Chapter 3 #2
Whatever their source, they make Lucas a powerful curse-breaker. It’s why we’re business partners. I negotiate buyers, the two of us find the book or occasional magical item, and Lucas pilfers it. For the last four years, business has been good and definitely not legal.
The slumbering spider book doesn’t twitch when Lucas’ threads penetrate it. “See?” All the gold threads twinkle merrily. “Flesh-melting curse gone. Put up quite a fight, too. I don’t think it’ll wake up for at least a week.”
Mindful of the eyes, I turn the book to inspect the back. Eight spindly legs are seamlessly folded against each other. It’s by far the most monstrous grimoire I’ve ever acquired and that bar is set high.
My daytime inventory holds plenty of weavers’ diaries and compendiums of potion recipes, incantation lyrics, or sigil art, and those legal-to-sell books range from the ordinary to glittering with traces of imprinted magic.
But what elevates a book’s status to that of a grimoire, and makes it illegal to trade outside the Astrum Forest, is the weaver’s Soul Thread woven into the book’s bindings.
The Arachnomicon would’ve been woven by the priesthood’s ceremonial needles, but an ordinary bookbinding needle with the right runes delicately etched into it also does the trick.
The latter is how I made my grimoire. Few would dare attempt such a thing at the young age of eighteen.
Only the Elite with absolute control of their magic risk crafting a grimoire.
Even then, most decide against it. It is a deceptively easy craft, but carries the horrific risk of the Soul Thread becoming damaged and the weaver doomed to an eternity of being lost in the afterlife, unable to return to the Tapestry.
The Soul Thread could snap during the needle threading, when the point of the needle pierces the thread in the exact right spot for proper knotting.
An improper knot will drag through the holes in the signatures, inflicting unbearable agony and weakening the thread.
Once the binding begins, it must be completed, or else the weaver is trapped in a suspended torture until their heart bursts from the strain.
My teeth sink into my lower lip. Communing with something as old as The Arachnomicon—where I wrap my Soul Threads with the one inside—could gift me so much lost knowledge.
Magic I’ve never dreamed of. After all, I did the same in my youth with my great-grandmother’s grimoire, and the secrets I learned served me well in my revenge.
Curiosity gets the better of me and I gaze deep into The Arachnomicon’s spine to discern the Soul Thread.
My eyes narrow, aching with strain as I fight through the dormant magic.
I’ve hardly had to work so hard before. A headache threatens until, finally, I catch the flicker of a powerful Entropy Thread winding through its bindings.
Curse protection or not, this one is a soul devourer for sure.
It is the nature of Entropy; always insatiable for more, and a soul is the perfect food for it.
I should resist. The risk of it devouring my soul while communing is too high.
This monstrous thing is here for one reason only: to make me a disgusting amount of money.
The moment Mr. Solomon Nightingale picks up his book, the Amur’s tithe will be paid and I won’t have to deal with the Guild again for another year.
Besides, I don’t wish to risk waking the damn thing. My lip curls, imagining the spindly legs unfurling and the book scuttling away to hide in dark corners, its numerous eyes peering out at me, and hissing. My throat tightens with nausea.
“Gross.”
Lucas arches a brow at me. “You mean impressive? I came back early and everything.”
I give an apathetic hum and Lucas’ face tightens in annoyance. I hold the book out to him with trembling arms. “Here. Take it. Let’s put it in the vault and contact the buyer.”
Lucas doesn’t move, arms folding across his broad chest. “And you want me to…”
I scoff. “Carry it! It’s fucking heavy and I’m pretty sure the hairs are breaking skin.”
“Such a baby.” He snatches his cap off my head, fingers combing his hair back before sliding it on. “And a hat stealer.”
I snort. “You gave it to me.”
“Yeah, yeah.” His rings glow again, and threads weave around the grimoire until they form an orb. Hovering midair, it sparkles merrily and bounces around like it’s not enclosing a creepy, dark, magic spider book.
I step around him to approach an empty stretch of wall. The air ripples and the magic inspects me like a dog sniffing at a stranger’s shoes. Recognition hums and the illusion disperses to reveal a very large and bloody iron door.
