Page 17 of Echoes of the Banshee

I look at my wrist. The brand stark on my skin. Not a myth.

Re-shelving the book, I head to the card catalogue. Three books are listed for Reaper’s mark, not including the two I already looked at. No entry on scythe marks, but a half dozen on scythes. I write them down anyway. What else should I look for? What had Anita said? Soul shard. They only have one book listed.

Walking the stacks, I gather the books, taking a trip to the nook to drop them off when they get too heavy. I spot Zair across the stacks, his eyes catching mine almost instantly.

“There you are,” he says, striding over. “I’ve been looking for you for like twenty minutes. I was about to give up and call.” He flashes that easy smile of his.

I tilt my head. “You were looking for me?”

“You said you were going to work on the lab report,” he reminds me. “I came to help.”

“Oh.” I blink, caught off guard. “I was just going to finish it myself and send it to you.”

“Or we could work on it together now.”

“Okay, let me go grab my stuff,” I tell him, turning toward my nook. I’m nearly there when I realize he’s followed me. The shelves here look like nothing but dusty, outdated reference books, and the way they’re arranged makes the wall appear seamless. Even without the illusion I cast. “Go find a study spot and I’ll meet you there.”

He lifts an eyebrow. Looking around, clearly confused as to why we’re here. “What’s wrong with where your stuff is?” I hesitate. My first instinct is to shut it down, send him away, and keep the nook mine. But he’s already seen me, already curious, and persistent enough that he’ll probably follow me anyway.

Still…

“You can’t tell anyone about it,” I warn. “If I find a bunch of bimbos back here, I swear I’ll make your life hell.” His grin spreads, but I don’t wait for a reply. I reach for his sleeve and tug him through the bookshelf illusion into the nook.

“What do we have here?” he asks as he looks around.

“My secret study space. And I’m serious, don’t tell anyone.” I point to a chair at the table. “Sit.”

“This is amazing,” he says, ignoring my warning as he steps further into the nook. “You’ve got the big window, the armchairs, even your own bookshelf.” He gestures to the return cart, now fully stocked with my collection of books. “All you’re missing is a fireplace.”

I roll my eyes. “Not a big fan of fire.”

He laughs, his smile widening as he drops his bag next to the table. “Seriously, though, this is incredible. No wonder you’re always hiding out.”

“Exactly.” I take the stack of books I brought and put them on the return cart before grabbing my laptop. For the next hour, we work side by side, settling into an easy rhythm. I handle the calculations and charts, double-checking for accuracy, while Zair rewrites sections of the report, his word choices somehow making even dry lab results sound polished.

At one point, Zair stretches lazily in his chair. “You know,” he says, his tone playful. “I thought you’d be a complete control freak about this.”

“Excuse me?”

He smirks. “With the way you were ordering me around in lab, I figured you’d bark orders and micromanage every sentence.”

“Bark? I’m not a werewolf, Zair. Does that pretty little nose of yours not work?”

“You think my nose is pretty?” he taunts.

“Yep, it’s pretty. But you might want to get it checked. Doesn’t seem to be working properly when it comes to picking up hints,” I say, a smirk tugging at my lips.

He throws his head back, laughing, and the sound is warm, easy, and unguarded. It fills the nook like sunlight. And dammit, I feel it. My smirk softens to a real smile before I can stop it.

“Okay, your turn,” he says after a while, sliding the laptop to me. “Check my brilliance.”

I skim the paragraphs he’s rewritten. “Hmm. Not bad. I’ll add it to the very short list of your semi-functional skills.”

“That sounded suspiciously like a compliment,” he says, arching an eyebrow.

“No seriously. Shockingly readable. I barely had to translate.”

“And here I was worried you wouldn’t recognize good writing when you saw it. Guess miracles do happen,” he tells me. Earning himself a laugh.