Chapter 2
D eep within the library, hidden away in the archival vault, Lucinda Hawthorne – or Lucy, as she was known to her friends – ran her fingers over the aged pages of a grimoire, trying to figure out if a potion ingredient translated to ‘dragon’s blood’ or ‘dragon scales’.
The text could mean essence of dragon, and the caster could use either to complete the banishing potion, she thought, tapping her pen against the glass desk. Even with her Master’s in potions, some concoctions listed on the worn pages were far more complicated than she had ever studied – probably due to her ancestors having access to far more ingredients and the ability to use them in ways that would be frowned upon now.
She wrote ‘dragon’s essence’ into a new red leather-bound grimoire with crisp cream pages. This is the best I can do. It’s not like those in the Vatican archives will brew such a potion anyway… and its overall purpose or effect should remain the same. She stretched her arms over her head and let out a yawn. The only thing keeping her awake was her multiple cups of tea and the awful fluorescent lighting in the ceiling of the temperature-controlled glass vault.
“Are you still translating that musty book? I thought you went home to get ready for the coven meeting,” Rosie said, appearing in the doorway to the vault with her amber eyes narrowed.
“Bark or something – you scared me to death!” Now she was no longer distracted by her work, the room felt darker and colder, telling her the day was long over. The autumn was truly here, and though she missed her summer dresses and sunny days, she loved crunchy leaves and Halloween candy.
“I’ll ignore that comment,” Rosie said amusedly, stepping into the room filled with grimoires and artefacts too dangerous to be kept on the walls of the catacombs.Everything in the vault was glass—the shelves, the desk—so nothing could be taken or concealed.
“I’m still down here with this musty book because I’m three months late in getting it back to the Order,” Lucy said, waving the letter she’d picked up from among the scattered papers and reference texts on the desk.
“I told you to give yourself more time with it! You’ve taken twice as long as you said you would,” Rosie pointed out. The Order’s Occult Research Department at the Vatican weren’t patient people. “I’m beginning to think you don’t want to give it back.”
“They wouldn’t have sent me a confiscated Hawthorne grimoire if they thought I was going to try and keep it.” Lucy didn’t want to risk shattering the trust she’d built with the Order. Of course she wished the grimoire could stay in her family, but relations between magical folk and those who’d prosecuted them had come a long way. One grimoire, no matter how sentimental, wasn’t worth the cost.
“What if they’re testing you, just looking for a reason to pick a fight with us magical folk after all these years of peace?”
“The Order have no reason to doubt me, and if anything, the previous grimoires they’ve sent me have been far more ancient and powerful,” Lucy argued, not liking the idea of being tested. “It’s a show of their trust.”
“Do you even wonder if they use the spells you translate for them? Just because they haven’t so far doesn’t mean they won’t.” Rosie had never liked the arrangement between the library and the Order, which Lucy had agreed to continue after her grandfather’s death. But even if the work was challenging, Lucy couldn’t bring herself to complain about working in her favourite place on earth.
“Studying magic is all that interests them. Even if they wanted to, they can’t read grimoires or cast spells. Magic isn’t in their blood, like a car without an engine. They can study it, but they can’t drive it. If they could, they wouldn’t have started sending the grimoires to us.” Despite their knowledge, without her help, all these potions and incantations appeared as utter nonsense to the magless. They could touch the letters, smell the aged pages, and collect the ingredients, but they were powerless.
“I’m surprised they didn’t just coerce a witch during the war to translate them,” Rosie said, flicking through the illustrated pages.
“I’m sure they tried hundreds of years ago, but if a witch was coerced I doubt she’d give them the real translations,” Lucy mused. She didn’t like dwelling in the past. The hurt her ancestors had suffered was too overwhelming, and Grams had always taught her that hate was the body’s natural poison.
“‘Essence of dragon’?” Rosie shivered.“What’s that supposed to mean– blood, nails, scales? Heart was very popular in the fifteenth century, but rare.” She was one of the top researchers of magic in the country, and full of useful knowledge.
