Static

Lilah · Chapter 1 of 6 · 8-minute read

The books spread across the conference table could redraw the boundaries of cause and effect or just erase someone like they’d never existed. Naturally, that’s when the authorities arrived with search warrants and bomb-sniffing dogs.

Gate 7 didn’t whisper secrets—it ran simulations. All chrome, all command energy. Gleaming surfaces and military-grade security wrapped around a conference table large enough to seat twenty. It was by far the most modern of all the vaults and a stark contrast to the dark academia of Gate 3 or the haunted warehouse atmosphere of Gate 9. The walls were lined with screens and monitors, most dark at the moment, but the tech hummed quietly in the background like a sleeping dragon. Back when I worked in national security, this was the kind of room where you expected briefings about international incidents, not discussions about magical books and timeline mishaps.

But here we were.

“That’s the problem with second chances.” Veronica Winzler von Windlach traced a delicate finger along the spine of Threshold Passages: Gateways Between Worlds.

She looked like she’d stepped out of a Renaissance painting and gone shopping at a goth boutique—flowing white-blonde hair that caught the overhead lights, draped in layers of deep purple velvet and black lace that somehow managed to look both ethereal and edgy. In her late forties, she carried herself with the kind of quiet authority that made you want to sit up straighter without quite knowing why.

The truth was, Veronica intimidated the hell out of me. Very few people in the Priesthood of Daegan possessed the ability to remember their future as clearly as their past. Veronica had been one of a few exceptions until someone had caused a hiccup in time that changed her future to something as blind as my own.

“There’s a problem with second chances?” I asked.

“Yes. Most people don’t realize they need them until it’s too late. Then they think the loss is sudden when it’s been gradual, sometimes years in the making.”

“Speaking from experience?” I settled into the chair across from her. The leather was absurdly soft and probably cost more than my motorcycle.

Veronica’s smile was rueful. “Extensively.”

Professor Drusilla Saint Augustine entered with her usual brisk efficiency. Her arms were full of files and her ever-present tablet. Even in Gate 7’s high-tech environment, Dru preferred hard copies when it came to anything truly sensitive. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I wanted to double-check my research before presenting this.”

The vault door sealed behind her with a soft pneumatic hiss. Raven Darbyshire entered a full minute later as the security protocol allowed the next person through. He took the seat next to me—close enough that I caught the familiar scent of vanilla and sandalwood, far enough that anyone watching wouldn’t read anything into it.

Not that anyone was watching. But old habits die hard, especially when your ex-boyfriend worked twenty feet away in Gate 1 and had already proven he couldn’t be trusted with your secrets. Sure, you could start out trusting him with your life and your heart, but eventually, he’d be your ex-boyfriend with a new wife, and your secrets would become your ex-secrets.

“So,” Dru said. She spread several photographs across the polished table. “I think I’ve found your Gate to Second Chances book.”

Veronica straightened in her chair, every inch of her focused on Dru. “Where?”

“Private collector in Asheville. Old money, older books, and a reputation for acquiring things through… creative channels.” Dru tapped one of the photos. “He’s been trying to authenticate this particular volume for months. The description matches what you’re looking for.”

I peered at the photograph. The book looked innocuous enough—leather binding, gilt edges. Like a book you’d find in a billionaire’s private study, right next to the bourbon decanter and the antique dueling pistols. But I’d learned not to judge magical artifacts by their covers. Some of the most dangerous books in our collection looked like grocery lists.

“The Gate to Second Chances,” Veronica read from Dru’s notes, her voice gone soft at the edges, close to hope. “That’s it. That’s the one from my timeline.”

“You mean the timeline where you got the guy and the priesthood?” I asked.

“Not just my timeline. Ours. Our timeline where I should have gotten the guy and led the priesthood. Someone altered our timeline temporarily, just long enough to prevent key events that were supposed to happen. The timeline corrected itself, but the opportunities I missed… those are gone forever.”

Opportunities. The man, she meant. The man and leadership over the millennia-old secret society, but the emotions wafting off her told me it was more about missing the love of her life.

Raven planted his elbows on the table and leaned in. “What exactly does this book do?”

“Opens doorways to moments of possibility.” Veronica’s fingers traced patterns on the table’s surface. “Not time travel, exactly. More like showing you the path back to choices you should have been able to make. It won’t change what happened, but it might help me reclaim what was stolen when our timeline was altered.”

Her beloved Shelby, she meant.

“Sounds dangerous.” I flicked my index finger toward the photographs.

“Everything worthwhile is. That’s why I need experts like Dru to help me acquire it safely. When I knew exactly what the future looked like, I was quite self-sufficient. Now that I no longer know the future ahead of me, I confess that I can’t do this alone.”

Dru nodded toward Raven and me. “Which brings us to the simple part—”

I groaned instantly. Dru’s idea of simple was never simple.

