As the last tourist disappeared from the mansion’s foyer, Sabine anticipated quiet and solace for the remainder of the day. A sudden, overwhelming sense of danger, followed by a loud crash from behind her, chased away those peaceful notions.
Sabine whirled around, her gaze fixed on the closed double doors that led to Rowan Estate’s library. The library was one of the sites off limits to tours—not only was that part of the building still under repair, but the Searchers were still discovering secret cabinets and hidden bookcases that contained volumes and paraphernalia deemed valuable and potentially dangerous.
That was where Sabine had killed him. Where she’d felt exhilaration and the release of so many years of pain as her jaws had crushed Efron Bane’s windpipe and his wicked blood had gushed over her tongue and painted her muzzle crimson.
More loud sounds erupted from behind the heavy doors. Large objects were either falling down or being thrown around the room.
What the hell?
For a brief moment, Sabine wondered if Logan’s thieves had returned for a second shot at their lost bounty.
No way. Sabine chided herself from the brash thought.
Ever since the first break-in, security at Rowan Estate had been tightened to the point of overkill. No one got into the library without clearance. Which meant . . .
Sabine flung the doors open and strode into the massive chamber. These days the two-story space looked more like a theater set in the midst of construction than a functional library. Most of the shelves had been emptied as the Tordis Scribes devoted their time to cataloging and studying the volumes from Bosque’s collection. Though the exterior wall that had been obliterated when Shay Doran had closed the Rift was now intact, the fireplace and stained glass windows adorning said wall were still works in progress. Scaffolding and protective tarps now decorated the room instead.
Sabine’s gaze tracked through the room, seeking the source of the disruption.
A woman stood in front of a shelf that still held books on the library’s second level. Unaware that she was no longer alone, the woman remained focused on her task—which as far as Sabine could tell seemed to be pulling books off the shelf, flipping through the first pages, and then, with noises of frustration, casting the books aside.
Climbing the wrought iron spiral stairs to the second floor, Sabine crept toward the woman, trying to determine who this intruder was.
“It has to be here!” the woman muttered, throwing another the book to the floor.
Whoever she is, she obviously was never a librarian, Sabine thought as she observed the mangled tomes on the floor. The Tordis Scribes would pitch a fit if they saw this—Well, not a fit, they’re too tight-laced for fits. But there would be weeping and lamentations for sure.
Since the woman was alone, Sabine didn’t see her as a threat. With a polite clearing of her throat, Sabine said in her best tour-guide voice:
“Excuse me. Can I help you?”
The woman pivoted to face Sabine, startled by the interruption.
Now that Sabine had a clear view of the woman’s face, she gasped. “Oh. What are you doing here?”
A rude question, Sabine knew, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Sabine had few occasions to interact with Sarah Doran. Shay’s mother was obviously much older than Sabine, and since her sudden return to the Searchers, Sarah and her husband, Tristan, had mostly kept to themselves, which made it that much stranger to find Sarah tearing through books in Rowan Estate’s library.
“That’s none of your business,” Sarah answered Sabine sharply. “Just leave me be.”
Sabine bristled at the dismissal. “I can’t do that. You don’t belong in the library and you’re damaging the books.” She swept her hand toward the discarded volumes. “These are all meant to be sorted and cataloged by the Scribes. You’re interfering with the Arrow’s directive.”
With a derisive snort, Sarah said, “I asked the Tordis bookworms for their help and they ignored me. As for Anika . . . she understands. She wouldn’t mind that I’m here.”
“I’m afraid I can’t just let you keep doing this.” Sabine frowned. She wasn’t exactly in charge of the library, but Sabine still had a sense of responsibility toward the mansion as a whole.
“Who do you think you are to tell me what to do?” Sarah’s lip curled in a snarl that was strangely wolf-like. “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”
“You’re Sarah Doran. Shay’s mother.” With a smile and a shrug, she added, “I’m Sabine.”
Sarah’s face fell when Sabine spoke her name. “Sabine? You’re . . . you were one of them.”
“One of them?” Sabine was taken aback by Sarah’s abrupt shift in demeanor. She seemed almost afraid of Sabine whereas a moment ago she’d been haughty.
“A Guardian,” Sarah answered. “But you’re the one who stayed.”
Sabine nodded. Sarah’s eyes darkened with a sorrow so fierce, Sabine had to look away.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah murmured. “I’ve been terribly rude to you. It’s just . . . no one will help me.”
“Maybe I can,” Sabine said. “What are you looking for?”
“Anything.” Sarah glanced at the half-emptied shelves. “Anything about him.”
“About Shay?” Sabine asked. “I’m pretty sure his room is still intact. We don’t use it on the tour . . .” Sabine let her words trail off, not knowing whether they would be helpful.
Sarah shook her head. “No. I’ve been in his room. It’s not his things I’m trying to find. It’s information about him. About what they did to him. There must be records here. The Scribes say they haven’t found anything, but I’m sure there’s some account of his life here.”
Sabine’s chest tightened at the implication of what Sarah had said. “You think the Keepers did something to Shay.”
“They must have,” Sarah said. “Otherwise how could he have . . . why would he . . .” Sarah’s gaze became piercing. “You must understand what I’m talking about. You’re the one who stayed.”
Sabine’s mouth formed a small o as the meaning of Sarah’s words settled in.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Sarah continued, seizing on Sabine’s silence as confirmation. “He wouldn’t have become one of them without some dark magic altering his being. Why would he leave us?”