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He doesn’t even try to argue with me on that. We pass the research section and the archives, where Micah’s history records fill a wall of shelves.

His thumb stops moving on my hand. “You think she’s still pissed?” he asks under his breath.

I lace my fingers tighter through his. “Maybe,” I admit.

At the far end of the library, we stop in front of the iron-banded oak doors of the Conjuring Hall, the section reserved for witches and warlocks. The wards on them swallow scent and sound. Anyone inside can work without shifters picking up their spells or the outside world bleeding in. I put my nose to the seam and can’t smell a thing from the other side. This is where they study and train among their own, with Angie’s workspace at the back. Her girls Tiana, Kiara, and Samara practically live in the hall when the Academy is in session. Seth used to tag along with Aaron, but he hasn’t been back since he gave up his magic.

“Come on.” I tug his arm. “I want to see the Mer, and I think Eden’s in there too.”

He grins at me. “Headmistress Ebony can shut the university down all she wants, but she can’t take Eden out of the library.”

I push the doors open and step through. Behind us, every scent and footstep from the stacks cuts off, and my wolf grumbles about it.

26

AYA

The doors are still swinging shut at our backs when Eden’s voice hits us. “That was a first edition, Uncle Jo. A three-hundred-year-old first edition.”

I crane my neck at the domed ceiling of the Conjuring Hall. It’s covered in constellations that glow with faint blue light, a gift from Tyrion years ago that the witches never bothered painting over. I don’t blame them. The shelves that curve along the walls are packed with spellbooks and leather journals older than most of the shifters in Wintermoon. Down below, the glow catches on crystal vials and bundles of dried herbs crowding the worktables in the middle of the floor.

I spot Angie first. She’s hunched over a steaming cauldron in the far corner with her dark hair pinned up. Whatever she’s brewing smells like burnt sage and honey. It stings the back of my nose clear across the room. She doesn’t lift her head, but she quits stirring. Oh, she knows exactly who just walked in.

Eden is nowhere near done. “Do you understand what that means? Magic doesn’t work that way. You can’t snap your fingers and put three hundred years of natural aging back on parchment. A Blackwood witch hand-stitched that binding in the seventeen hundreds, and you turned it into dust.”

Eden’s planted in front of Josiah with her fists balled, ready to swing on a vampire way bigger than her. Her pixie cut is freshly shaped with every tight curl in place. Her temper smells hot and peppery even from the door. She’s got her purple eyes locked on Josiah like she’s deciding where to bury him.

Josiah raises his hands in surrender, smart enough to keep a straight face. “Eden, if I may offer some perspective. In my healthy habits book, there’s a passage about lost treasures and how the memory of something beautiful can sometimes surpass the object itself.”

She squints at him and glances over at Angie, who’s stirring again at a crawl to watch the show. “Aunt Angie, please excuse my language,” Eden says, “but fuck you and your healthy habits book, Uncle Jo.”

Angie snorts and turns back to her potion. “I’ll allow it.”

Josiah frowns at Angie for backup and gets nothing. Eden storms off toward us. “I’ll make it up to you, Eden,” he calls, but she flips him off over her shoulder without turning around.

By the time she reaches us, she’s grinning. She spots the mark on my neck, then the one on Ezra’s, and claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my goodness, look at Mother Fate. You’re mated.”

My face goes hot, but my wolf preens over the news. Eden yanks me into a hug while I’m still trying to hide it. For someone whose chin only reaches my shoulder, she squeezes me tight. Up close she smells like old books and the vanilla ink she uses for her chronicling. When she pulls away, her eyes are glassy. I have to look up at the painted stars overhead to keep mine dry. She wraps her arms around Ezra next, and he bends way down. Even my dragon can’t help it with Eden.

She steps back and sizes us up. I already know where this is going. Sure enough, she digs her pen and notepad out of her cardigan.

Eden’s the quiet, bookish kind of beautiful that sneaks up on people. She’s all big eyes and full lips. One day she’s going to bring some poor shifter to their knees, if they can find her. Her mate will have to trace her scent to the library. She sleeps there more than at House of Zorah now. She lives for the archives and the orphans whose stories she writes down. Like her father, she believes everything needs to be recorded. She’s devoted herself to making sure no little one who passes through the Academy is ever forgotten.

“I’ll give you all the details later, Eden.” I hold up my hand. “I’m here to speak with Angie about the Mer.”

Josiah gives us a friendly wave from across the room, but his scent goes flat and wary. Eden’s cools to match. She presses her mouth thin and lowers her notepad.

I frown at them. What do they know that I don’t? Angie still hasn’t looked up from her cauldron.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Sirena was really nice when I met her.”

Josiah adjusts his collar. “Yes, underwater I’m sure they are quite friendly.”

“She bit me,” Eden mutters.

Josiah grins. “They are a bit spicy. Fascinating creatures, though.”

Ezra keeps his eyes on Angie. When she finally straightens up from the cauldron and pins him with a stare, his grip on my hand gets hard and clammy. I swallow a laugh. My wolf doesn’t bother hiding it. She’s having a ball watching a witch make my dragon sweat.