around the corner, her brow furrowed with worry.
After a long exhale, I met her eye-to-eye. “Master Carn is useless. He’s always leaving me alone during class time. I’d like some additional reading. I need to learn enough to pass my test at the end of the term.”
“Oh, dear. That won’t do.” Her eyes widened, magnified by the thick lenses. She patted my shoulder and offered a smile filled with sympathy. “Let me show you where the advanced texts are.”
I followed the stout woman through the rows of shelves until we neared the back of the library.
Mrs. Edi pointed to a row of four bookcases filled with thick tomes and rolled parchments. “All the advanced practical information is here. It’s organized by affinity, so everything with the symbol of fire on it should be in the second case.”
She pointed to the second bookcase, and at the top of it, a dancing flame emblem stood etched into the wood.
My gaze flicked over the other bookcases, stopping at water, the three squiggly lines that matched the mark on my abdomen. “Thanks, Mrs. Edi.”
She patted my hand. “Always happy to help a student wanting to learn.”
Which is what all teachers should believe—like a motto or sworn oath.
She turned to go, and my gaze flicked past the shelves, landing on a black onyx stone door. Inlaid in gold was a symbol I didn’t recognize: a large triangle with three overlapping circles inside, all spread apart like petals of a flower.
“What’s in there?” I asked, pointing at the strange door. There wasn’t even a handle for it.
Mrs. Edi’s eyes widened, and she swallowed hard before following my gaze.
“That’s … not for students.” With a curt nod, she spun and practically raced down the aisle. “Good day, Nai.”
Huh. Okaaay.
I turned my attention back to finding a solution for my sucky teacher. Each of the bookcases was close to six feet in length. Stopping in front of the second one, I stared at the fire symbol. With nearly an hour before I needed to be in the cafeteria, I stepped back to the first bookcase … and stared at the three wavy lines—exactly like the ones on my abdomen.
Maybe instead of looking into advanced fire magic, I should look into why the water symbol was seared on my body. I didn’t even think about it anymore unless I was showering. I still hadn’t asked anyone else about the mark. Not even Kaja.
I glanced over the books, their thick, embossed spines so similar to the basic text Master Carn had given me. At the end of the bottom shelf, a thin journal-looking tome sat tucked between two larger books. I plucked it from the shelf. After wiping the dust from the top of it, I turned it over. The leather-bound book held only the wavy line-symbol embossed on it. No title or author on the cover. The blue leather was worn, and as I traced the lines one by one, a deep feeling of resonance hit me. My heart fluttered with excitement, and I opened the text. This book was old; the paper was stitched together—
A single sheet slid from the book. I snatched it from the air before tucking it into the back of the book.
Notes on Water was hand-written on the first page, followed by a bunch of chemistry-like equations.
Cool.
I kept the book, deciding to read it later, and moved to the fire shelf, scanning it for a similar tome to the one I held. My attention snagged on a title, and I nearly laughed out loud. Wielding Fire—An Advanced Guide for Self-Instruction.
Take that, Master Carn! I don’t need you.
I pulled the book from the shelf and sat on the floor, letting it fall open on my lap. There it was, in black and white on the table of contents page:
Creating and Transferring Heat I: Boiling Water
Creating Light I: From Lighting Candles to Live Flames in Your Palm
Creating and Transferring Light and Heat II: Fireballs
Grinning, I snapped the book shut.
Heading toward the door, I passed a shelf of books that all had the same width, height, and pretty gold lettering on the spine.
Squirrel.
I stopped and my smile turned into full-blown curiosity. These were yearbooks! The gold lettering on the spines were years from the 1900s up until now.
I traced my finger over the years, counting down to when my father would’ve been here.
But the yearbooks for the years he would have been here … were missing.
Gone was the year he graduated, along with the six before.
What the