Page 9 of Bound By Fate
I flashed my ID at the spectral gatekeeper—a bored-looking ghost named Agnus who simply pointed a translucent finger toward the spiral staircase—and descended into the Lower Stacks.
This was where the serious history lived. The genealogy records. The Coven treaties. The bloodline manifests.
If Dean Marrow had a history, it would be buried down here.
I found an empty table in the furthest corner, nestled between rows of shelving that towered twenty feet high. I dropped my bag, pulled out a notepad, and started hunting.
Marrow.
I pulled every yearbook, registry, and faculty log from the last fifty years.
Nothing.
He wasn't an alumnus. He wasn't a former professor. He hadn't published any papers on magical theory. It was like he had popped into existence three days ago, fully formed and wearing a tailored suit.
"Who are you?" I whispered, staring at a blank spot in the 1995 faculty directory where a 'Guest Lecturer' slot should have been.
"Frustrating, isn't it?"
I jumped, nearly knocking over a stack of leather-bound ledgers.
I spun around. Standing at the end of the aisle was a boy.
Well, a guy. He looked about my age, maybe a little older. He was tall and painfully thin, wearing a knitted cardigan that had definitely seen better days and a pair of thick-framed glasses that kept sliding down his nose. He was holding a feather duster like a scepter.
And he felt... quiet.
Not 'Null' quiet. Not the terrifying void of Dean Marrow. Just... normal quiet. Radio silence.
"Sorry," he said, wincing. "Didn't mean to startle you. I just... I saw you aggressively flipping pages. Usually that means someone is either failing a midterm or looking for a scandal."
I relaxed slightly, though my wolf remained wary. "A little bit of both," I admitted. "I'm looking for Dean Marrow's background. It seems nonexistent."
"Ah." The guy pushed his glasses up his nose. "The Phantom Dean. You're the third person to look for him today. The other two were faculty."
He walked closer, his movements awkward and lanky. He extended a hand. "I'm Arthur. Arthur Penhaligon. Assistant Archivist. And yes, before you ask, I'm the Token Human."
I blinked, taking his hand. It was warm and dry. "Lina Arden. And I... okay, I wasn't going to ask, but... Human?"
"Northcrest has a diversity quota," Arthur said with a self-deprecating grin. "They need at least one staff member who can't accidentally set the books on fire with their mind. That's me. I'm the fire safety precaution."
I laughed. I couldn't help it. He was disarmingly normal. "Well, Arthur the Fire Safety Precaution, do you know where I can find records on 'The Order of the Empty Vessel'?"
Arthur’s smile faltered. "That's... obscure. Like, 18th-century obscure. Why?"
"Just a hunch," I said carefully. "Related to the Dean."
Arthur studied me for a moment, his brown eyes thoughtful behind the lenses. Then he nodded. " aisle 42. Subsection C. But wear gloves. Some of those texts bite."
"Thanks."
"No problem." He hesitated, then gestured toward the darker, moodier section of the Archives deeper in the shadows. "If you see a girl crying in Aisle 45... just ignore her. Or maybe throw chocolate? She’s been there for an hour."
"A girl?"
"Scary girl. High heels. Looks like she wants to murder the Dewey Decimal System." Arthur shivered. "I tried to offer her a tissue and she hissed at me."
My curiosity piqued. "Thanks for the tip."
