Page 27 of Spark of Sorcery
I’m so consumed with my thoughts, I stop paying attention to my footing, and halfway up the towering bookcase, as I lean all my weight on my left foot, the rung gives way, falling out from the ladder. My foot falls with it, and I plunge, grasping at the rung above me with both my hands and clinging to it for dear life.
Below me, Clare screams, the ladder wobbles, shaking me as it does, and I hear the dislodged rung clatter violently onto the floor.
“Briony!” Clare calls up to me. “Are you okay?”
My palms are damp from the climb and my hands slipping against the rung, but I cling with all my might and swing my feet upwards. The first time I miss, the sole of my shoe sliding hopelessly against the bookshelf. The second time is no better, and my hand slides that much more against the wood.
“Briony!” Clare yelps.
But on the third time I do it, swinging my body into the bookcase and landing my feet on the shelf. I wobble dangerouslyfor one moment, almost tipping right backward, before I right myself and let out a long exhale.
“I’m okay,” I call back down to Clare. “Are you? Did that piece of wood hit you?”
“No, just missed me.” She mutters some unusual curse words to herself. “Please be careful. I think the Princes might burn me alive if I let anything happen to you.”
I wipe the palms of my hands against my pant legs and start climbing again.
This time I’m more careful, testing each rung before I commit to it. Three more prove to be unstable and I have to yank myself past them, reaching up high for the rung above.
Finally, the years become more recent. I pass the year my grandmother was here. The year my parents must have come. I’m so tempted to stop and flick through them. My father never spoke about his time at the academy, although I know he met my mother here. Marion spoke about it all the time, delighting in frightening me with horrific stories. She always swore she lost the top half of her right index finger at the academy as well as her left ear. It was enough to give me nightmares when I was younger, especially after the loss of Amelia.
The highest shelf contains the books from this decade. There are several for each year and I realize the details contained inside must be vast. I shimmy along the shelf, Clare sucking in breath and warning me to be careful from below. I spy my sister’s year along the shelf, but not before I pass the year Fox Tudor must have come as a student. For a moment I pause.
Would it tell me his secrets inside? How he came to realize he owned the ability to weave shadows? What happened when it was discovered? How that led to him teaching here at the academy and not going to live with theother shadow weavers in Onyx Quarter? My fingers brush across the spine, and I’m oh so tempted to pull the book out and riffle through the pages.
Something stops me though, and it isn’t just my very big need to get down from this dangerously high shelf. To open the book would feel like an invasion of privacy. I know what it’s like to have secrets. He hasn’t chosen to share this information with me. I don’t think it would be right to go sneaking behind his back searching for it – no matter how tempting it may be. Fox Tudor is an enigma – a very hot, very sexy one. For now he’ll have to remain one.
I force myself away from that book and along to the right year. There are three volumes for the year my sister attended the academy. And there is no way I am going to be able to carry them down the ladder without breaking my neck.
“I’m going to have to throw the books down,” I call to Clare.
“Erm,” she says hesitantly, “I don’t think Library will like that. You could damage them.”
I peer over my shoulder, out towards the library. “Sorry Library, I don’t want to hurt these books anymore than you do, but I don’t have a choice.”
I go to hook the first one off the shelf and throw it to the floor, but before I do, it slides from the shelf itself and, spreading open its pages, takes off like a bird in flight, fluttering out across the library and then spiraling down to land by Clare’s feet. The second book does the same, followed lastly by the third.
“You couldn’t have done that before I climbed all the way up here,” I say.
The shelf wobbles slightly and I take it the library doesn’t find my cheek amusing.
I’mabout to make my way back along the shelf and down the ladder, when my eye catches the end of the shelf. It’s half empty – the books for the future are yet to be written, bound and placed on the shelf alongside its cousins. But right at the very end of the row, sits this year’s volume. It is slim compared to the others – we’re only four weeks into the academic year after all – but I’m surprised to see a book there at all.
I may have been able to resist the temptation of rifling through Fox Tudor’s yearbooks, but I cannot resist the temptation to peer into my own. I shuffle along the shelf towards it.
“What are you doing?” Clare calls. “Aren’t you coming down?”
“Just one second,” I call back.
I stretch out for the book and slip it into my shirt, then I shuffle back to the ladder and make my careful descent back to the ground. This time there are no near accidents. I know the rungs to avoid and climbing down is quicker work than the ascent.
When I reach the ground, I find Clare sitting cross-legged on the floor, already pouring through the pages.
“Found anything yet?” I ask.
“Huh?” She looks up at me blinking, then shakes her head. “But there’s so much information in here – from what was served in the canteen each day to the lessons taught and which pupils attended.” She stares up at me, her eyes wide behind her glasses. “It’s like a treasure trove, Briony. I think it could give you a day-by-day account of your sister’s time at the academy.” She gathers the books up in her arms and stands. “I think it could give you answers.”
I take one of the books from her handsand flick through the pages. She’s right, the record keeping inside is meticulous and thorough.
