Chapter Eight
The Book of Nyx: A Step-by-Step Guide to Heavy Metal
The realization that she was back in the interrogation room hit her before the lights did. She opened her eyes, squinting in the glare of the fluorescent bulbs, and looked around. She was still alone. How much time had passed since the two agents walked out? She doubted it was more than a few minutes. Why time worked differently on Earth than it did on Frost Mountain, she had no idea, but she had bigger concerns, like how the hell she was going to get out of her cuffs and out of wherever the FBI had taken her before matters got worse. Without her magic, she was practically useless. That was another problem that needed fixing ASAP. But August Kane had no intentions of unbinding her anytime soon.
He was another concern of hers. What had happened back in the cabin had been completely unexpected. Daphne wished she’d imagined it, but the whole thing had pretty much occurred in slow motion. She’d complained of being cold, and then he’d come to lie down next to her. At that point, she should have created a space between them. But what had she done? She’d waited.
Then August had pulled her close to him, and she’d felt her self-control slowly slip away. She remembered the warmth of his body, the wisps of grey in his hair, the gleam of desire in his eyes as he brought his face close to hers.
What were you thinking? said a tiny voice in the back of her mind. Making out with the same man who tried to murder you and who bound your magic. Are you insane?
In her defense, he had kissed her.
But you kissed him back. If he hadn’t stopped, who knows how far it would’ve gone?
Daphne had no answer to that. The memories were still fresh in her mind: August wrapping his arm around her, August’s hand caressing her breasts, his fingers pinching her nipples, August rubbing her through her panties.
A delicious warmth spread through her body, thinking of that. At that moment, if he’d asked to take her clothes off, she would have let him. Forget a blanket and the fireplace—August Kane was all the heat she needed.
She rubbed her thighs together absent-mindedly, and a tiny moan escaped her lips. It dawned on her a second later that she was still being watched by whoever was behind the two-way mirror. Casting an embarrassed glance at her reflection, she parted her legs again and sat up straighter.
The door opened. Agent Carter stepped in, followed shortly by O’Hara. The woman pulled out her chair, flashing Daphne a thin smile.
“Sorry about my partner’s outburst,” she said as O’Hara took up his position by the wall. “He had family on that missing flight. This case is personal for him, you see. He shouldn’t be here, I know. But… well, it’s out of my hands.”
Daphne’s eyes were on the object in the woman’s hands. Carter was clutching a large book with leather bindings. As the agent set it on the table before her, Daphne caught sight of the gold lettering across the front cover.
“The Book of Nyx,” she gasped.
“Recognize it?” Carter sat down heavily, studying Daphne’s face. “It’s one of the things we picked up from your apartment. I have to say, you’re a rather unusual woman. Got a lot of weird stuff in your home. But this book takes the cake. That’s why we brought it here. It’s even got your last name on it… Emerson. Judging from how old it looks, I’m willing to bet Eleanor was your great-grandmother. Am I right?”
Daphne merely shrugged. She stared at the grimoire, her pulse pounding in her ears.
“The Book of Nyx,” Carter repeated. She cocked her head to one side. “Nyx. That name’s from Greek mythology, isn’t it? You know, personification of the night, daughter of Chaos. Yeah, I know a bit of mythology.” She looked somewhat pleased with herself.
“That’s nice,” was all Daphne said.
Carter’s brows twitched. “If you ask me, that name sounds pretty fitting because this book is way too chaotic for anyone to understand. And I bet it’s filled with some pretty dark stuff.” She leaned forward, her gaze growing more intense by the second. “You into the occult, Miss Emerson?”
Daphne raised an eyebrow.
“You know—voodoo, black magic, maybe some heavy metal… that sort of thing.” The agent sighed. “I guess what I’m really trying to figure out is whether you’re part of some cult or…”
“You mean like a terrorist organization?”
By the wall, O’Hara snapped his fingers, smiling wickedly into his mustache. “Right-o. For all we know, that book could contain your manifesto. We just might have stumbled upon an age-old conspiracy against the US government. Talk about a gold mine.”
“No,” Daphne said, staring at her cuffed hands for a moment. “I told you already, I’m not a terrorist.”
“Then I suppose you won’t mind explaining to us what this book is,” Carter said, tapping the Book of Nyx.
Daphne took a deep breath. Telling these two humans what she was would only complicate matters for her. Then again, it wasn’t like things weren’t already complicated. These agents weren’t going to believe her no matter what she said.
