“Fine. I’ll lend my services this one time.” His eyes trail down my front as a growl falls from behind me. “But I’ll take my fee in full next time, little doe.” With that, he turns away, heading back over to the group.

Whoever said anything about a next time?

Isaac shakes his head, turning toward Ilyric and Cole. “You both head to Isaiah's office where the Prismaloct is kept. I’ll show you where the room is on my way to the storeroom.”

“What does it look like?” says Cole, already in Guard mode.

“I’ll explain on the way.” They head off in the direction of the stairs, Ilyric sauntering behind them.

Jace turns to me, his shoulders slightly slumped and eyes downcast. “Can’t we stay together?”

I chuckle and shake my head. “Just keep an eye on them for a while. I’ll be back soon.”

Jace slowly heads back over to the group, his eyes glancing over to me as I make my way to the door. He joins the crowd, flowing seamlessly into their discussions with his sociable personality.

I make my way up the stairs and to the second floor and private Library.

Hopefully, I’ll be able to find this relic piece quickly.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I turn the handle of the old oak door of the private Library. It creaks eerily as I enter. The smell of the old volumes and parchments and musty scents hit me instantly.

This was the furthest room to the left and down the hallway of the second floor, a room I would frequent late into the night, reading my favorite volumes from Isaiah’s personal collection. He used the room to hold his favorite volumes, build his own coveted collection, and restore old books and parchments. The assortment itself was so vast, reaching every inch of the bookshelves available in the room, and layered on any available shelf or table.

I make my way toward the old rosewood desk at the back of the room, its dark-grained wood wrought with delicate and intricate carvings. The desk held some of mine and Isaiah’s favorite volumes, as well as old parchments spread in layers and bundles from his restoration work, one of his hobbies.

I pass the antique chaise longue, brushing my fingers against the soft navy velvet fabric. It was the only comfortable spot to sit and read in the room. Something I bought so I could borrow his old volumes and consume as many of them as I could in comfort.

I shift through the boxes on the small mahogany table behind the desk. Old packages and relic pieces are placed chaotically on top of each other in small cases. Most of them probably being Isaiah’s supplies for his restorations, the old ink and parchments he would order, or his delicate quills.

I sigh, my shoulders slumping forward. I guess this was going to take a while.

I rummage through the boxes, pulling more cases off the shelves and gathering the letters and packages sent over the years by Isaiah's friends and contacts.