Chapter Seven
TALIK
Talik turned the page, not paying a single iota of attention to the words as he stared just over the book and looked at Khalida for the hundredth time.He kept going back to the spot where she sat in the library.Something kept forcing him to try to get his fill of her.Like a beacon that thrummed through him.It might be hundreds of years before they crossed paths again, and some deep primal part of him wanted to memorize every part of her.Khalida appeared oblivious.She sat across from Chaucer.Her shoulders and posture looked relaxed, but he knew better.She was ready to strike if given the slightest hint of an opportunity.There was no denying the underlying hint of violence that surrounded Khalida.
The scroll lay on the table.Chaucer haphazardly scribbled across blank pages, discarding them once he completed the drawings.If Talik had known this was going to be an art class, he would have brought something to do.His cell phone was on the table.He flipped it open and scrolled through until he found the video he’d recorded in the infirmary and hit play.Three minutes of a blank page.Just fucking peachy.
He pursed his lips as he forced himself to return to the book before he got too distracted and forgot where he was.He reread the sentence for the fifth time—it was something about Atlantean agricultural practices—he had picked it because it had been the closest book on the shelf.The dust covering the edition should have been a warning.No one in their right mind would want to read a book on the topic.And clearly hadn’t in the last two decades.
Chaucer continued working, had barely said a word in the last ninety minutes.Instead, he moved around and scribbled copious amounts of notes but had barely paid any attention to the rest of them.Talik wasn’t sure if he was translating the marks or trying to buy time.
“Do you recognize the glyphs?”Khalida asked, finally breaking the silence.
Chaucer ignored her and continued working on his current drawing.
A sliver of silver flashed across Talik’s periphery as a knife slammed into the table right next to Chaucer with a loud thud.It sent small wooden chips flying into the air.
Patience was not Khalida’s strong suit.
The knife stuck out, the tip deeply embedded in the oak table.Talik winced at the damage, grateful that the librarian had left the library.
Chaucer looked up, his skin tinged green as he held out his hand.Blood seeped from a thin line along the edge of his palm.It was barely a scratch.He pulled his healing hand toward him, cradling the limb as the blood splattered over the table, but he was careful to keep it away from his work.And the scroll.
Chaucer eyed the knife with disdain, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at Khalida.It had been a deliberate ploy, a reminder that his life was in their hands.
“Still don’t like the sight of blood?”Khalida asked sweetly as she wiped the knife on Chaucer’s pants before slipping it back into her ankle-length boot.The black jeweled hilt glittered in the light.“Or is it just your own?”
Talik should not have been as turned on as he was.Fuck.Khalida and her unapologetic vicious nature were always a sight to behold, especially when her targets deserved it, and it wasn’t aimed at him.When Khalida was like this, she reminded him of an ancient war goddess, ready to conquer the damn world.He adjusted himself, ignoring the hardening of his cock as he strategically placed the book he hadn’t been reading over his lap and tried unsuccessfully to think of anything but Khalida.Even focusing on their impending fight with an ancient pantheon of gods was not having the effect he wanted.
“I asked you if you recognized any of the symbols?”Khalida explained.She said it with the tone of someone who hadn’t just stabbed the table.
Chaucer lowered his hand, flexing it.“One or two.I don’t think it’s Atlantean.An older dialect, perhaps.”
Awe dripped from Chaucer’s tone.
It was almost enough for Talik to want to stab him, and unlike Khalida, he wouldn’t aim for Chaucer’s hand.“You can’t help us then.”He turned to face Khalida.“I’m done wasting our time.”
Glancing at the book, Chaucer had the audacity to chuckle.“You could at least pretend to turn the pages every few minutes.”He shuffled the papers, spreading them out across the desk until they covered the entire six-foot length.Page after page of black shapes appeared.Some of them were circular, some were as big as a single dot, while other images appeared to resemble the work of a toddler learning to draw.“The pattern is repetitive, but there is a slight modification with one glyph in each rotation.It takes twenty-five cycles before it returns to the original pattern.”
Chaucer wasn’t entirely useless.Or lying.Interest piqued, Talik leaned over, not quite trusting himself to stand, not yet.Ancient languages were not his forte, but he enjoyed decoding patterns.
The metal library doors opened with a loud audible hiss.They all turned as Dante and Sypha walked into the room.He straightened when he caught sight of Sypha.Their strawberry blonde hair was neatly fashioned in a high ponytail; artful curls bounced along their shoulders.They were back dressed in their customary all-white.Sypha wore loose wide-legged pants and a matching oversized shirt with white lace gloves that reached their elbows.
Sypha appeared back to normal, except for the haunted gaze that remained.
Next to him, Chaucer shifted, standing up to his full height as Dante approached him.A blank look settled over Chaucer’s face as Dante’s glacial stare settled on him.There was no hint of sympathy or emotion from Dante as he glared at his younger cousin.A heaviness surrounded them as Chaucer subtly flexed his hand, the only hint that he may not be as comfortable as he appeared to be.
Talik took a step to the side, not wanting to be within the firing line.Dante had protected Chaucer countless times.Had ensured that Chaucer had been spared the brunt of the Delacroix vindictive and bloody taunts.And Chaucer had repaid him with betrayal.Talik ran his hands through his hair, the strands tangling around his fingers.He would never understand Atlantean family dynamics.Sypha walked toward him, and he moved from his chair and offered it to them.
“The glyphs?”Khalida continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted.
Chaucer blinked before he picked up the paper, averting his gaze from Dante.He held up the symbol that had been static in the infirmary.“This symbol belongs to Ninhursag.It is carved into the skin of wayfarers loyal to her.”
“I have seen it on Idris,” Sypha quietly added.