Dru shot me a dirty look. “The collector is hosting a private auction next month. Invitation only, very exclusive. He’s specifically requested authentication services from our library.”

“Let me guess.” I tapped my finger on one of the photographs. “We go in as consultants, authenticate his collection, and walk out with the one book that isn’t actually his to sell.”

“More or less.” Dru’s expression remained carefully neutral. “Of course, we’d compensate him appropriately for any… misunderstandings about provenance.”

I glanced at the books scattered across the table. Threshold Passages, the book we’d successfully retrieved from that disastrous mission in Savannah, sat next to what looked like an opened inventory sheet. Beyond that was a slim volume bound in leather so dark it looked like a void had been carved into book form.

“Is that The Book of Shadowed Names?” Lifting the cover, I pointed to the ominous-looking text. Worth three million on the black market and responsible for one death that I knew of personally.

“The very one,” Dru confirmed, shutting the book quickly. “Freshly unwrapped from your Ghost Glass Springs, um, adventure.”

“Ah yes, the book that supposedly sucks light from the room.” I swept my gaze across the perfectly normal conference room lighting. “Either the rumors are exaggerated, or maybe it’s just not in the mood to demonstrate today.”

Veronica laughed. “I always assumed that was metaphorical. You know, knowledge so dark it dims your outlook on life.”

“The thing about magical books? They don’t stay symbolic for long,” Raven pointed out.

I nodded in agreement. “Though I have to say, for a book with such a sinister reputation, it’s been remarkably quiet. No mysterious shadows, no sudden power outages, no inexplicable urges to peek inside and read names that shouldn’t be spoken aloud.”

Oh, wait. I’d just opened the book and peeked inside, hadn’t I?

Dru slid the book just out of my reach. “Please don’t tempt fate, Lilah.”

Veronica picked up the book and turned it over in her hands. “It feels heavy. Not in the hand—deeper than that. Like it’s carrying the molecular density of every name inside.”

“Which is exactly why it’s staying in Gate 6 after today,” Dru announced. “Some knowledge is better left undisturbed.”

Plus, we didn’t want my ex and his new bride getting their greedy hands on it.

The intercom crackled to life. All of us jumped slightly. Samantha’s voice filled the room, the words tumbling too fast to sort.

“Professor Saint Augustine? We’ve, um, we’ve got a situation. There are officers here. Law enforcement and campus security with search warrants or something. They’re asking about hazardous materials and explosives, and Charlie is just letting them in without calling you. Professor, they have dogs! Big ones, K-9 units, and they’re sniffing everything. The handler keeps saying ‘accelerant,’ whatever that means.”

The air in Gate 7 changed — we all felt it at the same second.

Dru lunged for the intercom button. “Samantha, listen to me very carefully. Do not let Charlie open that closet door. Whatever you have to do—throw yourself in front of it if you must—but do not let him open it.”

“I—okay, yes, ma’am.”

“We’ll be right there.” Dru cut the connection and whirled to face us. “This is not a coincidence.”

Raven’s hand found mine under the table just as the building’s emergency alarms began to wail—the long, piercing tone that meant evacuation. The sound reached us even through Gate 7’s reinforced walls.

Funny, how sound could get in but not out.

Raven and I exchanged a look. Bomb-sniffing dogs meant someone hadn’t just called in a chemical spill; they’d called in a targeted bomb threat. This was a tactical strike, not a random complaint.

“Well,” I said. I raised my voice over the sirens. “Your timing’s improved.” I didn’t let go of his hand.

“Someone called this in?” I asked Dru.

“Has to be.” Jaw tight, she scooped up all the books and papers from the table, hugged them to her chest, and strode to a large safe built into the wall. After depositing them inside, she spun the dial four times. “The question is who, and what exactly they think they’re going to find.”

Veronica frowned. “I don’t recall anything like this happening in the future I remember in my timeline. How bad is this?”

“That depends on what they think they’re looking for,” Raven said. He stood and approached the door with measured steps. “And whether Charlie opens that vault before we can stop him. Gate 7 to Gate 1? That’s a minimum of ten minutes, maybe twelve, for us to get there.”

The alarms continued their relentless wailing as Dru punched in the exit code. “We have no choice. We go out one at a time. Standard protocol. Raven first.”

The vault door crept open with protocol’s usual crawl—deliberate, secure, but maddeningly slow. Raven stepped through, movements controlled despite the urgency. Dru finished locking drawers and then gestured for me to follow him.

I stepped through into Gate 6. The tension radiating from the direction of Gate 1 already reached me here—Gate 1 being the main Special Collections area that still required security badges but housed our least dangerous artifacts. Spikes of anxiety made my empathic senses sting.

Whatever was waiting for us in Gate 1 would test more than just our emergency protocols.

It would test everything we’d built to protect the most dangerous collection of books in the world.

Chapter 2: Cracks →

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