Page 49 of Anomalies

Kimber chews nervously on her bottom lip. “I can’t tell you that, Lucina, Eldrals are too dangerous. If you open a line of communication with the wrong spirit, they could slip through the opening. And you promised not to use it.”

“I’m not going to use it, I’m just…curious.” Even I don’t buy that lie, so I know Kimber doesn’t. “Look, my Velkan is still terrorizing me at night, and Pa said it himself; he won’t stop until I figure out what he’s trying to say. Kimber, I don’t want to use the Eldral, but I need a backup plan for when this dream-weaving bullshit drives me to insanity.”

She keeps her lips pressed in a tight line.

“Please, Kimber,” I beg.

Her eyes find mine, wary and afraid. “No, Lucina. I can’t.”

My heart sinks, and before I have a chance to push further, Devon swings the door open. He waves his hand, dropping the Wards he’d placed over the threshold as if I’m some criminal that needs to be locked inside everywhere she goes.

“Time to go,” he orders, his voice deep enough to rattle the teacups.

“Okay,” I exhale, moving to stand. “See you later?” I ask Kimber. I’m not mad at her, I get it—why she won’t tell me how to use it. It’s dangerous, and I’d be putting everyone here at risk. I’ll have to figure out some other way to get the nightmares to stop.

Or I’ll have to figure out some other way to learn about the Eldral…

“Tomorrow probably,” Kimber tells me as she makes her way to the quills. “Pa randomly decided to go back through some of my great-grandfather’s things, and he told me I could read them.”

“Tomorrow, then,” I tell her, and she smiles, all her attention now on the stories being written.

The quill that had been crying has laid itself flat on the parchment—complete.

But the other still stabs and cuts across the page, its story a massacre of splotched ink and thick letters; unrelenting, untamed, and⁠—

unfinished.

The sun is close to setting when Devon and I make it to my cabin after dinner, and I curse every god I can think of when I see who’s waiting for me on the porch.

The Captain leans against the railing like he has no better place to be, but I’m sure he does. His padded vest is loaded with weapons, clipped over a thin white sweat-ridden shirt that clings to his tanned skin. His dark hair is damp on the ends, and when he reaches up to move it out of his face, I catch the stark black ink of a tattoo running along his bicep.

He’s far too handsome for someone with the temper of a bull—a deadly combination that only a fool would fall for.

I’d know.

“Boss,” Devon says in way of greeting, dipping his chin in a quick bow and staring back at me when I refuse to do the same.

Over my dead body will I bow to someone who acted like a child this morning.

Callan pushes off the railing, watching me like I’m an animal he’s never seen before. He comes to a stop before me, squares his broad shoulders, then flicks his chin to Devon. “How’d it go with Pa?”

“He’ll have the mine layouts for you by the end of the week.”

“Great,” the Captain replies, grey eyes cutting back to me, sharper than a strike of lightning. Callan is nothing like Pax or Devon— he demands the type of attention and worship that Delia requires, but where the Dame is a mass of glittery silver robes and preternatural grace, the Captain is a force of nature.

It’s like comparing a shooting star to a black hole.

“I got it from here, thanks, D.” Callan dismisses Devon, then goes back to assessing me, straightening to his full height and blocking out the setting sun. My head tilts to meet his stare, but I don’t shrink away from it; I’ve dealt with taller men, meaner, too.

“Captain.”

“Lucina.” His voice is like a rumble of thunder, and when I don’t reply instantly, a mocking smile forms. He pulls the air right out of my lungs with it. Damn him.

“Where’s Pax?” I choke out.

“He’s on probation.”

“Probation?” I can’t help but laugh. “He didn’t do anything wrong.” The Captain follows as I push past him and up the porch steps, his heavy boots stomping up the worn wooden slabs.