Persie Merlin and the Witch Hunters - Bella Forrest Page 0,13

that it would lessen their frequent scrapping. I supposed it had worked, basically, since whining was preferable to fighting.

Pelias, identifiable by the yellowish tuft of hair that stuck up like a mohawk, whimpered at me and snapped his jaws in his brother’s direction. It set Neleus off immediately, barking in disapproval at whatever Pelias had said to me in crocotta-speak. Sighing, I took a handful of monster treats—my personal recipe—and dropped them through the brothers’ separate hatches. The two beasts descended on the snacks, forgetting their fraternal quarrel in favor of delicious goodness. Sometimes, there was no better way to achieve behavioral peace than simple bribery.

“Behave yourselves,” I said, leaving them to their crunching.

I turned to a gaggle of yellow-eyed gremlins, whom I had also neglected to name as of yet. I always had a harder time with the larger groups, especially if they lacked any specific features that made it easier to tell them apart. Unprompted, one of them hooked his fingers in the sides of his mouth, his slimy green tongue hanging out, and waggled his head wildly.

I believed I was doing some genuine good here, both for the monsters and the wider magical community, by bringing attention to the fact that these were sentient, if occasionally rude, beings who deserved better. It was on a small scale, through my thesis and my research papers and my teachings, but I knew that my work was valuable. After all, it only took a tiny spark to create an explosive change.

Not all of the beasts took a liking to me, of course. Before she was taken to the Bestiary, I hadn’t dared go near Persie’s second banshee, not after she’d leapt out of the shadows at me and made me scream like a baby pterodactyl. But I tried my best. It was why I liked to give them names—that way, at least while they were in my care, they were not merely a statistic, a number, or a fuel source.

Peace is hard to find. Harder still to keep. Some days, I could not believe my fortune. How many people could honestly say that they had landed themselves in their ideal job, where they experienced true contentment on a daily basis? My life here would have been utter perfection if it weren’t marred by the memory of what I had done to gain the position. I didn’t know if the ends could justify the means, but in my case, there had been no alternative.

I could not lose this.

I would not. Besides, people lied on their resumes all the time, and they mostly ended up fine. But I’d had the credentials and the work ethic and the passion, and I could live with the lies I’d told if they allowed me to stay here and make a difference.

No, I told myself. No one could know the truth.

“You understand, don’t you?” I asked the gremlin. He repeated his head-shaking, tongue-wagging motion, and I decided to take that as a “yes.”

And no secret will prevent me from doing my life’s work, dedicated to the altering of minds. Not everyone would understand if I were to reveal the truth, so I chose to be cautious. I chose to show my worth through my devotion to the monsters and the Institute, in the hope that it would make up for any sins that I carried inside me.

“Looks like no one’s here. I guess we’re good to open all the cages.” A familiar voice cut through my private reverie. That deadpan delivery could only mean Genie Vertis.

I could write twenty research papers and still be no closer to understanding her.

I hurried out of the aisles, wishing I hadn’t changed into jeans and a T-shirt after dinner. I felt more capable when I had my polo-and-tweed uniform on. Being so casual, I felt… exposed. I emerged from the orbs and saw the dynamic duo waiting for me, still wearing martial-arts clothes and matching smirks. “Very funny,” I said. “What would you unleash first?”

“Good question.” Genie flashed me a disarming smile. “The biggest one, for peak mayhem purposes, then the rest.”

I laughed nervously, my throat tight. “I’m not sure whether to be impressed or terrified.” I gestured to their clothing and asked Persie, “Were you on dojo duty again?”

“Need you ask?” She rolled her eyes. “Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday—regular as clockwork.”

“There’s always method in Marcel’s madness. I’m sure he’s trying to teach you something,” I encouraged. After she’d saved the day from Fergus, people at the Institute had finally