Blue Flames

Chapter 67

A bell sang our entrance.

The man behind the counter stood very slowly, as if afraid any sudden movement would make us vanish.

His hair was a wavy brown that stuck in different directions on top of his head. A button down blue shirt and navy slacks hung off his lanky frame. The book in his hands clattered to the floor.

He looked like a cute, bookish human guy. But I wasn't fooled one bit. His eyes betrayed his age. He was old. The power of his magic was a crashing wave against my senses. And as I got closer, I could see faint lines on the corners of his eyes. That in itself was odd. Immortals were not supposed to age.

I stopped in front of the counter. His face lost some of its shock, replaced by realization.

"Orla's daughter," he whispered, his voice soft. He bowed his head. "An honor, your highness."

"Nice to meet you. And just Elle, please."

I must have made a face, because his lips twitched. "Ah. I see you inherited your mother's aversion to the title."

Something squeezed my heart. "Is that so?"

"Yes. She hated it with a passion." He blinked, looking at my three companions. "Ah, where are my manners? I'm Arnold. A pleasure to meet you. Please, have a seat, everyone. Would you care for a drink?"

He ushered us to the table near the windows. After politely refusing his offer for beverages, I settled down on a chair. Charles stepped outside, standing in front of the door. Irene stood near the window, not far from my seat, and Noah chose his post next to a door in the back of the library.

Arnold watched them take their spots with the amusement of an old man. He sat down across from me and looked at me with a smile in his eyes. After a few minutes of silence, I cleared my throat.

"You must hear this often, but you look like her," Arnold said. "Quite a lot."

I shrugged. "I've seen a picture of her. I don't think the similarities are as many as people like to see."

"Perhaps. Perhaps we see similarities where there are none because we want to." He smiled sadly. "Maybe because it will make us feel closer to the person who is no longer here."

"You were friends?" I asked.

"I was more of a ... father figure she didn't ask for." He chuckled. "Orla often said she pitied my daughters because of my continuous nagging."

"You guys were close."

He nodded. "Both of my daughters are mated and live away from me, and my mate passed away a few decades ago. So Orla was a blessing. She was lively in a reserved way, but her light shone through, pulling in anyone who knew her enough. Her intelligence was a candle that burned bright and extinguished before the world truly knew her. Quite the little genius, your mother was."

I twirled the ring on my finger. Hearing someone speak about her like this warmed my heart and soothed the harsh edges of her confessions. I had to remember that my mother was a person, with layers and a history and a long life. She might have made mistakes, but that wasn't all there was to her.

Although her mistakes might be the downfall of everyone and everything we knew. I swallowed past the confused knot of emotions. "My father told me she worked here."

"Ah, yes. She did." He smiled. "She worked here for a while, before your father swept her off her feet. Stole her right from under our noses, he did."

My lips twitched up. But I was more interested in his earlier words. He wasn't the first one to call my mother a genius. "Why did you call her a genius?"