I wonder how often Roman is there. What if he’s inside right now? He sent me a text yesterday to see how I was feeling. We’re stuck in this odd stage of still getting to know each other but also wanting to bang like crazy. At least I do. And I’m pretty sure he does, too. I just don’t know how to get from where we are to that other place. I really wish I did because every moment, even when I’m actively trying not to think of him, he’s on my mind.
It’s sunny but cold today, the wind whipping with an extra bite. Thanksgiving is only a week away and the days are getting shorter. Pretty soon it will start to snow. I’m surprised we haven’t had a dusting yet.
Our coven house was never built to be used as a home, but you wouldn’t know that walking inside. There’s a grand entry with a sweeping staircase. Oil paintings of past coven leaders decorate the walls. To the left is a sitting room with an ornate marble fireplace, and to the right is a smaller meeting room. There are kitchens at the back of the house, and the basement has a room for coven trials. I shiver at the thought.
Beyond the main entry is the largest meeting room, where they hold coven gatherings that take place outside of the Grimwood. The library is housed upstairs, which also has a few bedrooms. I’ve never known anyone to sleep here. Even our coven leader Selene has her own house.
I slip inside, opening the door as little as possible to keep out the cool air. The faint hum of voices comes from the back of the house. If at all possible, I want to avoid running into anyone. The library is available to the whole coven, but I’d rather not explain why I’m looking through old grimoires. People get jumpy when you talk about curses and the Briar Witch. Plus, I can’t get what Fitz said about the Maiden, Mother, and Crone out of my head. I don’t know why it matters, but I want to learn more.
I hurry up the steps as quickly as possible without running, my hand sliding against the smooth wood of the thick banister.The double doors at the end of the hall are open, leading into the library. I pass by the rest of the closed doors on the floor and tentatively step into the library, watching for any other visitors.
The scent of old books and leather greets me. The coven’s library is breathtaking. The circular room is two stories, with a glass dome overhead. There are no windows in here; all the wall space is taken up by bookshelves. The dome provides light and keeps the room from feeling confined. There’s no carpet on the dark wood floors, and you’d think that would make the room cold, but it has a glow to it thanks to all the magic in the books. The shelves are lined with volumes on the history of magic, biographies of witches, and instructional writings. That’s just the first floor. The second level is where all the grimoires that have been donated over the years are located. I use that term loosely.
A while back, there was a blow-up about one of the grimoires. Someone accused the council of stealing their family’s property, but Selene insisted that the grimoire was donated and now belonged to the entire coven.
I only heard rumors of this. I don’t even know which family it was, but I believe it. The grimoires take up a small section on the second floor, which is accessed through a spiral staircase. A circular walkway looks down onto the first floor, where a leather couch and two matching burgundy chairs sit. They surround a grimoire encased in glass. It’s the oldest of the collection.
My shoes clunk a little on the wrought-iron steps that curl up to the second floor. I look up at the glass dome overhead. It’s one of the most beautiful features in the house. The sky is overcast right now, and there are only gray clouds above. It still lets in a diffuse light. There’s a leather chair that matches the ones down below tucked in a small alcove. Shrugging out of my coat, I toss it on the seat and move toward the collection of grimoires.
Magic hums in the air around the books, almost like they are living entities. My fingers tingle as I trace the spines. These grimoires hold family spells, recipes, snippets of history, marriage, birth, and death records. Honestly, I’m not surprised that the witch was pissed the coven took her family's grimoire. These books hold much more than spells.
Most of the works are bound in leather, but there are a few really old ones that are bound in thin sheets of wood. Some are warped, but most have a protection spell on them to keep the pages from deteriorating. Family names are embossed into the spines of a good number of the grimoires, but there are some blank ones. I slide one of the unidentified books off the shelf and nearly drop it when someone speaks.
“Make sure the book isn’t cursed before you open it.”
With a choked sound, I spin around. The grimoire is clutched to my chest, and my heart hammers.
“Oops. Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t open one of the books with a hex on it.” Dax Whitlock grins at me sheepishly. He’s barely legal to buy alcohol, can’t grow a beard, and has gangly arms and legs. His tightly curled brown hair is unruly, and his clothes are wrinkled. I mainly know him from coven events. He’s awkward, but has always been kind.
“I come by and check on the books every few weeks. Make sure none of the preservation spells are fading,” he says, as if he owes me an explanation. Probably because I’m staring at him with a panicked look on my face. It’s not forbidden for any Lumen witches to be here, but I really don’t want anyone to know I was poking around. It will lead to questions, and if it gets back to my mother, I know there will be an inquisition. She’ll touch me the entire time.
What a shit deal when your own body can be used as a torture device.
“Are you interested in the old grimoires? There’s some really fascinating tales in there.” His cheeks go pink, and I find myself wondering if there are dirty stories in some of these.
“Uh, yeah, actually. I wanted to learn more about the history of Mystic Hollows.” I fumble over my words. Dax is sweet, but I’m not sure I should be blabbing that I’m looking into the curses that plague the most powerful families in town. It’s always been a taboo subject. Whenever I’ve brought it up to either of my parents, I’ve been punished just for speaking about it.
“Oh, sure.” Dax nods excitedly. “You don’t want that one, though. That family was oddly obsessed with turnips. Most of their grimoire discusses the merits of using different kinds of dung as fertilizer.”
I slide the book back into its spot and dust my hands off. I take a step back as Dax squats down near my feet. He mumbles to himself, his pointer finger tapping against his mouth while his eyes scan the books.
“Not that one. That book sucks.” He’s not talking to me, but I reply anyway.
“That one doesn’t have good information?”
Dax looks up at me with wide eyes, blinking as though he forgot I was there. “No. It drains your power. The longer you hold it, the more it sucks out. I’ve woken up on my back with that book on the floor next to me a few times.”
“Why read it, then?” I give the leather-bound pages a horrified look.
Dax gives me a similar look. “Because I want to know what’s in the book.”
I nod, since he seems to be looking for confirmation that I understand. And to a degree, I do, but it can’t be that interesting, can it?
“Here we go.” He pulls out a grimoire that looks much older than the rest. The dark leather is shiny from years and years ofhandling. The name is barely visible on the front. I take the book from Dax, and a zip of magic races up my arms.
“Oh wow.”
Dax smiles as he stands up. “I know, right? They were a powerful family. Really interesting too, because they just sort of went poof from our history.”
