The Writer and The Librarian

Prelude- 537 A.D.

'It Starts With A Single Moment In Time.' -Book of the Veiled Instructions

In all my years, I never saw so much death. The ground was saturated with blood, sweat, and tears, clinging to my shoes and pants as I trudged through it, looking for her. She had to be here, somewhere in this carnage and misery.

I failed them. Their blood was on my hands. As far as the eye could see, bodies from both sides of the battle were interlocked like tangled in a giant spider’s web.

I watched the whole thing unfold from my hillside spot, far from the fighting. My task was to witness the brilliance of our king’s victory, capturing the details for future generations to read.

However, from where I stood, no distortion or pretty words would have made this outcome worthwhile.

As I searched through the maze of death, I came upon silent figures of fallen warriors. Frozen in time as if they had asked the gods for a gentle transition to the next world, yet the Fates had not granted them that mercy.

I choked back on bile as the sight of a boy’s limp body threatened to overwhelm me. His clothes were charred black, and I could smell his burned flesh and the panic of his last moments. A boy, so young and seemingly on the brink of adulthood, lying still in a pool of his own blood. His arm was tightly clamped around the king’s flagpole as if he had wanted to carry it into battle no matter the cost—the pure terror of his last moments frozen on his face.

A face that would haunt my dreams forever.

How had I not seen this coming?

The king had vowed to create a haven where creatures like me could exist side-by-side with mortals. As one of his closest advisors, I believed in his intentions and offered him a blood oath of loyalty. My sister and I would protect him and do whatever was necessary to maintain our place in this world.

A shared belief in our mission fueled the soldiers who fought for us, all fighting for individual causes but with one unified aim- to create a space for the supernatural. The hours before the battle were filled with songs and laughter as the dawn of a new day loomed. My sister and I stood back as they indulged in what could be their last meal, throwing back whiskey like it was water. We all believed we would succeed.

I should have known. It was my job to know.

But I was wrong.

Ultimately, I had no choice but to ask the Fates for help. Their price was high, but I was willing to pay it if it guaranteed our victory.

Unlike me, my sister was engaged in battle. The intensity of her power multiplied since the fighting began. She was the greatest warrior ever to grace the battlefield- her formidable reputation made even the bravest foes quiver in fear. Blood fueled her abilities, battle encouraged her energy, and death’s cries strengthened her determination.

Scanning the field, I finally found her and breathed a sigh of relief. Her gold-tinged braided brown hair cascaded under her helmet, and her green eyes sparkled with a golden tone from her heightened enthusiasm for war.

Wielding the famed sword of Caledvwlch, she was a mesmerizing sight as she defeated her adversaries. Her prowess in battle was awe-inspiring; an angel of justice and vengeance rolled into one beautiful figure of courage.

Holding my breath, I watched as she danced across the battlefield. She was as elegant as a swan in flight, fighting her way to the man she loved and cutting down anyone who stood in her way.

“She will not survive,” a chilling voice appeared at my side, and I hesitated to look. A tall, dark figure stood there, clothed in a long gray robe that hid his face, flanked by only one of his hellhounds. As if winter had reached its frosty fingers into my soul, the coolness of his voice was only surpassed by the air surrounding him.

I wondered if he would show up.

Standing by my side, he couldn’t hide the twinkle in his eyes and his hungry smile as he watched warrior after warrior fall. His eyes darted back and forth, sniffing the air as if he could smell the blood and taste their souls. I recognized that I faced true power as I focused on the unwelcome company—a god disguised as a man. My creator. My friend. And my enemy—Arawn.

“You can’t have her,” I whispered. “She is mine. That was never part of the deal.”

He glanced away from the scene, and his dark eyes fell on me with a warning, letting me know I was skating on thin ice. “You should have ensured her safety was part of your agreement.”

“You can’t have her,” I repeated, growing angry and ready to fight him, whatever the cost.

“Taliesin, you will not win,” he said coldly, knowing what I was thinking. “You made your choice; unfortunately, her fate is sealed, which is, honestly, a tragedy. She was meant for so much more than what you doomed her to.”

Gazing back onto the battlefield, we watched as my sister made her way to the center of the fighting. Bitterness filled me as I witnessed her last moments. Did she know I loved her? She was the breath that sustained me, the one soul with whom I shared my secrets and fears. She was created at the same time as me, filled with life in the same breath. Our magick was different, but without one, the other weakened.

Everyone knew a twin without its other half was only half a person.

“Please,” I begged softly. “Anyone but you.”

“The Fates struck a deal with you, not me. I am just as much a pawn in your game as she is,” he said dismissively, eyes focused on the battle.

