Chapter Thirty-Six #2
That explained why Lucas had the grimoire. He didn’t steal it from his father. He stole it from the real coven leader—Nick’s mother. Robert didn’t kill his son.
But Lucas had come back different. So full of himself. So confident. No talismans, none of the usual gear he’d bring to a game. Just blind arrogance.
"And she sacrificed him instead? He didn’t even know?"
Nick nodded, eyes cast downward.
"How did you get us to come to you?"
"I didn’t. I wasn’t expecting you at all. But… I recognized you. After what my mother had done, I kept an eye on the story."
Silence stretched between us. He kept glancing from me to the floor.
"You believe all of this?"
"Don’t you?" he asked quietly. "You’ve seen it. With your own eyes."
"You made me think it was just my imagination."
"What did you want me to say? That it was all real? You were already barely sleeping. You looked like a ghost. How could I do that to you?"
"You did so much worse," I said, my voice low, soaked in contempt.
"I never wanted any of this to happen to you."
"But it was worth it in the end, wasn’t it?" I said, the venom in my tone reminding me of my mother during her fights with Dad. "You got what you came for. In fact, I handed it to you."
"The grimoire’s been in my family for centuries. I can’t let it be out there for anyone to figure out. I just wanted to keep it safe."
But he was lying to me and himself. I could see it already beginning to consume him. That same glossed-over look in his eyes I’d seen in Robert’s. Even if he meant to keep it safe, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t go down the same path. Just like his mother. Just like Robert.
How could he hold me, care for me, be with me every night and lie to me so completely? The betrayal burned so deep I thought it might split me in two. But I held onto the anger. Clung to it. Because anger is easier than heartbreak. Easier than shattering into pieces right in front of him.
"What about Mathilda? What’s her deal? She knew you, didn’t she?"
"She knew my mother. But I swear, I didn’t lie to you. I had no idea who she was. She said my mother helped her years ago, and Mathilda felt grateful. Attached. That’s why I asked her to be the one to lead us to the clearing."
The clearing, nestled in the woods his mother once owned, now his. A place where people came willingly, hoping for their wishes to be granted, only to be sacrificed and vanish without a trace.
"Why am I here?" I asked quietly. "Keeping me close just so you could watch me? Make sure I didn’t find out?"
"I didn’t bring you here to trap you. I brought you here because I didn’t know how else to keep you safe," Nick said. "Because when I’m with you, I don’t feel like I’m drowning in all the crap my mother left behind. Because you’re the only thing that feels real in all this mess."
He stepped forward carefully and placed his hands around me, touching me ever so slightly. I pulled away.
He wasn’t the Prince Charming, saving me from the dragon. He was the wicked wizard, condemning me to the tower.
"Nell—" he began, but I cut him off.
"You’re a coward, hiding behind our backs."
Nick tried to speak, but I interrupted him again.
"I have one more question."
"Ask away," he said, hopelessly. He didn’t bother denying the accusations. He knew they were true. He held my gaze, finally owning up to it.
"Did you know your mother planned to kill Lucas?"
Nick’s jaw clenched in anguish. His face twisted in a struggle to find words, but none came. I closed my eyes, fighting back tears.
"I do care about you. I looked out for Mitch and June, too. I never meant to lie. I just didn’t know how to explain without being the bad guy. They wouldn’t believe me."
He skirted the question, but in doing so, revealed the truth.
"You’re not just the bad guy, Nick," I hissed, "You’re the villain."
"I’m not! I wanted the grimoire to stop Robert’s harm."
I shook my head. "I have no idea why you wanted the grimoire, but stopping Robert was just an excuse. Ironically, if you’d told us earlier, we would’ve taken you at your word. Now, no one will believe you. But it doesn’t matter, does it? You’ve got your precious grimoire."
"Do you know what your problem is?" Nick snapped, shifting from forced calm to full attack mode. He uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, making me instinctively retreat.
"Your problem is that you live in an idealistic delusion where good is absolute," he continued, tossing his hands in the air. "But the world isn’t black and white. Good needs fists and weapons to fight back—and sometimes to strike first."
He sounded uncannily like Robert, rationalizing every choice he’d made.
"You’re right, the world isn’t black and white," I agreed. "But I won’t let you—or anyone else—dictate my morals. You lied to us from the start. It almost got me killed. How can I believe you now?"
"Would you have believed me then? All you, Mitch, and June did was suspect me!" He was losing his patience, edging on desperate.
"All I did was defend you and find excuses for you!" I sobbed, hastily wiping tears away with the back of my hand.
His chest rose and fell with a slow breath. "I’ll do anything to prove you can trust me."
"Then do it," I said, "Destroy the grimoire."
He went still. "I can’t."
"Are you going to use it for a summoning again?"
"What? No!"
"Then destroy it! Prove that I can trust you."
His gaze dropped again, and he repeated, "I can’t."
And that was what I feared most. Something I had been bracing myself to hear. He, like Robert, cared about the book more than anything else. Drawn to the idea of such power. He might not realize it yet or simply wasn’t willing to admit it, but at its core, that’s what it was all about.
I suddenly felt awakened, resolute, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over me. After the initial shock of accepting the truth, I was ready to take the necessary steps.
"Please don’t leave," Nick pleaded. "I never meant to hurt you."
"Then you should’ve thought ahead," I seethed, and in that moment, I noticed a haunting resemblance to Robert. The same hairline. The same height. Perhaps Nick’s mother and Robert had shared more than just coven ties.
I forced myself to walk around him, down the stairs, and out the front door to the Dodge, fighting the urge to look back, to see if he was watching. Leaving was the only right decision.
Tears threatened as I drove away, but it wasn’t until his house vanished from the rearview mirror that I let myself cry. I still managed to pull out the SIM card and toss it so he couldn’t reach me. Now, I had to focus on my own disappearance. In case he came for me.
I didn’t doubt he could let me go. But I was certain he’d still come for the grimoire—safely tucked under layers of clothes in my blue Ikea bag.