"It does not," said Auren, bending to read. The words were scrawled with faded ink at the top of the weathered paper. A rough sketch of a building that reminded him only slightly of the one front and center on the board. This one was smaller, less clean. There was more writing at the bottom, covered by Vesperin’s thumb where she held it. Auren gently brushed her hand away, revealing the words in their entirety. Not words—but flowing symbols. He tapped it. "What is this language?"
If Auren had access to a million words, in a million different languages, to describe the look that passed over Lucien’s face, he did not think he would ever be able to.
"That’s Tarzian. The language—it is Tarzian." Shadows shifted over the stiff white collar of Lucien’s dress shirt, drawing Auren’s attention. Lucien winced, pressing his fingertips to his temples as if in pain. "Nova Spire." Lucien’s voice was thin, as if coming from a locked-away place inside his mind.
Vesperin’s brows were scrunched in worry. "What did you say?"
"Nova Spire. That is what it says. These are blueprints for a planetary-scale atmospheric dispersal engine—a Nova Spire. Torelease Nova in the air. Artificial Nova, because nothing could ever replicate the Nova of the Celestials."
"How do you know?" Vesperin’s voice wavered.
Auren remembered that journal—the one the vampiric doctor Nessen had shared with them. It had been Lucien’s journal, his findings on Tarz. And Auren realized he had no idea what the human doctor had done with it.
"Lucien, is this your handwriting?" Auren’s voice was calm.
Lucien made a pained sound, memories warring in his mind. "I think so—yes. Yes, it is. It’s mine."
Vesperin drew in a sharp breath, straightening, but not before ripping the paper from the pin, the top tearing. She held it up shakily. "If you designed this…" She let go of the scythe. The glow pulsed once, then faded. In the weak light from only Auren’s singular touch, she pointed to the largest drawing, holding the faded paper against it as she studied their similarities and differences. "Then who refined it?"
Footsteps echoed. Clumsy.
Auren quickly forced Vesperin behind him as he held his scythe at the ready, facing the encroaching darkness.
He heard a curse—feminine. He knew his hearing had picked up on it before Lucien or Vesperin.
"This damned thing. Why won’t it turn on!"
A shape rounded the corner, then stood there, adjusting to the darkness.
"Hello?" came that feminine voice.
Vesperin’s hands tangled in the back of Auren’s cloak. He reached behind him with one hand, tapping her hip, then Lucien’s—an order to stay. He prayed they would heed it.
Auren stepped forward. "Who are you?"
The woman gasped, backing away. She clutched a dead flashlight in her hands. Even Auren struggled to see in the littlelight. He pressed his scythe outward, finally seeing a hint of red hair and a—glittering dress?
"I—" she broke off, but when she spoke again, her voice was stronger. "Is Lucien Quenlan down here? I saw him come this way."
Lucien stepped up to Auren’s side, making the Soul Searcher bite back a sigh.
"Jessa?" Lucien asked.
14
HYPOTHESIS
Cyrus smiled and winked his way through the crowd of guests, trying not to grimace as hands passed over his chest—they treated him like he was some object. He’d have to bathe himself in his doll’s scent after this night was over to replace their searching hands and strong perfumes and colognes.
He’d left Xara and Keir on the dance floor. The one who tasted of bitter lies hadn’t needed much to lure her into a dance. Her Soulbond, however, had been difficult. The muscled, yet playful man had been staring at someone in the distance most of the time they’d been at the table talking. When Cyrus let just a hint of red slip through and sip at him, he’d tasted longing and regret.
Nothing like the fear and anxiety and lies that leaked from the girl by his side. It wasn’t the first time Cyrus had tasted that from Vesperin’s roommate. When he’d been forced to shut away with her in those fledgling days, when he’d been solely hers, he’d resigned himself to surviving off the scant sips from beneath the locked bedroom door and the open bedroom window. Xara’s lies had filled his belly like gummy black licorice.
A masked server passed, balancing a tray with a singular flute of sparkling pale pink liquid. Parched, Cyrus grabbed it with a nod. It tasted of fizzy, artificial berries.
Vesperin had been gone almost their allotted thirty minutes. Worry filled Cyrus, making his steps drag as he walked to their empty table in the Starlit corner. He sat heavily, pressing his fingers to his temples to stave off the sudden headache. Nausea churned in his gut, and he worked so hard to keep from throwing up all over the tablecloth that he missed the presence at his back, hands on his shoulders, forcing him to stand before he could react, dragging him into the shadows.
Rin blindly reached forward,feeling the firm warmth of the handle of Auren’s scythe. When her fingers wrapped around it, light immediately bloomed, filling the room.
