I was forced to say something about it, the doctor popped up from examining Ryanne.
“I think she will be okay. Might have a concussion, but nothing is broken. Massive bruising on her back, buttocks, and legs, though. She’s gonna hurt. I think it would be best to keep her here, at Arcane, rather than a hospital. I can do a better job of monitoring her than the hospital would.”
I looked over at Ryanne, whose eyes were open, looking dazed. Dr. Rosewell had laid her out next to a stretcher and Ry was staring straight up. I moved over and leaned into her field of view.
“Hey. How ya doing?” I asked.
She focused on me, recognition coming a second or two later. “Did ye get the tag number of the tractor what busted me dial?”
“Actually, you’re the one that attacked the truck… with your butt. Put a big dent in Jerry’s pickup.”
She winced. “What happened?”
I gave her the short version as Dr. Rosewell and Gina finished their private conversation and came over.
“Let’s get her inside,” the doctor said, waving a couple of security types to pick up the stretcher.
“Declan, we need to get you inside as well and let Mr. Jenks and the Oracle people clean this up before local law enforcement or media get wind of it. That fight was noisy,” Gina said to me, putting her hand on my shoulder to guide me back to Arcane.
I glanced back at the parking lot and saw what she meant. Broken glass everywhere, at least three smashed cars, the broken flagpole, and last but not least, the headless, blanket-covered body.
I let her turn me toward the building. Faces peered at us from the first, second, and third-floor windows. Not all the students and staff, but a hefty chunk of them stared right at me, most looking like they were seeing me for the first time.
I went to my room, finding it empty, which was good because I needed time alone to think about what had happened and to look over the book.
It was small, about the size of paperback, maybe just a bit bigger. Bound in pale skin, the inside pages also a light tanned animal skin. The outside was blank, but the first inside page was labeled in beautiful cursive das Buch der dunkelsten Trauer. The Book of Darkest Sorrow.
It pressed on my mind, pushing to get in. Then the damned thing writhed in my hands, literally squirmed. I threw it on my bed and it squealed. Maybe screamed is a better word, a soundless cry that tore through my head. Clapping hands over ears did no good. The cry was noiseless but so loud.
I grabbed the book and it instantly stopped. It had been so loud, and I lived on a floor of witches and psychics. I opened my door and poked my head into the hall. Half a dozen kids were looking out their own doors, confusion on their faces. Paige, down the hall, caught my eye. “What was that? It sounded like a mental scream,” she said.
“I know, right? Not sure,” I said.
“Hey, you okay?” she asked, making a head waggle toward the wall nearest the parking lot.
“Yeah, I guess. Not sure yet,” I said, then waited for at least one other kid to shrug and pull back into their room before doing the same.
Sitting on my bed, I held Sorrow in both hands and considered it. It considered back. The damned thing was alive or aware or something. And it wanted me. But if it wanted me, why did the witch attack?
Ein Test.
The words just popped into my head. No sound, just words floating in the dark of my mind. Ein? What the hell was Ein? Test I understood. I Googled it on my phone. A test. A test of what? Me obviously, but that witch had meant business. She wasn’t playing tester; she’d wanted my power.
Wenn sie es haben Sie es versäumt.
Again with the head-popping thing.
More Googling.
If she got it, you failed.
The goddamned book had tested me, judged if I was worthy. Suddenly pissed beyond belief, I started to drop the book again but remembered the scream.
Odd. When Sorrow had been at our family restaurant and Levi had been translating it, I could feel it from anywhere on the grounds. So could my aunt. But nobody here was pounding on my door. If I let go of it, all hell broke loose among the witches. The stupid thing pitched a fit. I put it on my jeans-clad