The sacred texts had been lost to the witches ever since the scholar clan was banished. But I had somehow managed to awaken the books simply by smiling at my reflection in the pond water. Was it because I was of Horangi blood? That might explain why Emmett’s reflection hadn’t smiled at him….

My mind reels. It strikes me that I could’ve had access to a whole world of magic if history had gone differently and I had been raised Horangi. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

“The birds are books? Shut up right now.” Emmett walks toward a blue parrot and gingerly reaches out to touch its tail feather. Immediately, the parrot disappears and is replaced by a blue hand-bound book about the Spiritrealm and its numerous boroughs. He grabs the flapping book from the air and shakes his head in disbelief. “This is so cray.”

Hope surges through me. “There has to be a book about fallen stars in here, Em. Keep looking. We have to find it!”

We transform birds into books for what feels like hours, all the while growing more and more worried about the cheollima’s shift ending and the new guard discovering us. As we discard the books, they fly in a flock above our heads. And though we find loads of volumes I’d die to read, none of them have anything to do with the Godrealm’s fallen stars, or even the dark sun and dark moon.

Exhausted, we fall onto a bench, startling a nearby stack of books and sending them flapping to the ceiling.

“We’re never gonna find anything,” Emmett whines, rubbing his bird-pecked fingers. “There are just too many, and we’re pushing our luck with time. We need to get out of here, like, now.”

I look down at Hattie’s heart vial and bite the inside of my cheek. “We can’t give up. Hattie wouldn’t lose faith. We just need to be smarter about it.” I scan the next section of birds and think hard. “What else did the cheollima say when you gave him your cookies?”

Emmett thinks. “He said something about books finding their rightful owner. Oh, and if we trust in their wisdom, we’ll have a hoot.”

“Wait, hoot?” I say.

Emmett’s eyes widen. “Holy shirtballs, we need to find an owl.”

Propelled by a second wind, we run up and down the conservatory, until, eventually, we find the owl section behind the giant Venus flytraps.

Emmett rubs his palms down his face and groans. “Who knew there were so many owls?”

There are countless types of them, all similar and yet distinctly different in color, markings, and shape. Some with black spectacles around their eyes, some with spotted orange tails, and even some that look like they’re covered in white fluff.