Wolf Eyes chapter 7 *rewrite*

There was no training the next day, and Zita couldn’t find Emily. The vamp was probably doing something incredibly dangerous or stupid without a care in the world. Zita rolled her eyes and drew the symbol on the wall as Anders had instructed. When it vanished, instead of the arena, there was a well-lit library, with shelves upon shelves stretching endlessly upward and outward, physics defied. Books floated about aimlessly with no regard for gravity, joined only by dust particles illuminated in the rays of light coming from unknown sources.

“You said Anders told you about this?” Kivvien asked, grabbing one of the books from the air and flipping it open.

“Yeah, didn’t you know about it?”

“Nope.” He clapped the book shut and flicked it back into its aimless journey.

“I thought you knew all there was to know about this stuff,” Said Zita as she browsed through the shelves.

“I only know what Imani tells me, I was one of her first wards, so I might know more than most, but this place is a little beyond the regular protector’s level. Speaking of which, why would Anders tell you about it? I mean, I’ve no doubt you’re trustworthy and all that, but he knows you and I hang out, and that you would probably tell me. So what gives? Why tell you to look into the records?”

Zita sized up one of the shelves, absently wishing she had learned to use her wings, “I don’t know, he’s weird. Hey, how do you get to the taller shelves?” When she looked over at him, Kivvien looked like he was holding back a laugh, “What?” She crossed her arms, “am I supposed to know?”

Kivvien just shook his head, “You’re telling me, that you’ve never been in a library before?”

Zita scowled, “What of it?!” She spat.

Kivvien put up his hands in surrender, “Sorry, it’s just...I’ve never met anyone, especially someone Emily likes, who has never been in a library.”

Zita looked away from him, “Just answer my question.” she managed through gritted teeth.

Kivvien inclined his head to the floating books, “Follow my lead.” Then he stepped onto one. Zita’s eyes went wide as he used the books like stairs to make his way up the shelves, finally stopping about twenty feet above her head.

“I think I found the records!” He called down, “Come up here!” He waved her up.

Zita eyed the lowest books floating below her knees. Nope. nopenopenope, this is madness, said a yet unnamed side of her mind. You need to get to those records, said the other side. An argument ensued that left her with a throbbing headache. She had taken a moment too long. She resigned herself to her fate and silenced the paranoid side of herself. She stepped up. Her foot wobbled. She achieved balance and stepped again. It wasn’t so different from Emily’s game, she decided, all about moving quickly, not giving your feet time to slip. She made it up in half the time Kivvien took, somehow always finding a book right where she needed it to use as her next unsteady step.

She stopped next to the boy himself on a rather large ledger that she suspected to hold something dull and boring. Like numbers. She might not know how to use them, but she did know she hated numbers. They were all over the checks that the Strikers used her to receive.

“They’re here,” Kivvien said, running a finger along the spines of a series of near-identical volumes, each individualized only by the year sign emblazoned on the top of each spine.

“So, what are we looking for exactly?” Kivvien asked, “What year?”

Zita wordlessly grabbed the one for the year before, when she remembered the attacks had begun from the bit of the speeches she had actually listened to. She flipped it open and scanned the words, a blush crawling up her neck as she realized she couldn’t actually read most of it. She considered, for half a second, asking Kivvien for help, but instantly squashed the very notion. Instead the opted to just make out what she could.

K-I-V-V-I-E-N

She read the title of the third column from the left. Kivvien. It took her a minute, but she figured out that it was the name of the boy next to her, who was currently sitting down on some encyclopedia and reading a children's’ book. Zita ignored whatever that was and went back to the record book. She didn’t recognize any of the following data, which was set up as follows, ‘Name of the person he spoke to or integrated with-date that they made contact-place-what, exactly, the exchange was’. For him, it was mostly the exchange of stop locations and supplies.