The door to the basement.
I slide my fingers along the seal, my magic crackling along the iron, careful to dispel the protection.
With a sizzle, the seal releases, and the lock thunks open.
I grab the handle and wrench the heavy iron open with a screeching bang.
I meant to oil the thing yesterday. Maybe I can convince Lucas to do it for me now that he’s back.
I descend the uneven stone stairs that would send an intruder tumbling down. Today, each step is laborious, my body heavier than usual. The combination of handling the shop solo and Valen’s visit weighs me down.
Lucas isn’t helping. He follows closely behind and bounces the orb like a toy. He speaks jovially, the oddly tall but narrow carved stone stairs creating an echo. “Why couldn’t you do this? It’s not like you don’t have the power for it.”
He bats the orb at me and I duck, almost breaking an ankle on a deeper step. I toss a vicious glare over my shoulder, and he grins wickedly in return.
“And risk my weaver magic waking that thing up? No, thanks.”
He shrugs. “Eh. It’s asleep. Trust me. I wore it the fuck out.”
“And yet, ‘wore it out’ and ‘magically put to slumber’ are two very different things.”
“I tried, but it wouldn’t fall asleep.”
My brows furrow. “Then what did you do?”
“I smashed it with a rock.”
I shriek. “Lucas!”
He laughs and spikes the orb farther down the stairs, forcing me to duck again or get smacked in the head by it. “Its Entropy base causes it to absorb magic. Very little was getting through. Shields work, hence why I can contain it with my orb.”
Irritation flashes through me, and I growl, “Your negligence is astounding.”
He barks a laugh. “As astounding as your laziness.”
I gasp in outrage and whip around to glare at him mid-step. “Asshole!”
But it’s a mistake. My foot misses the thick, taller step, and I lose my balance, my nails raking along the stone uselessly. My heart freezes as I fall.
Lucas snatches me, his strong grip wrapping around my upper arm, and yanks me back up. I stumble and my back hits his front, his fingers curling around my biceps to hold me steady. He’s so warm that I feel him through my clothes.
My short hair shifts with his softly whispered, “Bitch.”
My heart throbs, my headache forgotten. His lips brush my ear and shivers ripple down my neck. “Fuck, I’ve missed you, Torment.”
I hide my breathlessness. “I missed you until I smelled you. Did you not bathe at all?”
He huffs a laugh. “Nah, I left my musk pristine for you.”
The spike of excitement through my center informs me that I should step back and away from his hold, but I don’t.
Instead, I turn in his arms. A pang of longing hits me hard.
He was gone for so long and I was all alone.
I have Jinx, but she prefers to be a cat and isn’t much of a conversationalist. It’s not the same as having Lucas around.
I never fully understand how lonely I am until Lucas returns.
Lucas’ eyes search mine and he nods towards the shop above. “Who was that guy?”
My jaw tightens, but I keep my lie smooth. “A potential buyer.”
He hums and his large hands slide over my hips in a familiar move. Excitement jolts through me. We’ve played this cat-and-mouse game for years and it’s become a deliciously habitual dance that I melt into.
“Liar,” Lucas whispers.
I tense and his thumbs graze my hipbones, my skin shivering.
He continues, his voice a low vibration, “No one calls you ‘Tori’ but me and Jinx. Hell, Nora still calls you ‘Aster,’ and she’s your only other friend.
” His lips graze my ear again. “That’s a powerful enchantment you used for a letter and card. ”
My throat tightens when a wave of guilt washes over me.
Lucas might know my true name is Astoria, but I never corrected him when he assumed I was a bastard Rosemont child using their last name.
It was much easier to let him believe that than getting into the complexities of weaver reproduction.
Besides, it’s my fault. I was drunk and full of self-loathing when I called myself a bastard in front of him four years ago.
I omitted whose bastard and failed to explain that it means something different for weavers.
In the Order, a bastard is an unwanted child chained to a family line.
The truth is, I use my mother’s family name because the Rosemonts were well-known Entropy weavers before they died out.
It was easy to slip into this lie within the city.