“Fine, I’ll tell you,” she said. She looked at O’Hara, then back at Carter. “It’s a grimoire.”
“A grim—wha…?”
“ Grimoire, ” Daphne corrected. “It’s a book of spells.”
“Spells,” Carter repeated, and for a moment, Daphne could tell the woman was wondering if she’d lost her marbles. “You mean, like, magic?”
“Yes, magic. The occult. Whatever you want to call it. It’s not a terrorist’s handbook or whatever you think. It’s merely magic.” As if there was anything mere about magic.
Confusion flickered across the agent’s features. “Is there a reason you’ve got a book about magic, Miss Emerson?”
Daphne hesitated for a few seconds. “Yes, I’m a witch.”
The silence that followed was beyond uncomfortable. Even worse was the guffaw that O’Hara let out. The man’s laughter reverberated through the room. Daphne felt her teeth grind together. She remained silent, watching the agent step away from the wall and move toward the table.
“A witch, eh?” he said, his smile anything but cheerful. “That’s one thing I never expected to hear. And trust me, I’ve heard a load of crap in my time. Why don’t you perform some magic for us, huh? Go on, Miss Witch.”
“I can’t do that.”
“No one’s stopping you,” O’Hara told her. “It’s a free country. Well, except for those stupid enough to threaten national security.”
“I’m saying I can’t.” If Daphne ground her teeth any harder, she might need a trip to the dentist soon. Her handcuff chains clinked as she lifted her hand, showing the agents the K still emblazoned on it. “I’ve been bound. I couldn’t access my magic even if I wanted to.”
“All we see is a tattoo,” Carter said with a frown that said, Quit bullshitting me. “And not a very impressive one. The security of this great nation is at stake. I’d like you to be serious with us, Miss Emerson, or you’re not going anywhere soon.”
Daphne groaned inwardly. Of course, they didn’t believe her. Humans prided themselves on their logic, although half the time, they were terrible at applying it. Carter was right. The country was faced with a serious problem right now. And this was the FBI. The last thing they cared about right now was magic.
“Well, magic or not, we’ve still got a problem here.” Agent Carter pried open the grimoire. “Whatever’s in this book, we can’t seem to figure it out. We’ve already got the best linguists on it, and so far, they’ve got nothing. As far as anyone’s concerned, the words in this book are nothing but gibberish.” Carter’s eyes flicked up to meet Daphne’s. “But I don’t think so, Miss Emerson, and I think you share my sentiment.”
When Daphne said nothing, she went on. “We need to know the contents of this book. But no one can read it. Except you, that is. You’re a linguist, aren’t you?”
“You have other linguists,” Daphne pointed out.
“They can’t seem to crack it. But I’m sure you understand the words in this book. How is that?”
She shrugged again. “It’s a language that’s been forgotten for centuries.”
“Or a code that only you terrorists understand,” O’Hara offered.
“But you can translate it for us,” Carter said. “What’s in this book? Secret agendas? Doomsday plans?”
“I told you,” Daphne said, feeling somewhat irritable, “it’s a grimoire. That book is filled with magic spells. And for the last time, I’m not a terrorist. Not to mention, I still haven’t gotten my attorney.”
If Carter hadn’t held out a hand to stop him, Daphne was certain O’Hara would have lunged across the table at her.
“You think we’re here for games?” The agent’s mustache twitched. “Why, I’ve got a good mind to—”
“What my partner is trying to say,” cut in Carter, who looked like she was barely holding controlling her temper now, “is that this is a matter of utmost gravity, not only for you but us and every other US citizen. We’re all in this. That’s why we need you to cooperate with us.”
“But I am telling you the truth,” Daphne insisted. “You didn’t believe me when I said I wasn’t a terrorist or when I said I was a witch. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what really happened to Flight 18.”
Carter and O’Hara shared a glance. “Spill,” Carter demanded.
Daphne thought the better of it but launched anyway into an explanation of how the plane had breached a portal leading to Frost Mountain. Why she half-expected the agents’ eyes to widen with shock as she spilled the beans, she wasn’t sure, but by the time she finished speaking, she couldn’t help but feel fairly foolish.
The agents glanced at each other again. In the silence that ensued, Daphne imagined that whoever stood behind the two-way mirror was shaking their head in second-hand embarrassment.
“I don’t believe this.” O’Hara threw his hands up in frustration. “I need to get some air before I end up strangling this fucking terrorist.”
