Chapter 4 #2
Hesitantly, she reached into her satchel and pulled out the grimoire and put it on the table between them. It looked just like the sketches in Merlin’s journal. The runes carved into the cover radiated a power more ancient than anything he’d ever come across.
Without thinking, he reached for it. It slid backward, closer to Muriel, and emitted a low, hum.
He pulled his hands back immediately.
It was the Codex Animarum. He’d bet his shop on it.
And it had chosen Muriel as its keeper.
“Do you recognize it?” she asked.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve never seen it before,” he said honestly, “but if it’s what I think it is, it’s a thousand times more valuable than the Liber Terrae.”
Muriel paled.
“Remember what I said about magical items finding the right owners? This one has chosen you.”
“Why me? Why now?”
“My guess is, it has something to do with your bloodline. As for the why now, magical items are often concealed until the time is right for them to make themselves known. Based on what you’ve told me, the book believes the time has come for you to know.
Those visions it showed you might be warnings. ”
“Warnings,” she echoed softly. “Can a book be prescient?”
“Magical history is filled with objects that have been imbued with predictive spells. Let me ask you this: does it feel... alive? Like it has a will of its own?”
Muriel's eyes widened even as the book appeared to swell and deflate like it was taking a breath. “Yes. How did you know?”
“Because books that old, that powerful, develop a kind of sentience.” He paused, watching her carefully. “Has it shown you anything else?”
“No. Only those visions when I first found it. But I can feel it.”
“What does the energy feel like? Is it dark? Oily?”
“No, nothing like that. It feels… familiar. Comforting. Like it’s mine, if that makes sense.”
“It does. Especially if it was bespelled with blood magic.” When Muriel’s eyes widened, he clarified, “Blood as in lineage, not sacrifice. It recognizes you as the rightful heir. I doubt it would have revealed itself to you otherwise.”
The rapid decay of the nearby fern stopped as she processed that.
“Did anything else unusual happen after you found the book?”
She bit her bottom lip. “Someone came to my house the next day.”
“Someone you know?” he prompted.
“No, but he seemed to know me. He said his name was Silas Corvus, and that he’d known my mother. He also told me my magic would become unmanageable unless someone like him taught me to control it.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. He left me his card and...” She looked up at him, and the fear in her eyes made his chest ache, even as the temperature around them dropped significantly and an icy breeze swirled around them, scattering the dead leaves.
Her magic was spiraling. Instinctively, he covered her hands with his, sending soothing energy through the points of contact.
“A witch’s greatest defense is her intuition. You were right to listen to it,” he said firmly, holding her gaze. “Right now, in this moment, you're safe. I won’t let anything happen to you. Do you understand?”
She nodded shakily and drew in a breath. Then another. Slowly, the air grew calm once again and the temperature returned to normal.
“Better?” he asked, reluctantly removing his hands.
“Yes, thank you.” She looked around at the botanical chaos she'd created, her expression stricken. “Oh, I'm so sorry. Your bookstore—”
“Is fine,” he assured her. “It’s seen worse, trust me.”
“What if Corvus is right, and I lose control?”
“You won't,” Brandon said with quiet certainty. “We’ll figure this out.”
“We?” Muriel's voice was barely a whisper.
Brandon met her gaze. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you might be in over your head. That man who showed up at your place? I think he might have been a Collector.”
“A... what?”
“An acquisitional operative.” At her blank look, he continued, “They’re a division of the Magisterial Consilium who hunt natural witches—those born with inherent elemental power rather than trained into it.
They believe natural magic is too dangerous to be left uncontrolled.
That it belongs in the hands of those who've been properly educated in its use.” His jaw tightened.
“What they really want is to possess that power for themselves. To study it, harvest it, control it.”
“Harvest,” she repeated. “Like in those visions.”
He nodded. “There are ways to bind a witch's power, to siphon it, or to suppress it entirely. The Collectors have been perfecting those techniques for centuries. My guess is, your mother knew this. That's why she hid the book.”
Muriel's hands clenched around her teacup. “She knew they were coming?”
“More like she prepared in case they did. I believe this book is extraordinarily rare, Muriel. One of a kind, in fact. The kind of artifact the Consilium would kill for.” He kept his voice gentle despite the harsh truth. “Corvus showing up the day after you opened it isn't coincidence.”