Humans tend to not pay attention to the complexities of family lines.
They either do not know the Rosemonts died out or assume I’m lying so the Guild thinks twice about bothering me.
And if I’m being really honest, using my mother’s name eases some of the loneliness.
My arms slide up Lucas to drape over his broad shoulders. I tell myself it’s to distract him, but my heart knows better. He’s so warm in an addictive way.
“It’s just a name.” I play with the tips of his soft hair. “And it’s merely a spell.”
His brows go tight and with a sinking feeling, I realize the game is over.
“Come on, Tor. Who was he? What did he want?” He searches my expression with an almost desperate air. He’s so good at reading people; his inability to do the same to me frustrates him to no end. “Is this about your old Order?”
Though thick as the thieves we are, we rarely speak of our past. I intimated that I left the Astrum Order instead of being exiled, and Lucas hinted he did the same with the Amur’s Guild. It’s how I prefer it. The farther Lucas is from my past, the better.
Unfortunately, I might not have a choice with this secret.
Out of the four families who currently hold the coveted Council of Weavers positions, there are only two who have held the seats since the Ascension.
The Androclarias of the Creation Threads and the Bauers of the Preservation Threads.
Where others have seen a flux of power shifts as families claw and scheme their way to power, the Bauers have never faltered in their absolute control of the Preservation Domain.
Their family’s Soul Thread, the single line that is passed from parent to child, linking them all to the Great Tapestry of Magic, is the longest and most bountiful in existence.
Where some family lines are a single thread, the Bauers are so blessed by the Tapestry that their family thread resembles the roots of a tree.
And the scion of the great Bauer family leader has just visited my shop with no real explanation. Any lie would be too easily uncovered by Lucas. I brace myself and permit a drop of truth to drip free of my well of secrets. “He’s… my ex.”
Lucas stills.
It’s a struggle to keep my tone unaffected. “He was trying to convince me back.”
“As in, back together, or back to the Order?”
“Both.” The temptation to sway forward and rest my weight on Lucas is astounding, but I resist. That paper-thin wall I keep him behind for his protection relies on it. And my heart… I don’t think I could stand talking about Valen right now.
My throat tightens and I whisper, “The breakup was messy. I don’t want to talk about it.”
I go to step away, but his hands hold my hips. I look up at him. My pulse quickens.
His face is the most serious I’ve ever seen, his tone flat. “I want to ask you something. Just one question. Then I’ll drop it and never bring it up again.”
I hesitate, but my curiosity gets the better of me. “Okay.”
His eyes burn, betraying the depth of his emotions.
“Do you…” He pauses. The silence weighs heavily between us, the dim light of the basement keeping me from clearly reading his face.
His lips press together before he mumbles, “I’ve only ever seen you with women, so I never asked if you’re…
” He wets his lips. “Are you attracted to men as well?”
My throat dries. “Yes.”
The word slips out from my lips, the weight of the revelation heavy in the air between us.
After Valen, I couldn’t stand the touch of another man, not until Lucas came with his playful affection that slowly eased me into what we have today.
This strange, gray-area friendship makes me feel alive and I can’t lose that.
Not ever. Not after Valen shattered me so completely.
So instead of the truth, I give him a playful smile. “But don’t get any ideas. We have our extremely professional business relationship to think of.” I slip out of his hold and slap his tight ass so hard that my hand stings. “What would the boss think if we started screwing?”
Lucas’ lustful growl echoes down the stone behind me. “I’ll slip Jinx a fifty and promise that she can watch us from the foot of the bed.”
Sarcasm drips heavily in my reply. “Oh, what a tempting offer. Take me now, please, oh gods.”
He laughs and soon I join him. He catches me around the middle, hugging me tightly, while complaining that I’m too slow. I let him hoist me into his arms, too tired to descend all these stairs myself anyway.
The fresh wave of relief makes it easier to wrap my arms around him, press my face into his neck, and breathe in his scent while complaining about his smell. The black flames of his sleeve tattoo lick up the base of his throat and I rest my forehead there, my body going limp. I smile into him.
It feels so good to finally rest.