The Last Writer by Adriane Leigh (books like harry potter .txt) 📕

before he stepped through the library doors. He applied so many times I had to give him a chance, if anything to prove to him he isn’t—wasn’t who he thought he was.” She glanced at his still form. “He wanted so desperately to believe he was a somebody.” She shook her head.

“But…” I struggled to understand, “why did you choose him then?”

“Thax spent years learning everything he could about the Thornberry family…well,” a twitch of a smile crossed her measured features, “almost everything. I couldn’t risk him uncovering some of the skeletons in our…” she gestured with a hand, “cellar. I do wish I could have gotten one last blood draw out of him though.” She made a soft clucking noise with her tongue. “So young and vital, what a waste of resources.”

My mind raced, the reminder of Thax’s endless pursuit for answers haunting me. “Is Thax one of you?”

Yara—or Zara’s—lip curled. “One of what exactly?”

I licked my lips, fearing the next words. “A Thornberry.”

“Foolish, Thax. I know he thought he had evidence in that birth certificate, but there are plenty of other Thornberry families in the city. I cross-checked his DNA when he arrived just to be sure, there isn’t a drop of Thornberry in his veins. Do you really think I would harm one of my own?” She paused as her eyes shone with interest. “I’m afraid he had the wrong writer.” She took a few steps my way, cautiously approaching with one eyebrow arched. “And the wrong family.”

“Who then?” Curiosity forced the words from my lips.

“Why, you.”

My throat cracked, a wave of anxiety washing through me. “What?”

“You are the key, Ryn Weaver.”

“The key?”

“Twenty-seven years ago, a baby was born at Usher. She was special, touched with brilliance but too affected by the real world. She was sheltered, cared for, loved and nurtured, until she turned three and her father stole her away. I am the hero in this story, you see. It was my plan that carried the girl back to the house that was so of her blood that leaving it was like upsetting a law of the known universe. Usher called, and you answered.”

“What was her name?” I uttered.

Yara—or Zara—grinned. “Bryn Usher. Your father tried to hide you from your destiny by changing your name—reverting to your mother’s maiden name to hide you from your fate, but all paths led you here. You’ve always belonged with us. Your true family.”

“No, you're wrong, my mom and dad were—”

“Thieves. They were thieves to my legacy—to the entire legacy of Usher.”

“No, no that’s not right.”

“Check for yourself. You’re one of the girls in the medical records. Your birth certificate, your vaccination record, the pictures—didn’t you see? It all begins right here.”

I stood, frozen, unable to comprehend her words.

Her grin deepened. “Oh, I see. You weren’t ready to believe then. But you are now. All of your records are under the initials B. U. W. Search for yourself. Your father refused to take the Thornberry name because of the public fame it brought. I understood—but that’s why I insisted you at least carry the name Usher. Until he took you away, that is.”

A vision of the vials in the next room snapped me back to her reality—the initials, I’d seen them.

“I don’t believe you,” I bluffed, stalling for time as my mind worked.

“It would be a grave mistake not to. But then again, you didn’t finish the book, so I guess you didn’t see the ending coming.”

My mind raced with the implications, the fact that I’d been drawn here under heavy sedation.

“What is in those vials?”

“The other key to Usher’s future.” She lifted a small syringe from a sterilized boxful and turned it in her hands. “Harvesting the mRNA of our writers has proven very lucrative. Usher is doing its part to advance science.”

“You’re stealing DNA? You’re...you’re evil and—”

“You signed it over.”

“I-I didn’t.”

“Sure you did, it’s all in the contract you signed when you submitted your application for the program. You were always going to be chosen, of course, it took years for me to find you and I would have had the worst time if it weren’t for your father’s obituary in the local news late last year—a shame that he passed so soon. I’m sorry for that, but it’s a lesson: leaving Usher kills more than staying does.”

“My dad died of a heart attack, that has nothing to do with Usher.”

“Are you sure?”

“But how—he never talked about siblings or—”

“He abandoned the Usher legacy. We had a bigger purpose.” She waved her hand, syringe catching the dim light and striking fear through me. I stepped away from her, desperate for distance and escape. And the truth.

If she was right, everything had been a clue leading me to my own demise at Usher. The puzzle, Zara’s journal, Nate’s cryptography book—even my acceptance into the writing residency was orchestrated because of my name alone. The clues had unfolded like a horrible song, growing deafening as my fate at Usher house came to a climax.

“Why didn’t my parents tell me?”

“They thought they were protecting you. Really, it only made you weaker, keeping us apart. For a time, anyway. You’re a star, Ryn, your words ring with truth and fear. When I discovered my granddaughter—my last, sole surviving heir—was a writer, I knew we were written in the stars.”

She advanced, that syringe still in hand. I glanced at Thax, his still form extinguished of any life force. This was it; she’d killed him and the last writer, and my turn was next. The cool letter opener at my back singed my skin with white-hot awareness. I finally breathed, “What’s written in the stars?”

“You, my darling. You belong here, nothing can change that.”

“You don’t think so?” I slipped my hand around the letter opener, clenching it tightly in one palm as she moved within arm’s reach. “Watch me.”

As Yara Thornberry leaned close enough to me, I slipped the antique