She flipped the page and found more of the same, curiously enough, finding Emily’s name listed above almost no information whatsoever. She saw the names of a few directors, but they only served to prove that none of them knew where all of the stops were. That was, if she was reading this correctly. Maybe she should ask Kivvien? Nope. She was fine.

She found Carlin’s name and scanned over his column. She read faster and faster as she went. He definitely got around. She tried to recall which stops had been attacked, then which ones he knew about. Her eyes skipped lines, letters, and words far too often for efficiency as she got more and more agitated.

“Do you have a pen?” She asked Kivvien, finally.

He jumped, dropping the new children's book he was reading so it floated off, “Uh, yeah? I think so…” He dug around in his coat pockets and produced a pencil and a notepad, “This work?”

“Yeah,” Zita carefully lowered herself down to sit on her book as he was doing and started listing off every stop Carlin knew about, unable to read most of them but perfectly capable of copying. The list was very long, and the writing was slow-going, but it got done. Kivvien occasionally glanced up over the top of his book or grabbed her arm to steady her when the book threatened to dump her to the ground far below, but he stayed silent until she spoke up.

“Could you cross out any of these that weren’t attacked,” said Zita, handing him the notepad.

“Sure,” He reasoned and dropped his book, replacing it with that pad.

They fell back into silence as Zita went back to, very slowly, pouring over the record book and Kivvien flipped through page after page of stop locations. He didn’t cross out anything.

“Are you making a list of all the stops that were attacked or something?” Kivvien asked, tapping the pencil against the side of his leg.

“Are there any that aren’t there?” Zita ignored his question.

“Well…” He moved to tapping it against his chin, “Imani’s main base isn’t here...other than that, no.” He shrugged and moved the pencil and pad into one hand so he could grab a passing book from the air.

“These are all the stops Carlin knew about,” Zita said.

Kivvien dropped his book. “What!” He took the record book from her and poured over it, much faster than she could.

“So you think he’s…”

“Yeah.”

He looked back at the pages. His finger traced the list of locations. The evidence was there, printed plainly, deep black on brilliant white, and he had missed it. He breathed a laugh, “Well, I wasn’t expecting that,” he said, more to himself than to Zita.

“Should we talk to him or Imani first?” Zita asked, trying to figure out how to stand back up on the small wobbling platform.

Kivvien was still staring at the page, “We should go to Carlin first,” He said finally, “Imani left to help repair the inn early this morning, getting a message to her would take too long and Carlin leaves tomorrow for Thalassiella.”

“Carlin it is.” Zita said, then immediately yelped as she almost slipped off the book.

Kivvien chuckled in amusement and slid off his. Zita almost screamed, then saw that he had landed safely on two thick looking volumes. She huffed and followed his lead, finding that a pair of books instantly zipped over to catch her before she could fall five feet.

Zita scowled at Kivviens amused smirk, “Would you stop it?!” She snapped without much venom.

“Stop what?” He asked innocently as he skipped down from volume to volume toward the floor.

“You know what,” She grumbled like a disgruntled little kid. He just chuckled again and hopped to the floor, his boots clicking on the stone floor. Zita got down a few seconds later.

“Carlin should be in the meeting room,” Kivvien said, ignoring Zita’s previous statement with a glimmer in his eye that told her he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Then by all means, lead the way, soldier boy.” She knew that the glint in her own eyes matched his flawlessly as she swept her arms dramatically toward the exit with a bow.

Kivvien laughed, “You’ve been spending too much time with Emily,” He said, shaking his head as he, indeed, led the way.

“Actually I haven’t,” Zita responded as she hurried to catch up to his long strides, “She’s been spending all her free time with Ash.” She, obviously, hadn’t meant for that to come out so bitterly. After all, it wasn’t like Ash had stolen her first ever friend right out from under her when she was just starting to settle down. Nothing like that. Nothing. At. All.

