My skin prickled, growing hot.
“What are you so afraid of?” he said, still pinning me with his gaze. “It’s only a party,” he added, his tone lightly taunting.
“I’m not afraid,” I lied. I was a worse liar than Casimir. In truth, I’d never been invited to any of the Gilded Circle’s notoriously wild bashes. I was torn between curiosity and fear; the fear of being singled out as the only middle-class girl, and a desire to unearth evidence that might help us stop Devereaux’s ritual.
“I was just thinking about how Hugh Langburg shattered his foot last year at Margot’s party while trying to jump from a third-story balcony into the swimming pool.” I shuddered. “They say he missed the water by a hair.”
Casimir laughed and stepped away and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’ll meet you on Friday for the party then,” he said. “Until then, catch up on your reading.” He turned to leave the room. “Oh, and Farrow,” he said, pausing to dip his gaze to the book still sitting on the table. “I meant what I said. Make sure you’re alone when you open that.”
13
Gwen cursed silently under her breath as we entered our third hour of studying for Skinner’s exam on Archaic Greek and Roman Literature in the Labyrinth late the following evening. I groaned as I scanned over what felt like the five-hundredth practice question.
Explain whyThe Aeneidis considered one of the greatest works of literature in the Western canon?
Across the table, Gwen snorted derisively. “Because it’s incredibly long, utterly boring, and its hero is a middle-aged man?”
I clapped a hand over my mouth to suppress a yawn. “As much as it would gratify me to see the look on Skinner’s face, somehow I don’t think that answer will earn a passing grade.”
“Only because Skinner’s views are more archaic than the books he teaches,” Gwen grumbled in reply before turning back to her own exam review.
I yawned again, unable to stifle it this time. Gwen offered a commiserating grunt from behind her towering stack of books.
I wouldn’t expect her to emerge for at least several hours once she’d entered her “deep-concentration” mode. Casimir had warnedme to wait until I was alone to read theBook of Erebos, but now was as good a time as any to begin slogging my way through it.
Sighing, I pulled the heavy leather-bound book out of my bag and flipped open the cover, allowing the pages to fall open on the table before me. The moment the book sighed open, an eerie chill slithered over my skin, like the caress of an unrequited lover. I stared at the pages that lay open before me in disbelief. They were blank. Why would Casimir give me an unwritten book? The hairs on the back of my neck began to prickle in tandem with the tattoo emblazoned on my thigh. There was somethingwrongwith this book.
The errant thought crossed my mind as the scent of leather and lingering dust wafted toward me, along with something acrid, like the smell of burning parchment. Its soft pages seemed to rustle with a quiet, otherworldly magic. I closed the bindings to examine the eye on the cover once more. It stared back at me, unblinking. Then a grating voice cut through the air like a blade.
“Open me,” the Book rasped.
I froze, staring at the blank page. TheBook of Ereboscould fucking talk? I supposed Casimir hadn’t thought to mention that little detail last night.
“Just—be careful with that book, Farrow…”
The prick might’ve at least told me what I should be carefulof.
My heart hammered against my rib cage, the feeling of unease only growing as I sucked in a breath and prepared to hear that unsettling voice again. But it remained silent. The dead quiet that fell in its wake seemed to wrap itself around my bones, at once more disturbing than the book’s sudden declaration. Did I hallucinate that voice?
I glanced over to where Gwen sat across from me, and was irritated to find that she was still entirely focused on the textbook in front of her, showing no signs she’d heard anything out of the ordinary.
“Gwen?” I spoke her name quietly, my voice hoarse.
“Hmm?”
“D-did you hear something?”
She gave a noncommittal hum. I repeated the question, this time with more urgency.
“No, I didn’t hear anything,” she replied irritably, her eyes still fixed on her book.
“I don’t feel your eyes roving over my pages, Little Arrow,” the voice croaked.
My blood ran cold at the sound of the pet name my father had given me as a girl. Little Arrow. Apart from my mother, no one else knew that name. Sweat broke out across my brow. After a moment, I risked another glance at Gwen and at the students quietly working in the stacks around us. But just as before, no one gave any indication that they’d heard anything.
Gwen shot me a curious glance as I hastily gathered up my books, muttering a weak apology. I needed to relocate to a more private section of the library. I settled myself onto a velvet pouf in a dust-covered, neglected corner of the stacks, and flung open the ancient book once again.