Chapter 5 #2
“Well, you know that a while back, I asked you to look up information about the umbra, right? I discovered a possible link between those demons and a prophecy. And the only oracles I know of were fae.” I hike a shoulder.
“I figured if I read about them, maybe I can get some answers. I know Grandma was really passionate about dark creatures. I saw her books that day you cleaned the office a few years back. Remember?”
Aunt Josephine sucks on her teeth while pondering her response.
I think she’s going to refuse, but she reluctantly says, “Fine. Just put everything back as you found it, okay? The spines need to be aligned. That’s how she liked them.
She would always scream at me when I took out a book and put it back in the wrong order. ”
Wow, I bet Grandma was a blast at dinner parties. I nod hastily and wait for my aunt to bring the key from the hiding place I shouldn’t know about—her bedside table. Honestly, she could have hidden the keys in a better place if she didn’t want me to find them.
From the grim set of her lips, I can tell she’s not happy about my request as she slides the key into the lock and opens the door. But I need to find out what that prophecy says. So I only mumble a quiet “thank you” while stepping into the office, the steaming cup of tea in one hand.
“Drink your tea before you even touch anything, okay? And don’t disturb the chair or the desk.
My mother sat in it that morning before she—” She clears her throat to find her voice.
“Before she died, and I don’t want anyone else sitting in it.
Please bring whatever books you need to the living room.
I’m gonna go put the rest of the things in boxes,” she says through a weighted sigh before leaving me to it.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. Holler if you need anything,” I reply over my shoulder, then stride to the rich, cherry oak bookshelves on my right.
The air is so stale and dusty, I sneeze five times in a row before I even get the chance to look at the spines.
It’s odd being inside here. Just like the bedroom, it’s frozen in time—a sad window to the past.
A notebook, probably my grandmother’s, remains open to the same page on the desk, a pen lying next to it. It reminds me of those post-mortem portraits the people in the Victorian era used to take of their deceased family members.
I immerse myself in one of the two books I can find in English about the fae folk.
“After the careful dissection of the tunica intima, we found unidentified cells present along the endothelial ones. They have a bioluminescence quality akin to the Arachnocampa luminosa. Aside from the luminescence, we believe that these cells are the reason why the aether is contained.”
I am just getting curious about what this aether is when my aunt’s shrill cry jolts me into the present. I drop the book on the coffee table in front of me and jump up from the couch. Tapping into my hellseeker speed, I zip to the basement door.
The second my fingers wrap around the handle, my aunt barrels out, slamming into my side and almost head-butting me. Luckily, I dodge right at the last second. I still suck in a serrated breath, though, at the pain rippling all over my body.
“Oh, snapdragons! I almost gave you a concussion. Sorry about that. Are you okay?” she inquires while pushing the curtain of wet hair out of her face.
Confusion pulls at my eyebrows. “I’m fine. But are you? Why are you wet?”
Aunt Josephine pushes past me in a hurry, half-yelling on her way to the entrance hall.
“Because a pipe burst in the basement, and it’s soaking all the boxes as we speak.
” She comes back, purse in hand. “Darn it, where is that phone?” she huffs as she rummages through it.
“I’m going to call a plumber. Can you please start bringing the boxes up into the living room?
Or whatever is left of them. And hurry. I’ll be right with you once I find an available plumber.
” My aunt doesn’t swear, so she mumbles a few euphemisms instead until she fishes the phone out of the bag.
The musty smell, enhanced by the water coming in rivulets from the burst pipe in the ceiling, coats my lungs as I descend the stairs.
I blink a few times to adjust to the dim lighting.
It’s a good thing this happened now and not after she had already renovated or added any bookshelves and books.
The water is pooling so fast it already reaches my ankles when I step onto the cement floor.
I shudder in disgust. I hate it when my feet get wet.
Pushing the feeling aside, I grab the two boxes that are right under the spray.
As much as I try to avoid it, my hair still gets soaked while I stack them on top of each other.
The second my right foot touches the first step, the sopping bottom of the first box I’m holding gives out.
Something passes in between my hands, falling right into the murky water with a plop.
Hastily, I balance the boxes on the steps and bend over to fish out whatever that was—maybe a notebook.
It only takes a few seconds for me to find it, but it’s so wet it’s dripping.
And it’s not a notebook—it’s a leather-bound book?
Or maybe a journal? Shit. What if it was my grandmother’s?
My aunt is going to kill me. I untie it and thumb through it to see the damage.
Hopefully, it’s not too bad. The ink is smudged, and the writing is incomprehensible on most of the pages, but there are some that are still dry.
My eyes skitter over one of those pages. “Owen blindsided me today. He confessed his love to me, and I just stood there, not knowing what to say. He tried to kiss me and—”
I look away. This has to be my aunt’s journal—a journal I have no business reading, especially about her intimate moments with her dead fiancé.
When I’m about to close it, though, the words a few rows further down catch my attention: “I should tell my sister, but how could I when they’re getting married in only three months?
And she has been radiating happiness ever since he proposed. ”
Holy shit! Is this—did this belong to my mother?
“The plumber is coming in twenty minutes.” Aunt Josephine’s voice pulls me into the present.
Pulse hammering in my ears, I slam the notebook shut, then shove it into the waistband of my jean shorts at my back, under my tee, before she pops into the doorway.
Even if it’s selfish, I don’t want to show it to her.
Besides, I don’t think my aunt will be too happy to find out her dead fiancé was in love with my mother.
When I used to live here, she often cried while looking at his photo, clutching the engagement ring—which she still wears on a gold chain around her neck—for dear life.
She gives me a weird look as she hurries down the steps. “Are you okay? You only moved two boxes? C’mon, they’re all getting wet!” she shrieks, pushing past me.
“Yeah, sorry,” I mumble and join her in stacking up the sopping boxes on the stairs before bringing them to the living room, the journal burning a hole in my back. I need to see if Sam can salvage at least some of the smudged pages.
We make quick work of clearing out the basement, but most of the boxes are ruined.
I help my aunt take out everything she wants to keep so she can dry them, then throw out the rest. My fingers tremble as I open the one that held my mother’s journal, hoping more of her belongings are inside.
But I deflate like a balloon when I see it’s filled with junk that wasn’t hers.
Someone must have misplaced the journal at some point and put it in there.
I hoped that I would at least find an old T-shirt, even something minuscule like a stray earring or a hair tie…
anything really. Even though I just got a piece of my mother back, I can’t help but want more.
Heaving out a deep sigh, I grit my teeth and pick up the box.
“I think this was the last one. I have to go, Auntie. I’ll toss this on my way out. ”
She tilts her head up to look at me from her spot on the living room floor, her legs crisscrossed. “Oh, already? I’m making lasagna for lunch. Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”
“I have plans with Sam. Sorry. Next time?” This is not a lie since I already texted Sam to let her know about the journal. She’s meeting me at Kaiden’s penthouse in thirty minutes.
“Okay, dear. I guess I’ll see you at the compound.”
I throw a hasty goodbye over my shoulder and stride to the door with urgency.