Crescent

3

Vera didn't stop to greet her mother and sisters before flying up the stairs and disappearing into her room. She flung the door shut, too preoccupied by the secrets kept by the old tome to care that the slam echoed throughout the whole manor. Once safely alone, tucked away in her quarters and out of sight of prying eyes, she launched herself onto her four-poster bed and dumped out the contents of her purse onto the duvet. The old tome left a spot of dust on the blanket, but she didn't care. It flung dust in her face when she flipped it open, but she didn't care—even though it took several painful coughs before her nose stopped tingling.

The book consisted of several different records and accounts all bound together into a single volume. Many were signed by former Council members, which made her skin prickle with unease. It was definitely not something that was intended to leave the watchful eyes of the High Council and the librarians, much less the grand library itself. She silently thanked her father as she flipped through the weathered pages, letting her eyes wander the script for anything of interest. Project 0-29 appeared multiple times, each instance more glaring than the last, but nothing disclosed what it truly was—she had never even heard of it before the argument in the library, but now it seemed like it was everywhere she looked. Her curiosity burned, but she skimmed past it in search of mentions of the beast, all while something at the back of her mind sang with the possibility of stealing its magic for herself. Some childish part of her entertained the idea that perhaps she was born to conquer it, that it was a gift from a higher power for her, not to torment her people. Rolling her eyes, she squashed that silly dream. It was more likely that it was just another trial to overcome, another obstacle that must be defeated to maintain balance between the fae and human worlds—all to keep everything from crashing down around them.

Anti-magic creature. The words appeared at the top of one of the pages and she stopped, flattening the book open. The handwriting had changed, suggesting a new author from the previous accounts she had been skimming. Neither "fae-killer" nor "beast" were used in the account, but the record seemed old enough that perhaps the terms had not yet been put into use. Pursing her lips, she read on. It stalks the west woods at the edge of the research labs. It looks for those that wander beyond the city's protective barrier. Clearly in search of weak prey and is not interested in a difficult or exhausting hunt.

Vera frowned. The west side of the city was abandoned nearly a hundred years ago. All research was pulled into the city's center along with any residents who used to live near that area. The barrier had since been strengthened, but the Council had never disclosed why. According to them, the west side was shut down due to a series of explosions from a rogue rune experiment. No unauthorized personnel were permitted to approach that area. Now, she couldn't help but wonder if the beast had managed to slip through as it picked off outliers and slowly weakened magic's primal source, thereby weakening the old barrier.

Rolling over, she fumbled for a pen and a scrap of paper atop her nightstand. "West woods," she muttered to herself as she scrawled a series of notes. If she was to hunt the beast, that was the best place to start. Satisfied, she turned to the tome again.

We engaged it from a distance one afternoon as it crept by, the notes continued. They were dated, but the month and year had been smudged beyond recognition. It seems impervious to elemental spells, and the process of drawing runes made defending against it too difficult. It is quicker than we are; it knows magic deep within its being, whereas we must know it in our minds to employ its strength. When struck with an arrow, it reacted as if hurt and fled. I believe that, since it is a physical being, it is not immune to weapons.

"Weapons," Vera echoed, penning the word as she said it. "Something long range." She couldn't recall having seen an old fashioned bow and arrow in the family's collection of weaponry, nor even a newer model of crossbow. Her father and brothers were much more enamored with modern weaponry—Wyn in particular. His shiny shotgun came to mind again and she chewed the inside of her cheek. She would never be able to convince him to let her borrow it, but she had picked up enough from observing his shooting to wield it.