“Well, they have been friends for, I don’t know, two? Three? Hundred years or so, just give them a little while, they’ll catch up and leave each other alone. They do every time.” He passed through the wall, which was slightly translucent from the back, and Zita followed. Kivvien led them to the arena, which is what Zita would call it regardless of Kivviens’ statements, and, as predicted by one Soldier Boy, found Carlin sitting cross-legged on the floor with stacks of files surrounding him, and one open in hi lap.

“Carlin?” Kivvien approached him with a friendly smile only someone as practiced as Zita could identify as fake.

He looked up with tired eyes and gave a little smile of his own, a genuine one, “Kivvien! What brings you here?” He asked, his cheery tone dragged down by the heavy lack of sleep the whole of his appearance displayed.

“Just wandering around. This is Zita.” Kivvien gestured to the cyr hanging around the entrance. She waved and came over silently.

Carlin looked between the two of them, probably sensing something of their true intent, but he shook his head and regained his smile, “Nice to meet you.”

Kivvien sat down in front of him and Zita followed suit. She had gained confidence, and was now able to muster her signature false smile, perfected from years of constant, agonizing use. Kivvien continued to make conversation, small talk, small talk, now.

“So, speaking of the Krin stops, who could have know where all of the attacked ones were. I mean, it’s rare that a protector know where more than one or two stops outside of their zone is, so you would assume it was one of the protectors from Krin, but none of them know who the others are since they change so much, unlike the other zones, so it would have to be someone from somewhere else, right?” He leaned back on his arms and stared at the ceiling, pretending to deliberate his own question.

Carlin’s eyebrows scrunched together quizzically, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. That is odd.” Zita watched his expressions discreetly and intently. She was confused to see nothing but that very emotion on his face.

“I know right!” Kivvien exclaimed, flopping onto his back as he threw his arms up to express his point. That cannot be good for his head, Zita thought when his head thumped against the stone.

“Well, do you have a theory?” Carling asked, “You are Imani’s brightest.”

Kivvien somehow twisted himself onto his stomach and turned to face Carlin in one smooth motion, “Actually, we do.”

Zita cleared her throat.

“Well, Zita did most of the work…”

“All, all is the word you’re looking for.”

“Most. I helped!”

“Hardly.”

Carlin cleared his throat, “What is this theory of yours?”

“Oh, right,” Kivvien swung his legs around so his was sitting on his knees, “We think it was one of the directors.” He looked relaxed, but Zita saw the little twitch in his eyes, the searching of his pupils as they shrank into the murky green, following every little motion, his slightly pointed ears perking up and turning in to every sound. Relaxed, but on high alert. His sword arm was near his rapier. Zita hadn’t noticed him unbutton his coat, she realized. She could have sworn it was buttoned to the neck in the library.

“One of the directors?” He looked more confused than ever. Zita began to doubt herself. “Why would one of us do something so…” He shook his head, unable to find a strong enough word.

Kivvien shrugged, “Anyone can be bribed. So, who is your bet on?” He asked, tilting his head.

Carlin shook his head again in exasperation, “The very thought of one of my own, anyone Imani handpicked, being involved in these tragedies is too repulsive to think about. I have no idea why you kids would think up something so absurd.”

Kivvien held up a hand when he got up to leave. Zita spotted a flash of fear as he sat back down. “You see, we made a bet,” He said surely, as if he were discussing the latest Rizlwrek match. Carlin was getting nervous. Zita’s confidence didn’t return. “We think,” Kivvien paused, “it was you.”

The director looked sick to his stomach. Zita examined him closer. She picked up on other things. Sadness. Regret. Anger. All things she had expected, but they were...off. He wasn’t angry about being caught. He wasn’t acting like he had been caught. He was angry about something else. And displaced anger in a time like this was not something she wanted to see. Her wings throbbed.

“Why would you think that?” He asked, too many emotions running through him for his voice to settle on one.

