I snapped the book shut and stood up. I had a lot of study to do.
The flames burned low in the open fire across from me, their golden glow flickering against my hands and my books, lighting the words on the page. I could see now why Arthur lit the fire when he came here to read at night. It really was quite a lonely place, but not so desolate with those sparkling embers, and the smoky smell of burning wood kind of ‘took me home’ in a sense.
I sat down with another book in hand to cross reference, but the lure of Jase’s diary was calling me in a voice louder than the one seeking the answer about my Mark.
“Okay, okay. Just a little look,” I said to myself and shoved the giant Book of Shadows aside, its dusty pages snapping shut like an iron door. Jase’s book was small, no bigger than a short novel, with the leather having been bent so many times the spine was wrinkled and looked almost dirty between the cracks. I determined, as I gently unfolded the pages, that it must have been about a hundred years old. And I got a very sudden sense of respect for the wisdom Jase must have collected over that time.
The first page was titled by its date: 1914. There were scribbles and lines in the margins—notes taken then corrected, some in different inks, as if he’d come back to this page many times. In fact, all the pages seemed to be in the same condition, and I guessed he’d experienced signs of his telekinesis long before he actually knew what it was. I scrolled down through the curvy text, looking for keywords, since I really didn’t have time to sit and study the entire entry. When I spotted the words accidental and David, I narrowed my grid and read that passage:
My brother, David, staring back at me. He wasn’t supposed to be there. I hadn’t seen him for some months now, and to aim my gun right in his face and almost pull the trigger, well, let’s just say that’s not the happy reunion either of us expected. Our meeting was purely accidental, coincidental, who knows? But I was mighty glad to see the guy. For a while, I thought he was dead. I know that’s not possible, but I worried anyhow.
“This must have been from the war,” I whispered to myself, so awed by it that myself turned the page. “No.” I slapped my own wrist and closed the book. “Stay on track.”
“Okay, okay,” I replied and slid the giant Book of Shadows in front of me again, using a bit of might to pry it open and a bit of skill to stop the heavy pages on the right from flipping over and covering what I was reading on the left: the title page. Just the same as human parents once did in their family bibles, the names of each child in this witch’s bloodline had been scribed on the first page, a sort of naming ritual. And there, at the bottom, right under Callon LeFay, was Morgana.
I held my breath. She was real. And this could be living proof that she at least grew old enough to read. Perhaps this book was passed down to her. Perhaps she knew all the spells by heart. Maybe she was wondering what ever happened to the book.
As I went to turn the page—take a little stickybeak at some spells—a certain combination of letters in a very unusual name stood out at me from the list: Anandene.
“Anandene?” My nose crinkled. Anandene and Morgana were related?
There were no lines connecting the names. None that even connected Callon to Morgana, so there was no way to know if Anandene had been directly or distantly related to Morgana. The names were simply listed like required ingredients in a fancy dish.
Typical. I’d opened this stupid book to find answers, and all it had done was create another bloody mystery.
I dropped my head into my hands.
As if I needed any more mysteries right now.
“Ooh, what spell are we doing?” Eve said, sitting on the desk beside the book—her legs crossed like a lady, an eager grin on her dead face.
“We are not doing any spells.” I gently turned a few pages until they balanced equally on each side. “I was hoping to find something that might get rid of unwanted ink.”
“Try the back of the book,” she muttered in a hateful huff and vanished.
I scowled at the empty space. “Thanks for your help.”
As the coals in the fireplace burned to embers and the early morning chill of an approaching autumn settled around my nose and ears, I flipped past hundreds of spells that healed broken or sick things, potions mixed for ailments and hopes, and when I came to the end of the book, found a stack of notes and spells stuffed in between the last page and the hard cover. One was a love spell. I tossed it aside. Did not need that. One was a sleeping spell. I tucked that into my pocket for the next time I needed an easy escape. But the last one I unfolded was written in another language, the page so thin and delicate I wasn’t sure it was actually ever paper.
I laid it beside a sheet parchment and scribbled down the symbols and words exactly, copying the pictures and the diagrams, then stuffed it all back in the book and closed it. I wasn’t sure what the spell did, but I knew of some translation books that could help me figure it out. And, also, I had Jason. He could read that language as well as Arthur could. I knew he’d help if I asked.
“The Aide-Memoire de l’Auress, an encyclopaedia of Lilithian law, and several books on magic,” Arthur said. “What could our young queen be searching for?”
“Arthur?” I gasped, flipping the books closed and most certainly losing my pages. “What are you doing up so late?”
He pulled out a chair beside me and sat down, moving a few books upward to make room for his elbow. “I’m not much of a sleeper.”
I felt the weight of being sprung bare down on me, making my whole face go hot. My fingers wrung the hem of my dress tightly and my eyes wouldn’t shift from the books. I needed to come up with an excuse for having these titles checked out, but I couldn’t think of one. “I—”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, princess.” He reached across and patted my hand. “I was just teasing, but,” he said as he stood up. “If you need help with anything, you know you can come to me, right?”
I nodded, keeping my eyes on the books.
“Very well.” I saw him bow his head once in my peripheral. “I shall leave you to it. Just don’t stay up too much longer.”
“I won’t,” I said, then spun in my chair to look at him. “Arthur?”
“Yes, my dear.”
I took a deep breath, still considering my words. “I . . . I have a rash.”
His eyes squared off a bit under a furrowed brow. “What kind of rash?”