The sun had long since set, and the library was now lit only by the warm glow of brass lamps. Piles of rejected books cluttered the tables like tombstones of dead theories.
Finnegan reached for the very last book in the stack. It was a crumbling, nondescript tome bound in gray hide that looked like it had survived a fire. The title on the spine had worn away centuries ago.
He opened it carefully, the binding cracking in protest. He flipped past pages of ancient genealogy and territory maps until he stopped near the end. His finger traced a faded illustration of a wolf surrounded by symbols of fire, water, earth, and air.
He went still. "Mom," he said, his voice tight. "Leela. Listen to this."
Elana and Leela looked up from their own piles.
Finnegan adjusted the lamp, squinting at the