“I don’t know which; it’s my best guess. It’s ambiguous wording like this which is making all of this take so long.” Lucy released her long, dark hair from its messy bun and rubbed her scalp, trying to relieve the dull headache caused by staring at dull cursive lettering for over eight hours.
“I didn’t think a Hawthorne text would contain blood magic,” Rosie said, putting down the note as if it would hurt her. Not being a witch herself, she understood the evolution of their magic and the history of it, but not so much how it worked.
“Back then, there was little difference between light and dark magic. Though Hawthornes moved away from sacrifice and rituals and towards healing magic, it’s still part of our past. Many potions that are banned today are scattered throughout every family’s history.”
“Some still might use them.” Rosie smirked, clicking her long nails – always polished to perfection – against the desk. She might lose her clothing when she transformed into a grey wolf, but she’d never be seen without painted claws.
“Those are just rumours.”
“C’mon. The Mathersons might appear squeaky clean, but look at what happened with the dad, and the younger brother!” Rosie said, fidgeting with her rings.
“They might not have a perfect record, but they’ve helped the town a lot in the last few years with the Manor. Everyone benefits from the increased tourism,” Lucy reasoned, trying to be diplomatic. Since Benedict hadn’t retaliated after the teacups-and-koi-fish prank, she was hoping he might’ve turned over a new and more mature leaf.
“I never thought I’d hear the day when you defended the Mathersons,” Rosie quipped, sitting on the edge of the desk.
Lucy closed the grimoire before her friend could see anything else that might frighten her, putting it back in its protective case. “Even if Benedict’s brother and father made mistakes, the rest of the family shouldn’t be judged.” The Matherson family had seen more tragedy than most – though her sympathy for them didn’t mean Benedict, the eldest son, didn’t drive her crazy. “Would you like it if you were blamed for what the wolves in the woods got up to?”
Rosie chewed her pale pink lips. “Fair point. So long as they don’t bring the Order’s hunters to our door again, I promise to think better of them.”
Lucy heard the concern in her best friend’s voice and had to admit there was a valid reason to worry. Though the magical village of Foxford was well defended, the Vatican’s hunters were still a threat. It was for that very reason she hadn’t even thought about keeping the grimoire that rightfully belonged to her family.
“Good, and I promise to show my face above ground once I’ve finished the final three spells.” She sighed, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. After another long day, even the wired rims felt heavy.
“I’ll hold you to it. If you don’t show yourself upstairs every once in a while, the town will think I’m keeping you trapped down here – which you’d probably enjoy. However, the more you’re down here, the more I have to be.” Rosie peered through the glass walls to the enchanted artefacts lining the stone shelves beyond and shivered. “This place still gives me the creeps. I always feel like the armoured knights along the tunnels are going to wake up and skewer me.”
“They’d only skewer those who try to steal,” Lucy chuckled, knowing Rosie would never do such a thing. “You wouldn’t hate it so much down here if you spent more time here!”
Rosie backed away towards the glass door. “No thanks! My speciality is researching mystical creatures and artefacts. I don’t do spells or potions.”
Rosie had never fully trusted magic, and Lucy understood why. Over the centuries, there had often been discourse between witches and wolves. Their transformative ability was said to have come about by the curse of a jilted witch and a human; distrust was in their DNA.
“Then why darken my vault this evening? Because I know it wasn’t just to check in,” Lucy said, cleaning up the scattered papers and piling up the reference texts.
Rosie began to pace, her running shoes squeaking on the glass floor. “There was something I needed to tell you…”
Lucy groaned. “Please tell me it isn’t Order related!”
Her worries were confirmed when Rosie started twisting a strand of auburn hair between her fingers, avoiding eye contact. “They called today. You didn’t respond to their last letter. I wanted to wait to tell you tomorrow so we could enjoy the Equinox tonight, but since you were still here…”
“Serves me right for taking so long,” Lucy muttered, “but I wanted to wait until I was finished.” She glanced down at the book. Only three more spells before she could finally be rid of it.
