CHAPTER 60: THE ENCHANTED MUSEUM

Eleanor’s POV

The next day

The car hummed steadily as Mira navigated the city streets. I was in the passenger seat, staring out the window, while Roxy lounged in the back.

"Okay, run it by me again," Roxy said, kicking the back of my seat lightly. "What are we doing, and why am I the designated third wheel on this field trip?"

Mira didn’t take her eyes off the road. "We’re helping Eleanor look for answers about her actual identity."

Roxy snorted. "And how are we supposed to do that? Put up ’Missing: Real Family’ flyers?"

"We’re going to the Grand Library inside the Enchanted Museum," Mira explained calmly. "It holds archived histories and records on all known supernatural lineages. If we can identify what specific kind of werewolf Eleanor is, we might be able to trace her actual family."

The words "actual family" sent a jolt of mixed fear and longing through me. "I’m... not even sure I want to know," I admitted quietly. "Everything is happening so fast."

"Maybe the Moores just had a werewolf ancestor way back," I suggested, grasping for a simpler explanation. "And it just... skipped a few generations before showing up in me."

Mira shook her head. "That’s not how the bloodline works, Ellie. If it’s in the lineage, the potential is in everyone. You know your family. Do you really think they’re the kind of people who could successfully hide being werewolves from the government and everyone else?"

I thought about my father’s blustering pride and my mother’s shallow concerns. They weren’t masterminds. They were... ordinary. If they had a secret like that, someone would have found out. They wouldn’t have the discipline or the cunning to live in plain sight for decades.

A part of me whispered that I should just ask them. But I couldn’t. I’d drawn that line in the sand at the wedding, and I would never cross back over. I wouldn’t let my new life be poisoned by my old one.

"We need extra eyes," Mira added, glancing in the rearview mirror at Roxy. "Don’t you want to help Eleanor become the badass she’s supposed to be? Instead of... you know."

That got Roxy’s attention. She leaned forward, a sharp grin on her face. "Fine. When you put it that way. Can’t have our new racer being a pushover."

It is agreeable that i am not the only one pushing you to leave your shell Beatrice remarked, her tone carrying a rare note of approval.

Mira pulled into a parking spot, and we stepped out. We stood before the imposing stone facade of the Enchanted Museum. I’d heard the rumors about it being enchanted. I’d always dismissed it as a marketing gimmick. But now, standing here, I felt a hum of energy in the air, I believed those rumors could actually be true.

As we walked toward the museum’s grand entrance, Mira kept her voice low. "I have a hunch your lineage is very powerful, Ellie. That aura you released when we were being chased... it was deadly. Besides, you also need to learn your history."

I nodded, taking it all in surprisingly well. But inside, a storm of questions raged.

Do I even want to meet my real family? How did I end up with the Moores from birth? Where did this unnatural power that is rare for werewolves come from? A terrifying thought surfaced: was my lineage connected to the Shadow Cult?

My wicked family would have loved to throw "adopted" in my face as the ultimate insult. But they never did.

Was the secret so vital they couldn’t reveal it, no matter how much they despised me? Or... was I stolen? Were they taking some twisted revenge on me for a crime I didn’t commit?

The questions were a tangled mess, and the only people who held the answers were the parents I had just disowned.

I wouldn’t go back. And deep down, I felt that if they had known something, I would have seen a sign, some flicker of the truth in their constant contempt.

We passed through the metal detectors and into the museum’s main hall. I’d never been inside, and it took my breath away. It was even more beautiful and vast than I’d imagined.

"The library was created decades ago, after the Shadow Cult war ended," Mira murmured as she led us through a wide hallway.

We entered the library. It wasn’t at all what I had pictured. The rows of books weren’t straight; they spiraled upwards in a breathtaking, dizzying whirl, reaching towards a domed glass ceiling. The air itself hummed with a palpable, enchanted energy.

We approached the librarian’s desk, manned by an average-looking man with kind eyes. Mira put on a bright, slightly ditzy smile. "Hi! We’re just curious and wanted to learn more about werewolf history and lineages. You know, with everything happening at the Serpent’s Kiss, we wanted to understand what those racers might be dealing with." She leaned in conspiratorially. "I have a huge crush on one of them and I’m trying to find more reasons to convince him not to race to his grave!"

The man gave a slight, knowing smile and pointed to a direction. "The section you are looking for is that way. You can’t miss it."

Mira thanked him, and we walked away.

Roxy immediately elbowed her. "That was cringe as fuck."

Mira shot Roxy a look. "Did you have a better, more sensible reason that wouldn’t make him suspicious of us?"

Roxy scoffed. "Yeah. I’d have said I wanted to learn their weaknesses so I could defend myself if I ever ran into one. You know, like a normal, scared human would."

"Not all humans think like that," I murmured.

"Most of them do," Roxy countered, already scaling a nearby ladder with practiced ease.

We split up. Mira took one spiraling aisle, Roxy another. I found a third ladder and started to climb, the wood groaning under my weight. I pulled a book bound in what felt like old leather and flipped it open.

The pages were filled with intricate illustrations and script I’d never seen before. This was real knowledge, the kind you’d never find with a simple online search.

Then I heard it.

"Eleanor..."

A whisper, so faint it was almost a trick of the mind. I looked over toward where Roxy and Mira were searching, but they were engrossed in their own tasks, not looking my way.

"Eleanor..."

It came again, clearer this time, a silken thread of sound pulling at something deep inside me. It wasn’t Beatrice. This was different. External. Compelling.

I climbed down and followed the sound, my footsteps silent on the polished floor. The whisper led me away from the book stacks to a roped-off section. Beyond the barrier, on a series of high platforms, were artifacts displayed under glass. They glowed with a soft, enchanted light.

I walked the length of the rope, my eyes scanning the collection. And then my eyes stopped on something.

A crown.

It wasn’t golden or jewel-encrusted. It was forged from a dark, smoky metal, twisted into sharp, unnatural angles. It looked less like a symbol of royalty and more like forced loyalty. And it called to me.

A sudden, searing pain exploded behind my eyes. I gasped, my hands flying to my temples as my knees buckled. Visions, sharp and violent, flashed behind my eyelids.

The roar of a battlefield. The scent of ash and blood. A woman’s voice shouting, "It’s over. Your reign ends now."

Then, my own voice—but not my own—cold and resonant with absolute power, answering, "This is not the end. I swear I will return. And I will have my revenge."

The pain was unbearable, a white-hot fire in my skull. I collapsed to the floor, clutching my head, the phantom echoes of the vow ringing in my ears.

What’s happening to me? Why am I seeing these memories that don’t belong to me?