“He knows I have it.”
“He suspects. But suspicion isn't certainty.
Right now, he's fishing, trying to confirm what he sensed.” Brandon leaned forward slightly.
“The bigger problem is your surges. Every time your magic flares, it broadcasts your location and your power level.
The stronger the surge, the wider the broadcast. It's like sending up a flare that says 'powerful natural witch, right here. '”
“So every time I lose control—”
“You're essentially lighting a beacon for every Collector within range,” he finished quietly.
“Oh.” She pressed her hands to her face. “What do I do? I can't just stop having emotions.”
“No, you can't. And you shouldn't.” Brandon waited until she lowered her hands and met his eyes again.
This was where things got tricky, and he had to tread lightly.
“But there is something we can do. We can dampen that signal, to help stabilize your magic so the surges are less frequent and less detectable.”
Hope flickered across her face, quickly followed by wariness. “How?”
“Resonance binding. We’d allow our magic to work together. Mine would act as an anchor and provide an outlet for yours instead of it broadcasting wildly.”
Her lips turned downward at the corners. “You'd control my magic?”
“No. It’s more like putting up guardrails. You’d still be the one driving. I’d just keep you on the road.”
“This would hide me from the Collectors?”
“It would make you harder to track. By now, they’ve identified your unique magical signature but blending it with mine will create something new—not yours, not mine—ours. It can buy time until you learn to control your magic on your own.
She studied him for a long moment, and he could see her mind working through the implications. “Is this something that’s done often?”
“Mentors sometimes use resonance to guide their apprentices, particularly when one experiences the kind of erratic power surges you are.” There were other, rarer circumstances in which resonance was used, but there was no point in scaring her.
“Okay. I get the what and the why. What about the how? Do we recite a spell together or something?”
And there was the real reason practitioners shied away from resonance.
“It’s not quite that easy. Sharing magic requires a modicum of trust, and trust doesn’t come easily to us.”
Muriel was quiet for a long moment, her fingers twisting together in her lap. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible. “My mother fell in love with a mage. A powerful one, with pretty words and promises. He left her broken and alone.”
“I know,” Brandon said softly. “Jessie told me.”
“So you understand why this is...” She gestured helplessly between them. “Why I can't just...”
“I understand completely.” And he did. Her caution wasn't personal. It was a survival instinct born from her mother's tragedy. “I'm not asking for your trust right now. I'm just laying out the option. What you choose to do with that information is entirely up to you.”
She looked at him for a long moment, once again searching his face for something—deception, maybe, or hidden motives.
“I need to think about it,” she said finally.
“Of course.” Brandon stood when she did, giving her space.
She slipped the book back into her satchel, clutching it close. “Thank you. For being honest with me.”
“Always,” he said, and meant it.
She turned toward the door, then hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“If I said no—if I decided not to do this resonance binding—would you still help me? Answer my questions, teach me what you can about controlling the surges?”
The question surprised him, though perhaps it shouldn't have. She was testing him, trying to determine if his offer of help came with strings attached. He wondered how many assholes she’d encountered to make her so cautious. He wanted to pummel every one of them.
“Yes,” Brandon said without hesitation. “You don't owe me anything, Muriel. Not trust, not access to your magic, nothing. If you want my help, you have it.”
Something shifted in her expression—not quite trust, but maybe the willingness to consider it.
“I'll think about it,” she said again, and this time when she left, she seemed more confident than when she arrived.
Brandon watched through the window as she disappeared down the street. His magic stirred restlessly in her absence, already missing the complementary energy of hers.
He looked at the chaos Muriel's magic had created—the withered fern, the blooming plants, the slightly warped floorboards, and couldn’t help but smile. Her magic was raw and pure, just like her.
Waving a hand, he set everything back to the way it was.
He'd meant what he said. He would help her regardless of her decision. But he hoped she'd trust him enough to try the binding. Not just because it would keep her safer, but because when he'd covered her hands with his, he'd felt something shift and settle in his chest. A rightness. A recognition.
She was meant to be his.
Now he just had to prove to her that he was worthy of being hers.