Shooting a glare at Daphne, he stormed out of the interrogation room, slamming the door behind him.
Daphne stared at the door for a few seconds, then at her reflection. When she returned her gaze to Carter, the agent had a scowl on her face.
“You can’t keep toying with us, Miss Emerson,” she told her, rising to her feet. She picked up the grimoire. “Like I said, this is a serious matter. The fact that you’re still here is something to be grateful for. There are higher-ups who won’t hesitate to use whatever means to get the information out of you. If you keep refusing to cooperate…well, it’s out of our hands.”
She turned to leave but glanced over her shoulder at Daphne. When she spoke again, it was softly.
“Trust me,” she said, “you do not want the CIA or Homeland Security on your ass.”
***
It was the cold that woke her. She opened her eyes with a shudder, feeling as though she’d just been dragged out of a dream. She tilted her head at the sound of a soft crackling. The fire was still going, but there wasn’t enough wood to keep it alive much longer.
No wonder it’s so cold in here , she thought.
She had become so used to the storm raging outside that the howling of the wind was little more than a background sound now. The blizzard still hadn’t ended. Like every other problem Daphne had created by acting impulsively, it seemed to be worsening.
She started to sit up, wondering where August kept his firewood and realized that she was not alone. An arm was draped over her torso, crushing her breasts. Behind her, August stirred and continued snoring lightly. Daphne held her breath, feeling her nipples instantly hardening at his touch. She wished it was merely because of the cold, but the weather didn’t explain the warmth spreading through her body as the witch hunter stirred again, his groin pressed deliciously against her bottom.
Thoughts of what had happened the last time she’d gotten this close to August flashed through her mind like images on a projector screen, and she nearly let out a whimper of protest as she felt the wetness gathering between her thighs. This shouldn’t be happening. It wasn’t right.
Why, then, did it feel so good? If she was being honest with herself, she could lie here for some more time.
Another shiver traveled through her body just then, strengthening her resolve. With painstaking carefulness, not wanting to rouse him from sleep, she extricated herself from August’s embrace and climbed to her feet, holding one hand out to steady herself against the fireplace. Reminding herself that she could only remain on her feet for so long before her strength gave out, she wandered about the expanse of the cabin, scanning her surroundings for more firewood.
It dawned on her that she hadn’t really had time to notice the cabin. The living room was smallish and looked lived in. The chairs sat on the thick, animal-skin rug facing the fireplace, and a table sat in a corner, laden with several items that she couldn’t identify at first. She drew closer, squinting, and saw bottles and a few overturned bowls. The bottles held some murky liquid.
Potions , she realized, remembering the potion August had given her to knock her out earlier.
The witch hunter clearly liked to be prepared, she deduced, as her gaze landed on a set of weapons hanging on the walls. In the flickering firelight, she could just make out a sword, a few daggers, and a crossbow. A longbow and quiver sat on the floor beneath the other weapons. This man was obviously a skilled hunter. Fortunately, there weren’t any Glocks or AK-47s in sight.
Convinced that a witch hunter like this man must have trophies of some sort, she resumed her tour of the living room, pausing only when she came to another table. This one was mostly bare except for a few cracked bowls, but it was the wooden box beneath it that caught her attention.
With another shiver, she knelt, wincing at the soft, scraping sound as she pulled it out from under the table. The box looked like it had been handcrafted. There was no lock. With a slight grin, Daphne pried off the lid and peered inside.
The box held a few tattered books stacked neatly atop one another. Her curiosity growing, Daphne reached into the box and withdrew a familiar-looking object, brushing her finger over the worn leather.
A wallet, she thought, with a frown. What’s a wallet doing in here?
Items from Earth arrived on Frost Mountain all the time, Daphne knew. It wouldn’t be unusual to spot a wallet in the snow outside. But August must have kept it in the box for some reason. She opened the wallet, eyeing the remnants of what must have been dollar bills. A slight gleam drew her gaze instantly to something else in the wallet. She pulled it out slowly with the caution of an archaeologist, fearing it would disintegrate, and stared at it.
It was an ID card with the name ALAINA THEODORA NORRIS. Next to it was a portrait of a brown-haired woman with heavy-lidded eyes and a small nose. Daphne continued to examine the card. The woman’s date of birth was only a few years later than hers. She was Hispanic, a nurse, and…and where was she? And why did August have her wallet hidden away in a box?
Behind her, a voice growled, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”