Rosie was finding the cement floor fascinating.
“What else did they tell you?” Lucy folded her arms.
“They’re sending someone to collect the grimoire, and to ensure the work is getting done.”
Lucy gritted her teeth to stop herself from taking out her frustration on the messenger, but she could feel her diplomacy starting to slip. A babysitter was the last thing she needed. She was already stressed about being behind schedule, Mum had been acting weird about the coven meeting tonight, and Benedict had been oddly quiet lately. Every day on the way to work, she’d been paranoid about what he might’ve planned for her as payback. Maybe that was why she’d fallen so far behind on schedule, busy looking over her shoulder instead of focusing on what was right in front of her.
She shook away all thoughts of her nemesis, not wanting Rosie to suspect that anything other than the book was bothering her. “They know the grimoire can’t leave the vault. If they wanted their babysitter to come down here, they’d need the coven’s permission, and God knows how long it’d take to convince them. Some of the older families in Foxford didn’t like me working with the Order in the first place.”
“I don’t like the idea of anyone other than coven members or us having access to the vault. The Vatican would love to get their hands on some of these texts and enchanted objects, and we don’t have the time to babysit the babysitter,” Rosie agreed. “How about we say to hell with the Order and keep the grimoire locked up? We can bury the damn thing far away somewhere where no one can find it, not you or them.”
She’d never been one for diplomacy. Lucy wished it were that simple.
“You know we can’t do that. The High Priestess has spoken;challenging the Vatican isn’t an option.” She held open the glass door for Rosie to go through. “Translating the texts is for everyone’s benefit. Between the dark spells and questionable potions, some of the natural remedies could advance medical discoveries. I don’t want the people of today to suffer because of the past.”
Silence fell between them. They’d run the library together since they’d left college, and the thought of someone disrupting their sanctuary made them both uneasy.
“Hopefully, whoever comes has an open mind. The village won’t like it if whoever arrives has a negative attitude,” Lucy said at last, locking the vault door behind them. The fluorescent lights went out, leaving only the torches lit on the walls.
“Then it might not be the grimoire who goes missing. We could send them down a tunnel. They might get lost.” Rosie winked, though she’d never hurt a fly – not even a spider. “But let’s not worry about that today! Tonight will help you relax. Nothing like a good barefoot frolic in the woods and a skinny dip in the lake to celebrate the end of summer.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to frolic for the both of us.” Lucy grimaced at her beaming friend, who loved a good time. She was the extrovert in their dynamic duo. Lucy wanted nothing more than a soak in her tub and too many candles to rid her mind of all the ancient spells.
“Don’t bail again.” Rosie’s face fell. “Harriet and Luisa returned from their dig to celebrate with us. It won’t be the same without you.”
“Mandatory coven meeting. If I don’t go, I’ll get an earful. I can’t exactly skip out when my mother is the High Priestess.”
“You could come after!” Rosie took her arm pleadingly.
The grandfather clock chimed for seven o’clock, echoing through the tunnels. Lucy was already pushing it if she planned to get to the temple by eight. “By the time the meeting ends, it’ll be late. I need to gather my strength if an Order member is on the way to inspect my work.”
Rosie gave up. “Next time, no excuses! I love this library just as much as you, but there is more to life than these dusty books.”
Lucy stuck her tongue out at her, but she felt guilty for missing the equinox tonight. She wished she could spend the night relishing in the beauty of nature. Not that she didn’t love her job, but between the whispers of her becoming the next head of Foxford coven and her translation work, she was beginning to forget how to relax.
“Now, can we please get out of here? It’s freezing down here,” Rosie complained, though she was wearing a sweater vest over another jumper, and wolves ran a temperature that would kill a human.
“That’s a lot of layers for someone with—”
Rosie shoved her playfully. “Don’t you dare make a fur joke!”