“Well,” Kivvien was still as relaxed as ever. Zita was reminded of a snake, patiently crushing its prey in its coils. “You did know the locations of all but one of the stops that were attacked, and the one that you didn’t know about from protectors you could have easily gleaned from Imani on the weeks leading up to the meeting. None of the other stop members knew anything of the sort, protector or otherwise.”

Zita stayed still and silent, always the master of still and silent, and watched. Carlin just grew sadder. His shoulders slumped, his eyes dropped. Kivvien seemed to take this as confirmation, Zita took it quite differently. Carlin resembled one of her siblings during a typical bout of ‘who took Titin’s (fill in the blank)’. Her sibling was being repeatedly, relentlessly, accused of stealing some long forgotten toy of Titin’s, and a few others from the other kids. Zita had already had her turn as the accused, so she was sitting on the sidelines, too scared to pop her wing bones back into place and dreading the fate of her sibling. That sibling had not stolen the toy, rather, she had had one of her own toys stolen by the thief who turned out to be Foy, so there was, naturally, no beating in store for the real thief.

Zita snapped back the the present with a jolt. “Who got hurt?” She asked, cutting Kivvien off before he could start.

Carlin’s head snapped up, “How did you-”

“Was it someone at your own stop? One of the protectors? The kids?”

Carlin took a while to respond. Zita refused to look over at Kivvien, afraid she was doing the wrong thing and not wanting to see what he thought of that.

“My daughter…” He squeaked, then cleared his throat, “She was...badly hurt. My blood daughter, that is. She was one of my protectors, but she and her group couldn’t handle the attackers and got varying degrees of hurt. She got the worst of it. I don’t know if she’ll walk again…” He buried his head in his hands and drew one shaky breath after another, a tear occasionally dripping from between his fingers.

Zita finally looked over at Kivvien. His expression was hard to read. He looked... impressed, on the surface, but under it there was something else. Something she couldn’t place. His hand no longer reached for his sword, she noticed with a smirk. A fight was the last thing she wanted here. Kivvien apologized and got up, leaving without another word. Zita followed suit, staying only a moment longer to offer some words of comfort, then leaving him alone.

They pair’s footsteps echoed in the hidden hallway.

“How did you know?” Kivvien asked.

“I’ve seen that expression before.”

Kivvien worked his jaw. He was thinking, considering. One side of him relented, and he asked, “Where?” His voice was barely a whisper. He cringed at his own words.

Zita tried to ignore the throbbing in her wings, the little sparks of pain, “The place you caught me running away from.”

“Do you still have that yellow shirt?” He teased.

Any tension there had been dissolved as Zita laughed, “No, I’m pretty sure I burned the thing.”

Kivvien laughed with her, “Good. pink and yellow don’t go together.”

Zita combed through her neon hair with a pale pink hand, “You don’t think so, hu?”

Kivvien shook his head, “Nah, you’re more of a purple girl.”

“And you’re suddenly a fashion expert?” Zita nudged him lightly with her shoulder, stifling a laugh.

“What if I told you I’m actually from a quite fashion forward family?” said Kivvien in mock-offense.

“Oh? And which family would that be?” Zita may not know much outside of the farmhouse, but Marrin would not stop jabbering about all of the gossip magazines he could get his hands on.

Kivvien’s smile faltered, “Nightlore.” He tried to keep his light tone, but it was paper thin.

Zita stared at him. He’s lying, said the untrusting side of her. It could make sense, said the other side. How? The untrusting side challenged. He could have been the youngest brother, he could have escaped the fire, the second side grasped at straws. Oh yeah, the untrusting side took the floor, how?

“I thought the Nightlore manor was burned down years ago?” Zita said, maybe a little insensitively, but it wasn’t like she’d ever had to be sensitive before.

Kivvien was struggling to keep his posture relaxed, and failing rather spectacularly, “I wasn’t in the house when it burned down,” He said simply and ducked through the opening behind the statue. When Zita emerged, she spotted the corner of his coat vanishing around the corner. She sighed and went the other way, content to wander the halls until lights out.