“Hey, I did what you asked and delivered the note. Case closed.”
Zeke frowns. “Not by a long shot. The thrax want you to make things right. My parents say if you agree to whatever they ask, we’re all good. You can even keep using the library.” His brows raise. “If you agree, that is.”
The chill of shock envelops me. No library means no way to find out more about my father. I hadn’t thought about that. Cissy sniffles miserably, her bottom lip trembling. I hadn’t thought about how I could hurt her, either. My cold shock solidifies into icy guilt.
“So, what do the thrax want me to do?”
Zeke screws up his mouth. “Uh, we don’t know yet.”
“So, can I go to the library today anyway? I can’t really agree until I know what they want.” I shift my weight from foot to foot. “Plus, I really want to research–” I stop myself before saying ‘my ghoul heritage.’ “Uh, things.”
“I don’t know.” Zeke slaps on his Mr. Smarmy grin. “We really shouldn’t let you go until everything’s worked out.”
Disappointment lands on my shoulders. “I get it.” I jam my hands into the pockets of my sweats. “I’ll head home.” I turn toward Betsy.
Cissy grabs my arm. “No, you can still use the library.” She starts blinking madly, a sugary grin forced onto her face.
Uh-uh. Cissy’s working some angle here.
Zeke wraps his arm around her shoulder and winks. “Of course! Mom and Dad said it was fine, just for today. Only promise to stay in the library. No roaming around.”
I eye their forced chipper-ness carefully. They’re definitely up to something. I shrug. What do I care? I want intel and now I can get it. “I’ll stay in the library, no problem.”
Cissy opens the front door with a long creak; then she gestures toward the West Wing. “See you later.”
“Have fun, you two.” I speed down the West Wing hallway and up to the fourth floor library. Stepping out of the stairwell, I’m greeted by the familiar labyrinth of tall wooden bookcases. I wind my way through the maze of shelves, finding the ghoul section in the far right corner. After scanning a few dusty volumes, I find the Libra Ghoul.
My muscles tighten with nervous energy. Here’s the master encyclopedia on all things ghoul-ish. I pull down the four-inch thick book and eye the hefty leather binding. Across the cover, a hundred ghouls are listed as authors, their letters and numbers all in glittering gold script.
I haul the Libra Ghoul over to my favorite window seat. I sit down, open the book, scan the index, and find the section on ghoul half-breeds, reading:
Ghouls may mate with creatures from other realms. The offspring will appear in human form throughout their mortal lives, a phase which is known as the larvae stage.
I stick out my tongue. Yuck, I’m a larvae right now.
Upon death, the larvae mature into their wondrous ghoul form. In their mortal state, half-breeds are notorious for failing to follow rules and procedures. Once dead, however, they develop a natural appreciation for Group Think and process.
Whoa. I’ll turn into some rule-loving nincompoop one day. I shiver, fight the sense of nausea in my stomach, and return my attention to the book. A section called Group Think catches my eye.
Mature ghouls are not isolated organisms like other unfortunate creatures. They share a single consciousness led by the most perfect of our kind, the Oligarchy. This superior form of connected living is called Group Think. Thanks to it, the thoughts of our great leaders constantly pulse through the minds of every ghoul.
I snap the book shut with a sneer. Someday I’ll have the Oligarchy in my head 24-7? That sucks with a capital ‘S.’ Maybe I’m better off not knowing my heritage.
Footsteps sound from the other side of the Library. “You’ll find her in here, your Highness.”
My stomach spirals with shock. There aren’t a lot of your Highnesses running around Purgatory. Suddenly, Cissy and Zeke’s offer of the library makes perfect sense. Those little creeps. Okay, it was totally sneaky of me to hit the thrax compound with every intention of causing trouble. But Cissy and Zeke are being pretty sneaky here, too. If they want me to play nice with others, an ambush isn’t the way to do it.
“Thank you.” The voice is definitely Lincoln’s. I can tell by his clipped tone that I’m in for it. Ugh.
I re-open the Libra Ghoul and pretend to be super-interested. Footsteps march in drum-roll rhythm across the library floor, then pause nearby. I look up. Lincoln stands before me in his leather pants and velvet tunic, his mismatched eyes glowering. A jolt of adrenaline races through my bloodstream.
Bring it on.
“Hello, Miss Lewis.” He sets his feet apart; his broad shoulders stiffen. Battle stance.
“Hello, Mister The Prince.”
“I had an official audience with the Ghoul Minister today. It seems he didn’t approve your delivering his message.”
I close my book. “And?”