Nada's Escape

72- Kindred.

"Fairytales?" I ask, disappointed. When Darcell had said he had something to show me I'd expected something more exciting, like breaking into the council's archives. Not the same book about the Seven that had been floating around school during my imprisonment. The bookshelves cluster around a low table, creating a cosy alcove.

"Hey, these are densely packed historical works," Darcell admonishes softly. He holds the classic book open on the table with one hand as he places a feyfly lamp beside it. The gold light rolls up the skin of his arms and face, giving them a gentle glow.

I roll my eyes and walk forward until I can rest my fingertips on the table's wood. From here I begin to hear the feyflies whispers again.

"Nada, Nada, Nada," their tinny chorus cries, almost below the level of hearing. I glare at them, tipping the lamp on its side so I can see the tips of their wings brushing the glass. They still and miraculously quieten.

"They set out the main lineages of power for the Huntsmen who emigrated here. It's very important." Darcell pitches his voice even lower, to suit the newfound night-hush of the library. Could he really not hear the feyflies?

"Yes, lineages, very important." I reply sarcastically. His gaze finally flicks up to me, a smirk twitching his lips. It's only then that I realise how close I've moved whilst fiddling with the lamp, and I get a sense of his body inside my personal space.

"Anyway," Darcell draws the word out significantly, perhaps disappointed in my lack of awe for Huntsmen posturing. "I was reading through and it calls Baden and Elvira kindred, several times."

I swallow and catch myself rocking backwards out of the alcove. He'll notice if you pull away, make it casual, I tell myself. "Right, because they were brother and sister, right?"

"No, they weren't." Darcell gives me a quizzical look as though I should have known that. Why would I memorise the fairytale characters?

"Anyway, to get to the point... they never mention enthralment, but it's got some similarities." My interest piques. This is it; the enthralment connection.

Darcell spins to the shelf behind him, extracting a thin, brown volume. The stuffy taste of the air is spiced with the scent of his body for a second, not quite sweat, just hair and skin and life. Darcell cracks the cover and places it over the first book, glancing up at my curious expression.

"Lucy-Anne calls it a consanguineal binding. She says its power intensifies upon skin contact. Among other things, the healing process is accelerated, they can share vitality and their talents spontaneously meld together into new manifestations."

My heart speeds up. New talents? Like oath breaking? Darcell starts to mumble, scanning a finger along the page. I'm leaning in around his shoulder when he freezes into preternatural stillness. My exhale rings in my ears in the sudden quiet.

"Someone's coming," he breathes, weaving so much tension into that little puff of air that I squeeze behind him into that gap between shelves without thinking. Hang on, we're allowed to be up here, right? I also hear the footsteps then and my heartbeat speeds up like I really am being hunted.

The shelves on either side press my shoulders into a hunch, and Darcell is a warm bar of heat pressed against my back. The smell of him fills up the dark space we've crammed into and winds its way into my stomach, gently awakening a score of phantom butterflies.

"Why do we always find ourselves like this?" Darcell whispers against my ear, mouth warm. My face flushes, heat radiating off into the tiny space. Still I keep my eyes on the edge of the bookcase, the slice of table I can see. The footsteps separate into two quick sets, though it's a miracle I can hear them at all.

I feel Darcell's hand at my waist, gently tugging me backward into the cavity. The burn of my face spreads to my neck, indistinguishable from Darcell's body heat behind me. I shuffle back, still listening intently above my stupid, racing heart. I wonder that I'm not glowing in the dark.

"Well lookey here, someone's been studying," a muffled voice whispers from the alcove, which I can no longer see. Still, I grin and slide myself out from the bookshelves. It's just Amy and Macie.

Amy starts and jumps up onto a chair at my entrance, dark clothes allowing her to blend in with the shelf behind her. Macie blinks stupidly, her hair mussed at the back. I guess she hadn't been expecting company.

"What are you two doing here?" I ask, eyes flicking from one to the other, though the answer's obvious: research. Interesting though, I hadn't known Amy had already finished gathering the extra supplies.

"We might ask you the same question." Macie begins, pulling her face together in an expression of superior amusement. Amy's expression, though, is turning suspicious and her gaze fixes on the shelf cavity behind me. She rests her hand on Macie's shoulder, ceasing the next flow of words and steps down from her chair.

"Who is it?" She whispers to me, concern haunting her eyes. Darcell's hand on my shoulder saves me any chance to unpack Amy's concern. I squeeze out of the way of the shelf crevice, dodging low chairs further into the alcove. Darcell slides out from between the shelves as I decide to take a seat in one of these convenient chairs. I miss the first wave of expressions across my friend's faces but when I do settle and look up all that is left is calculated suspicion.

As always, Amy is quick off the mark with laser precision. "This isn't the first time you two have met up late at night, is it?" My face has cooled since the shelf cavity but I presumably still look like a strawberry. I fidget. Darcell takes a smooth seat beside me, face unreadable.

Macie perfectly backs up Amy's astute insights with, "That's why you've been having so much trouble getting up in the mornings." Though cool of face, Macie runs a hand through the back of her hair, smoothing.

In an attempt to fend off their theories I object, "Look, I have never been a morning person." My hands hold an invisible shield between me and their judgment.

"What's the scheme?" Amy interjects, pushing further into the alcove, stalking round the other side of the table to get to me.

Macie rolls her eyes and points at Darcell and I in turn, "Unos, Dos. More likely they've been K-I-S-S-I-N-" She mouths the last letters slowly. I'm standing before I realise, crashing across the table to snatch her wrist before she can finish. I force myself to take a deep breath, sucking the cool air in to calm my fraying nerves. I might've hit Macie for less in Seven.

"We've been training, you dolts." I throw Macie's wrist away from me and crawl back across the table. Darcell sets the rescued lamp back beside the books. He picks up the top one and leafs through it with feigned nonchalance.

"So did you want to know what we were actually looking at?" He asks without looking up. Amy's eyes still switch between the two of us, even though Macie keeps hers lowered as she rubs her wrist.

"It's the diary of Lucy-Anne, the first of the Seven." Even though neither has responded to his question, Darcell begins to explain, "We're trying to find out if she ever married."

I frown at his smooth, unconcerned expression. That's not we were looking at... Then I realise his expression is as much a lie as his words. He's lying to hide the truth from the girls.

"It's okay," I hedge, "They're looking for the same thing. You can explain it to all of us."