glowy eyes,” Crys said, and Becca was once again grateful for her unceasing effort to keep things light.
“I feel fine,” Becca assured the room. “Not weird. Not yet, anyway.” She stood over the book and looked down at it. She studied the fading pebbled texture of the old brown leather cover, the well-made but not particularly handsome bronze hawk.
Plain and simple. The perfect camouflage
, she thought.
What are you? And what do you want with me?
She reached for the book.
“Becca . . . ,” Crys began.
“No,” Julia said. “Let her.”
“But she might—”
“Shut up, Crys,” Becca growled.
“Wow. Um, rude much?”
Becca shut her eyes and gave herself a moment to ignore everyone and everything around her. Summoning every last shred of courage she had, she brushed her fingertips over the worn leather. Smooth, cool. Nothing earth-shattering so far.
She let out a little sigh of relief.
Click.
Then she heard a familiar—and not entirely welcome—sound.
Click, click.
She looked up with annoyance.
“Crys, are you seriously taking pictures right now?”
“I’m documenting a historically significant moment.”
“Video would be much more helpful,” Dr. Vega suggested.
“On it,” Crys replied.
Her sister and her stupid camera—a gift from Farrell Grayson, which she refused to throw away despite hating the guy. So what if it was
expensive
and
necessary for her future career
? If it comes from your mortal enemy, it has to go.
Becca inhaled sharply. That warm, sparkling sensation that had crept in and clouded her thoughts back up in the library began coursing through her, this time almost completely concentrated in her arm.
She looked down. The wound on her forearm had completely healed.
“Oh my God,” Crys whispered. She moved the camera closer. “Are you all seeing this?”
Becca’s breathing quickened to match her heart rate as she turned back the cover of the Codex and opened it to the first page—the one that Jackie had ripped out. It had reattached itself and was now securely in the binding as if nothing had ever happened.
“That,” Becca murmured, “is some serious magic.”
She closed the book, feeling deeply weary all of a sudden, and absently brushed her fingers over the bronze hawk.
In an instant, a funnel of darkness streamed out of the hawk’s talons, rising up to the ceiling where it swirled and gathered into a pitch-black whirlpool.
Helpless, Becca stared up in stark horror.
“Becca, what are you seeing?” Dr. Vega asked.
She could only reply in stuttering fragments. “The—the spirit. The one that was t-trapped. It—it’s out!”
“What?” Crys put the camera down and was at Becca’s side again. “Where?”
“There.” Becca pointed at the ceiling.
Crys looked up. “I don’t see anything. Mom?
“Nothing,” Julia confirmed. She pressed her hand softly against Becca’s back. “What’s it doing, honey?”
Becca’s throat had practically closed. She couldn’t speak. The thought of that creature, the one that had tried to devour her in Mytica, free and on the loose . . . here . . . it was too much. She was going to pass out.
No
, she told herself firmly.
Remember—you were only a flimsy shell of yourself in Mytica, but you’re so much more than just your spirit now.
She told herself that this thing had no power over her here. That it was as harmless as a shadow.
Then, as if the thing had heard her thoughts, it grew completely still. It stopped swirling and slithered down the wall untilit reached the floor. It remained there, in the far corner, as a small, wispy patch of darkness.
“What’s happening?” Crys asked, her voice pitchy. “Is it gone?”
“It’s . . . not doing anything,” Becca said. “It looks like just a shadow now. It’s fine. I—I’m fine.”
“Becca, I have more questions about all of this,” Dr. Vega said.
“No,” Jackie said firmly. “That’s more than enough for one day.”
Becca
“I feel fine,” Becca assured the room. “Not weird. Not yet, anyway.” She stood over the book and looked down at it. She studied the fading pebbled texture of the old brown leather cover, the well-made but not particularly handsome bronze hawk.
Plain and simple. The perfect camouflage
, she thought.
What are you? And what do you want with me?
She reached for the book.
“Becca . . . ,” Crys began.
“No,” Julia said. “Let her.”
“But she might—”
“Shut up, Crys,” Becca growled.
“Wow. Um, rude much?”
Becca shut her eyes and gave herself a moment to ignore everyone and everything around her. Summoning every last shred of courage she had, she brushed her fingertips over the worn leather. Smooth, cool. Nothing earth-shattering so far.
She let out a little sigh of relief.
Click.
Then she heard a familiar—and not entirely welcome—sound.
Click, click.
She looked up with annoyance.
“Crys, are you seriously taking pictures right now?”
“I’m documenting a historically significant moment.”
“Video would be much more helpful,” Dr. Vega suggested.
“On it,” Crys replied.
Her sister and her stupid camera—a gift from Farrell Grayson, which she refused to throw away despite hating the guy. So what if it was
expensive
and
necessary for her future career
? If it comes from your mortal enemy, it has to go.
Becca inhaled sharply. That warm, sparkling sensation that had crept in and clouded her thoughts back up in the library began coursing through her, this time almost completely concentrated in her arm.
She looked down. The wound on her forearm had completely healed.
“Oh my God,” Crys whispered. She moved the camera closer. “Are you all seeing this?”
Becca’s breathing quickened to match her heart rate as she turned back the cover of the Codex and opened it to the first page—the one that Jackie had ripped out. It had reattached itself and was now securely in the binding as if nothing had ever happened.
“That,” Becca murmured, “is some serious magic.”
She closed the book, feeling deeply weary all of a sudden, and absently brushed her fingers over the bronze hawk.
In an instant, a funnel of darkness streamed out of the hawk’s talons, rising up to the ceiling where it swirled and gathered into a pitch-black whirlpool.
Helpless, Becca stared up in stark horror.
“Becca, what are you seeing?” Dr. Vega asked.
She could only reply in stuttering fragments. “The—the spirit. The one that was t-trapped. It—it’s out!”
“What?” Crys put the camera down and was at Becca’s side again. “Where?”
“There.” Becca pointed at the ceiling.
Crys looked up. “I don’t see anything. Mom?
“Nothing,” Julia confirmed. She pressed her hand softly against Becca’s back. “What’s it doing, honey?”
Becca’s throat had practically closed. She couldn’t speak. The thought of that creature, the one that had tried to devour her in Mytica, free and on the loose . . . here . . . it was too much. She was going to pass out.
No
, she told herself firmly.
Remember—you were only a flimsy shell of yourself in Mytica, but you’re so much more than just your spirit now.
She told herself that this thing had no power over her here. That it was as harmless as a shadow.
Then, as if the thing had heard her thoughts, it grew completely still. It stopped swirling and slithered down the wall untilit reached the floor. It remained there, in the far corner, as a small, wispy patch of darkness.
“What’s happening?” Crys asked, her voice pitchy. “Is it gone?”
“It’s . . . not doing anything,” Becca said. “It looks like just a shadow now. It’s fine. I—I’m fine.”
“Becca, I have more questions about all of this,” Dr. Vega said.
“No,” Jackie said firmly. “That’s more than enough for one day.”
Becca
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