Jennifer Estep Bundle by Jennifer Estep

to work. Nickamedes was kind of a dick that way. So I pushed the metal cart into the stacks, grabbed the books, and started putting them back where they belonged. Almost all the titles were old reference books that had been handled by hundreds and hundreds of students over the years, so I didn’t get any big vibes or flashes by touching them. Just a general sense of kids flipping through the pages and hunting for whatever obscure information they needed to finish their latest essay.
    I supposed that I could have worn gloves to cut out the flashes entirely, both here in the library and everywhere else. You know, the old-fashioned white silk kind that crawled all the way up to a girl’s elbows. But that would have definitely branded me as a freak at Mythos—the Gypsy girl with the glove fetish. I might not fit in at the academy, but I didn’t want to advertise how different I was either.
    I did keep my eyes and ears open for any students who might not have finished their nightly hookup in the stacks. Last week, I’d rounded a corner and had seen two guys from my English lit class going at it like rabbits.
    But I didn’t hear anything and I didn’t see anyone as I roamed through the library and slid the books back into their appropriate places. The whole thing would have gone a lot faster if the cart that I was using hadn’t been old and rickety, with a loose wheel that pulled to the right. Every time I tried to turn a corner with the stupid cart, it inevitably slid into whatever antiques case happened to be nearby.
    There were hundreds of them in the library, just like the one that Nickamedes had dragged me over to earlier. Shiny glass cases that contained all kinds of stuff. A dagger that had belonged to Alexander the Great. A necklace that the warrior queen Boudicca had worn. A jeweled comb that Marc Anthony had given Cleopatra to show his undying love for her before they’d both kicked it.
    Some of the items were kind of cool, though, and I’d take a quick look at the silver plaque on the front or the ID card inside to see exactly what it was. I’d never tried to actually open any of the cases, as they all had some kind of magic mumbo jumbo attached to them to prevent people from stealing the stuff inside. But I always wondered how much some of the items would go for on eBay, if they were real. Probably enough to tempt even Jasmine Ashton, the richest girl at Mythos, into walking off with them in her designer purse.
    Ten minutes later, I put away the last book, grabbed the cart, and tried to steer it back to the checkout counter. But, of course, the metal contraption had a life of its own and zoomed toward yet another case. I managed to stop the cart just before it slammed into the glass.
    â€œStupid wheel,” I muttered.
    I walked around the cart and was trying to shove it back from the other side when a wink of silver caught my eye. Curious, I looked down into the case that I was standing next to.
    A sword lay inside it, one of hundreds in the library. My eyes skimmed over the glass, looking for the plaque that would tell me whose sword it was and what she’d done with it that was so freaking special. But there wasn’t a plaque on the case. No silver plate on the outside, no little white card on the inside, nothing. Weird. Every other case that I’d seen had had some sort of ID on or in it. Maybe Nickamedes had forgotten about this one, since it was way back here in the stacks in no-man’s-land.
    I should have shoved the cart into the aisle, gone back to the checkout counter, and packed up my messenger bag so I could leave the very second that Nickamedes came back. But for some reason, I found myself stopping and looking down at the sword once more.
    It was a simple enough sword—a long blade made out of a dull silver metal with a hilt that was just a little bit bigger than my hand. A small weapon, compared to some of the enormous crowbars that I’d