each grabbed one of my arms and pulled me up and over the banister. Hot tears of relief filled my eyes. My legs were weak as I staggered to stand.
I peered through the rails of the banister at the exact moment the guy and his friends rushed the beast, sinking their swords into its flesh. The beast collapsed to the floor, the impact resounding like thunder against the library walls.
The four guys towered over the only girl in the group as they examined the bleeding heap on the floor. The guy I’d collided with behind the cabinet removed his helmet, exposing tousled brown hair.
My breath punched out of me. It was the guy from the Boston Athenæum.
Blood splatter dotted his metal chest guard and dripped from the sword in his hand. The ease of his stance suggested confidence. His strong shoulders flexed under his shirt as he brought his helmet down then rested it on his side.
His gaze went up to the loft, brushing over Nick, me, Afton, and then darting back to me. I backed away from the banister. This can’t be happening. It’s not real. It was as if my mother’s bedtime stories were coming to life.
The Athenæum guy returned his attention to the group beside him. I inched forward and clutched the railing, straining to hear them.
“I could hardly see anything,” one of the other guys said. He removed his plumed helmet, releasing sandy tufts of hair. “We should have used our light globes or, better yet, our battle ones.”
The Asian girl pulled her sword from the beast. “Yeah, maybe you’d get lucky again and hit another human.”
“It was clearly an accident.”
Light globe? I glanced at my palm, a memory warming the skin there.
The other two guys slipped their helmets off. One, who looked to be East Indian, had a bad case of helmet hair with dark waves smashed against his head. The other guy’s short black dreadlocks were so sweaty they glistened.
“She’s right,” the dreadlock guy said. “There wasn’t an open shot.” He grabbed a box of tissues off a nearby table and passed it around. The group wiped their blades.
The Athenæum guy spoke next. “What took you so long to respond to my call?”
“There was a delay in the connection,” said the girl. “Something interrupted it. The hound slipped through the gateway before the jump was detected.”
Hound? Gateway? I should have been petrified, but I was too focused on the conversation below to think about the stinking carcass or that there were five people talking about us like we weren’t there. It was like I almost knew what they were saying, but couldn’t quite grasp it. The meaning was just beyond my reach.
“So what about the humans?” the East Indian guy asked. They all had accents.
“Same as always,” said the Athenæum guy. “Get them home. Wipe their memories of the events. Cover their trails. Hopefully no hunters will find them.”
The girl sighed. “You’d think Paris would come up with a better way to secure their libraries so humans aren’t locked in after closing.”
“They’re not as cautious as us,” said the sandy-haired guy.
“This wasn’t a lock-in. The Monitors detected their jump through the gateway book,” the Athenæum guy said.
The girl flashed him a startled look. “They couldn’t have. Humans can’t jump.”
The sandy-haired one glanced our way. “That means they’re—”
“We have an audience,” the dreadlock guy said.
“We’ll sort this out later,” the Athenæum guy said. “We must secure the situation first. I met Edgar earlier, and he’s heard of a wizard conducting illegal experiments. Go back to Asile and inform Merl. Tell him about the humans.” He nodded toward the East Indian guy and dreadlock guy. “Don’t use your phones or window rods to transmit any information about this incident. We wouldn’t want to announce our findings for undesirables to hear.”
The two went over to where we had first landed in the library. The guy in dreadlocks wore a red leather vest. With his horned helmet cradled under one arm, he slipped his sword into the scabbard attached to his waist. He snatched up a book from the pile on the floor, placed it on a nearby table, and flipped through the pages.
The East Indian guy placed his Spartan-like helmet between his knees and held it there. Blood dotted his metal vest. He didn’t have a sword. Instead, leather sheaths attached to fingerless gloves with steel knuckles were strapped to his forearm. A silver blade extended out from each sheath and over the top of his encased