I began reading has vanished, replaced by the silver gleam of moonlight through the canopy. An owl hoots somewhere in the distance, answered by the rustling of nocturnal creatures stirring to life. The air carries the cool dampness of evening, and I shiver, realizing that hours have slipped away like water through my fingers.
The visions fade, leaving behind a residue of understanding that I know will take weeks, perhaps months, to fully process. But one thing is clear: the world is far more complex and dangerous than I ever imagined, and my role in the coming events may be more crucial than I ever dared to dream.
With reluctance—and no small amount of relief—I close the book. The burden of what I’ve learned settles over me like a headstone. I know now that I can never unknow these things, never go back to the person I was before I opened this tome.
I quicken my pace as I return, and when I finally step out of the hidden section, I almost collide with the library keeper. Leaning against a bookshelf, arms crossed, his unsettling amber eyes lock onto me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Found what you were looking for?” he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm. His gaze sweeps over me, taking in my disheveled appearance.
I swallow hard, trying to compose myself. “Yes. I… I think so.”
He snorts, a sound caught between amusement and disdain. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, girly… Or perhaps something far worse.” He pushes off from the shelf, moving toward me with a predator’s grace.
“You have a gift for me,” he purrs, hand open and waiting.
I freeze, transfixed by his fiendish smirk.
“A key?” he presses, his patience fraying at the edges.
“Oh!” The sound escapes me like a startled breath. I set the ornate item on his palm, my fingers trembling slightly as our skin briefly touches.
“Remember,” he continues as he slips the key into his pocket, his voice a low, dangerous whisper, “the secrets of this place stay within these walls. We don’t need another Salem on our hands.”
I nod numbly. “I understand.”
“Good,” he says, his fangs glinting in the low light as he speaks. “Off with you, then.”
I hurry past him, my heart thundering against my ribs like a caged bird desperate for escape.
As I step through the hidden door and back into the familiar confines of Shakespeare and Company, the bookstore’s musty warmth envelops me. The world around me looks the same, the well-worn shelves and quiet corners unchanged, and yet... everything is fundamentally different now.
How long was I in there? It felt like hours, but the clock on the wall suggests it’s been barely twenty minutes.
13
KAISNER
The Parisian evening air bites with January’s fierce chill as I make my way down the narrow streets of the Latin Quarter. My breath forms small clouds in front of me, dissipating in the crisp winter breeze. My pace is unhurried, casual to any observer, but my senses are on high alert. The text from my informant burns in my mind: Clarissa Draken, spotted entering Shakespeare & Company not twenty minutes ago.
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. Of all the places in Paris, she chooses to wander here? Intriguing. This isn’t just any bookshop—whispers in the darker corners of our world speak of hidden aisles, secret sections accessible only to those with... particular talents. Talents that have, frustratingly, eluded even me thus far.
As I approach the bookstore’s weathered façade, my mind races with possibilities. Could Clarissa have inadvertently uncovered a buried truth? Or is she, perhaps, more than she appears? The seer gifts of the Draken line are well known, but this... this could be something else entirely.
I pause for an instant, allowing my senses to extend beyond the physical. Despite the winter’s chill, the air surrounding the bookshop shimmers with an energy most humans would never perceive—ley lines converging, ancient magics woven into the very foundations of the building. It’s subtle, masterfully concealed, but to one such as myself, it’s as clear as a beacon.
My fingers flex involuntarily, power thrumming just beneath my skin. How many times have I tried to breach these mystical defenses, to access the knowledge rumored to be hidden within? And now, Clarissa Draken may have accomplished what I could not.
Admiration and jealousy coil in my chest. She continues to surprise me, this enigmatic woman who has captured my attention so thoroughly. Part of me wants to rush in, to demand answers, to unleash the full force of my considerable charms and powers to uncover her secrets.
But no. Patience has always been my greatest weapon. I’ve waited too long for the right moment to claim my true power; I can wait a bit more to unravel the mystery that is Clarissa Draken.