“Her blood will be on your hands, not mine,” I growled.

A softness fell over him as he turned to face me. His voice was filled with gentleness as if he were talking to a child. “You asked for power—the power you shared with her through your bond. Your desire required sacrifice,” he shrugged as he walked away. “The choice was yours. A soul for a soul. That was the price.”

My heart raced as he vanished into the forest. Fury swelled inside me; this was not what I wanted. Power, yes, but not my sister’s destruction. If Arawn had her, I would never see her again. I had to find the Fates. This was a mistake. I had made another miscalculation.

Her anguished cries echoed through the clash of swords and armor as I felt my magick hum beneath my skin. I glanced in her direction, watching as she fought ten men determined to kill the brave warrior.

“No!” I shouted, forcing my feet to move quickly and willing my power to ring true. I cursed them, wishing death would pass through them like a plague. The shock of her death pierced my heart like a sharp blade. The pain was too much, and I fell to my knees, gasping for breath. Every muscle and bone in my body felt ice cold as her last words echoed through my mind.

‘Taliesin, I know.’

***

The sun was sinking as I awoke, feeling disoriented and confused. The reality of my sister’s death rushed over me; our connection was severed. I had more power than before, but a part of my soul had been removed.

Her magick unbalanced me, but I also knew what to do. I would fix the damage I had caused. For what was death but a concept written in a book?

I just needed to find Lilith. She would understand. She would help.

And once I got my sister back, I would find the Fates and deal the death blow myself.

Chapter 1

'Choose Wisely Before Sending Out Invitations.' - Book of the Veiled Instruction.

When I returned from work, I found a small calling card with an embossed silver raven taped to my front door. The back had an address neatly printed, and a simple invitation was handwritten in tiny letters at the bottom: ‘Arrive by 7 p.m., Chloe Pairtree.’

This was the moment I had been waiting for. The prestigious literary world had finally invited me to join their elite ranks.

With a squeal of excitement, I rushed into the apartment, dropping my bags at the front door with a thud. Pulling out my phone to call my mom, I danced to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. She would be so proud.

Crap. I hadn’t even been officially initiated, and I was already screwing things up. Setting the phone down on the counter, I let out a heavy sigh. It was common knowledge that the first rule of joining a secret society was to keep your invitation a secret. And yet, here I was, already breaking that rule before I even got inducted.

I still couldn’t believe I was chosen. I was just a small-time writer, investigating others’ lives to make sense of mine. Even though I had a modest following of family and friends, my books were never popular enough to land a spot on Oprah’s Book Club or Amazon’s best-selling list.

In my teenage years, I discovered a passion for writing and filled entire notebooks with tales of fantastical creatures, fearless protagonists, and mystical lands. But I’d never shared my stories with anyone and often threw the notebooks away once filled.

I didn’t want anyone to know that the characters in my imagination felt more real than reality. A confession that would have landed me on the fourth floor of the local hospital for ‘observation.’

Once I completed my college education, I chose to pursue a career in writing. I became an investigative journalist, although others may argue that my natural curiosity and penchant for meticulous note-taking led me to this path.

Obsessed with history, I devoured ancient texts like a ravenous predator. My mind was a maze of connections, linking the past to the present in ways that would shock the world if they only knew. Behind the polished facade of textbooks and lectures lay a treasure trove of scandalous secrets: murder, affairs, rebellions, and lost fortunes.

If you knew where to look.

And I prided myself on knowing where to look. The answers were buried somewhere deep within the chaos of my cluttered desk. The massive cherrywood surface, polished to a high shine, was my pride and joy. But it also served as my greatest enemy, tempting me with endless distractions.

Perched in front of an enormous bay window, it overflowed with pink and yellow Post-It notes scribbled with hasty ideas and timelines. Half-filled notebooks peeked out of broken drawers, hinting at the countless ideas and stories waiting for me to explore. It was a true reflection of my brilliant yet scattered mind.

Beside it stood a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf with all the awards and achievements I’d accumulated over the years. While they celebrated what I’d accomplished, it also reminded me of all I had left to do.

Which was at the moment being inducted into The Raven Society. A society I had only just learned about, but rumor said that it had been established since the creation of the first library.

It was by pure chance that I stumbled upon this information from an unlikely source.

Six months ago, I ran into the Book Shop Book Club while searching for something new to read. Although I’d been invited to their monthly meetings, I’d never gone, primarily because Aelle, the group leader, was a middle-aged woman with strong and often unyielding views on every subject.

