Marked

Chapter 8

The library took up an entire floor of the Manor, its monstrosity slightly overwhelming. Shelves were lined up in snaking aisles, stacked floor-to-ceiling with books. Navigating through it was rather like exploring a labyrinth.

Michael paid no attention to Maxon as he pushed open the oak doors with both hands, and stood in front of the very first shelf, scanning the shelves with his eyes. His forehead was crinkled, and he looked deep in thought. Maxon stood by his side waiting patiently, but eventually unable to bear the silence, he asked, “What are you looking for?”

Looking at him with a sideways glance, Michael parted his lips, about to reply, but seemed to think the better of it. Instead, he turned his attention back to the shelf. Not finding what he was looking for, he went on to the next shelf.

Maxon sighed. What could he be looking for? Judging from the serious expression on his face, it had to be something important. And something he couldn’t ask anyone about. But if Michael wouldn’t tell him, then he wouldn’t ask.

As they moved forward to the next shelf, a thought struck Maxon. Information on Lemuel?

And why not?

Maxon frowned, trying to think of where he had last seen a book related to Lemuel. Not wanting to disturb Michael, he tiptoed to the left wing of the library, where he knew the books about the Marked themselves were.

Those books were yellowing and old; so old that the lettering on the spine of every book had long since faded. Maxon pulled out a book at random. He could just make out the words on the cover; they appeared scrawled on hastily, bits and pieces of the title falling out as he ran his hand over it, then wiped the black flakes off his pants.

The Future of the Plein Lies in Your Hands, the book read.

Maxon sighed. No, not this one, he decided, reaching for the next book.

The Plein Through Mankind, the second one read.

No, not that either.

By the time he had scoured the entire shelf, the books were stacked in neat piles at his side. He heard footsteps, and glanced up to see Michael beside him, a laugh bubbling on the edges of his lips. “What were you doing?” Michael asked.

“Trying to help you find information on Lemuel,” Maxon answered, messing his hair up in frustration.

“Unsuccessfully,” Michael finished.

“Same as you.”

Michael looked down at his empty hands, and amusement lit up his face. For the first time in a long, long time, he laughed. His deep laughter filled the silent room with sound—a very welcome one that Maxon was glad to hear. Relaxing, he joined in the laughter.

“I didn’t say I was looking for anything on Lemuel.”

“Well, you didn’t say anything,” Maxon observed. “I deduced.”

Michael only laughed again, and together they moved to the shelf behind. The first one that Michael pulled out was one that said, in big bold letters, The Legions. He exhaled and sank to the floor, flipping the pages with fervor.

Maxon lowered himself down to the floor too, watching Michael thoughtfully.

Reaching the end of the book and finding nothing there, Michael tipped his head up and shut his eyes, making a noise of exasperation.

“You’re going to take all day.”

“I know, I know.” Michael groaned. “You know what? Help me.”