Page 132 of The Black Table
“Hide,” I say to her.
She doesn’t question, just nods and scrambles up and behind it, and not a second too soon.
Because the door blows open, the shattered lock spinning as it rams against the wall.
It’s not my father.
It’s Kai.
“There you are,” he says, panting, sweeping his hair from his face. “I saw the light in the window and?—”
“What’s going on?” I say.
Kai grimaces.
“You better come with me,” he says. “Something’s happened.”
THIRTY-FIVE
GWENNA
I don’t knowhow long I stay in that corner.
I count to one hundred.
Then two hundred.
Then a thousand.
And after that, finally, it feels like maybe I can move again. All of me feels stiff and alien, stunned with shock from what happened with me and Kingston, and worried, terrified, actually, about whatever Kai came in to get him for.
Swallowing the burst of panic rising in my throat, I grab my coat, grab my bag, and before I leave, blow out the candles.
Can’t be too careful.
All the lightsare on at Camlann House.
When I come close, a different direction, a circuitous route, just on the off chance anyone’s watching where Kingston came from, and a pit forms in my stomach. I know this isn’t good, but I don’t know what kind of not good it is.
As I make my way up the steps, I hear voices in the livingroom. Male voices. Some sharp, some low and rumbling, mostly familiar, but some not.
At the door, I pause, smooth the front of my sweater, tuck my hair behind my ears. No matter what happens, I need to look composed. I push into the door, thinking I’ll glide past everything, go upstairs, catch up later.
That is not what happens. Every eye turns on me when I enter. Kingston, Kai, Lanz, Callahan, but also Luther Pendragon, resplendent in his suit, a woman I recognize as a librarian, and the dean of the college.
“Miss Vale,” the dean says. His voice, somber. “There you are.”
“What’s…what happened?” Any attempt to keep my voice from sounding flighty and nervous fails instantly. I look instinctively at Kingston first, but he is standing soldier straight, arms folded, eyes front, not looking at me or anyone else or anything in particular. And that just scares me more.
“There’s been an accident, I’m afraid.”
“An accident?” My mind races. Myheartraces. “Is someone?—”
“No.” The dean cuts in quickly. “Nobody was hurt. But…”
“The archives,” the librarian interrupts. “The manuscripts. They’re…They’re gone.”
“Gone?”