We met at the San Francisco Writer’s Conference a year ago, both attending as guest speakers. Aelle had recently released her final book in a trilogy on Dutch trade routes and their impact on the economic status of the middle class. I couldn’t deny she’d done an excellent job with her research, even if it wasn’t the most captivating topic. However, she had a keen eye for details most scholars would overlook.

Unfortunately, she also had a flair for pointing out flaws and mistakes. By the end of day one, three authors left the conference in tears after she used their first chapters as examples of what not to do.

“A reliable source told me I will receive my invite any time now.” I overheard Aelle tell the group as they gathered around the electric stone fireplace.

Even sitting, Aelle towered over everyone with her imposing presence. With her sharp features, intense brown eyes, and tightly bound hair, she gave off an air of intensity that was impossible to ignore.

And I could only recall a handful of times I’d seen her smile.

“They’d be fools not to invite you.” Another member sat down beside her with a grin. “I told you your book was amazing.”

“Yes, it is extraordinary,” Aelle agreed with a sly smile. “A fascinating documentary that unlocked the door to The Raven Society. They should consider themselves lucky to have someone like me. Too many writers today focus on fantasy and not intellectual knowledge. It’s shameful, really.”

My face grew hot with embarrassment, and I quickly turned away. I belonged to the group of writers she despised - the ones who wrote about magic and imaginary worlds.

“What is The Raven Society?” One of the younger women asked as she sat in a lounge chair. She was unmistakably a mother with young kids, sporting socks that didn’t match, a wrinkled shirt stained with ketchup, and under-eye bags that seemed like they hadn’t slept well in ages.

“My dear, The Raven Society is the most esteemed literary group ever. Each member has made a significant impact on the writing world. It’s an honor to receive an invitation to join! Each member must take on the persona of their favorite literary character.” She glanced around with wide eyes, thrilled at the prospect.

“That is the final test of acceptance. Pick poorly, and the key bearers will ask you to leave. On the other hand, choose correctly, and your career will soar to new heights. I have been narrowing my list for days now and have settled on three: Alice from Alice in Wonderland, Anne Shirley, or Elinor Dashwood.”

I listened as the women offered their opinions on the personality Aelle should choose. They were all excellent choices, but I’d never compile such a list.

If I had the choice, I would prefer someone with refinement, mystery, and dramatic flair.

My opportunity arrived, and I needed to make my decision.

And I had less than 24 hours to do it. No pressure.

***

The following day, the alarm sounded, waking me up from where I fell asleep on the couch. Was it 4:00 a.m. already? It must have been because I had the same alarm set for the last twenty years. Workday, weekend, or holiday, it didn’t matter. The hours between 4 a.m. and 6 a.m. were magickal to me.

That was my writing time.

But today was different—I had somewhere to be, and the nagging feeling of needing to be ready was overwhelming. Despite my anxiety, I forced myself to stay on schedule. As the afternoon wore on, my motivation to do anything productive dwindled. I finally caved in and got ready. I’d already picked an outfit for this important day: jeans, a black T-shirt, a gray cardigan, and black low-heeled boots.

Classy but comfortable.

Trying to curl my hair in my old apartment was always a disaster, thanks to the faulty electric plugs. After fifteen minutes of struggling and getting nowhere, I admitted defeat and opted for my usual messy bun. Despite watching countless makeup tutorials on YouTube, I still lacked confidence in my skills, so I kept my makeup light. My glasses helped conceal the dark circles under my eyes and crow’s feet that were starting to show.

I let out a deep sigh, feeling defeated, as I made my way into the living room to wait. Pacing around the room’s mess, I glanced at the notecards scattered on the table filled with potential character traits. As I walked back and forth, I tried to weigh the pros and cons of each possibility, but no matter how much I thought about it, I couldn’t decide.

It didn’t help my mind kept wandering about what walking inside a secret society would be like.

“Do you think they will wear long black robes and Phantom of the Opera masks like on Netflix?” I asked Beacon, a friendly twenty-pound Corgi I rescued from a shady pet store a few years back. “Or will there be a table of members judging me?”

He didn’t say anything; he just adjusted his position and gave me a stern stare before closing his eyes to continue napping.

Ignoring his apparent lack of interest, I continued, “Maybe it will be a dark fortress, like Skull and Bones, or a magickally protected castle like in Harry Potter. I can see it now. The candles floating along the ceiling will light up when I walk in, and a seven-course meal will be waiting for me. Hopefully, there will be a sorting hat who could decide my character for me,” I joked half-heartedly.

Lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t realized how much time had passed until my phone beeped, reminding me that I needed to leave now if I wanted to be on time.

I quickly pulled on my tweed jacket and grabbed my purse before heading towards the front door.

“Wish me luck,” I called over my shoulder as I walked out on my next great adventure.