“I’d never,” Lucy said innocently, giving Rosie a cheeky grin. “And I know how much you hate the cold, but we have to keep the vault climate controlled.”
“Don’t remind me. I’m the one who had to beg the coven for it to be installed,” Rosie said. Her face looked a little paler than usual as they approached the gilded knights, making her freckles stand out.
“And have I told you how much I appreciate it?” Lucy batted her eyelids, trying to distract her. She didn’t like asking the coven for anything herself, even if she had good reason to. She never wanted the village to think that her requests were granted because her mother was their High Priestess, or because the Hawthorne family had helped build and maintain Foxford during the war on witches.
“With every morning coffee you bring me.” Rosie stayed close as they made it through the dark tunnel lined with sword-bearing knights. Their gilded heads turned ever so slightly as they passed. “I really hate that your grandfather installed these. We could have got a dog.”
“Already have one.” Lucy smirked when they reached the gargoyles by the secret entrance.
“At least this dog doesn’t have to go to a coven meeting,” Rosie reminded her.
“ Veritas se revelet ,” Lucy incanted: let the truth be revealed . What had been a dead-end stone wall transformed into a row of bookshelves. With a loud crack and hiss, one of the bookshelves slid open to the second floor.
Rosie disappeared to turn off the lights, and Lucy hoped she wasn’t too disappointed about tonight. Lucinda brushed her hands on her tights. The reminder of the meeting had made her palms sweaty; she could only hope it was to talk about the upcoming Autumn Festival and not her pre-destined future.
Walking through the stacks and down the stairs, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was ready to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Surrounded by books in this converted cathedral filled with vast knowledge and a thousand stories, she knew there was a difference between studying leaders and becoming one.
At the centre of the library’s first floor, she lifted the reception desk’s divider and took off her pastel pink unicorn slippers. Without the lights, moonlight broke through the stained-glass windows and cast their colours over the desks and antique study lamps. She couldn’t believe it had grown so late.
“Not keeping your fluffy slippers on?”
“I doubt the founding families would appreciate them,” Lucy said, placing them on their very own shelf. They were a necessity in the chilly vault.
“The back door is locked, and everything is off. I’ll be in at twelve tomorrow, and I’ve put up a sign out front to say as much so you can tidy up the vault for our guest while I’m recovering,” Rosie said, leaning over the counter as Lucy pulled her knee-high black boots over her purple woolly tights.
“I’ll be surprised if you make it in at all,” Lucy said, jealous of her freedom.
She wrapped her multicoloured scarf around her neck.“Go ahead, I’ll lock up.”
“Are you sure? You don’t have much time to get to the temple,” Rosie pointed out, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“It’s fine, I’ll go straight from here. If I’m late again, the Crawfords and the Mathersons will hold it against me. I don’t want Mum to have to defend me again.” Lucy pulled her long maroon coat over her knitted cream sweater and black skirt, which was a little higher on her thighs this autumn than last. Funny how when you gained a few inches, clothes seemed to lose them… Not that she cared; every woman in her family was blessed with fuller curves, and she had never been taught anything other than to embrace them.
After a quick hug, Rosie disappeared out the towering front doors, the back of which were inscribed with protection spells. If the village ever came under threat, the library would be their fortress. Though the markings had long since faded, their design was a reminder of how far Foxford had come since its beginnings, and Lucy promised herself she’d do her best to be civil when the Order member visited them.
She had thirty minutes to get across town to the woods where the temple was concealed within the foot of the mountain. Her hand on the brass door handle, she realised she had forgotten about cleaning up.
At a click of her fingers, a broom flew towards her and awaited her command. The enchanted broom was two generations old. The magic usually faded from enchanted objects when the caster died, but somehow the broom remained the library’s keeper and cleaner.
“Broomhilda, you neglected the portraits this week. Tomorrow they’d better be dusted to perfection. Please make sure you remember to sweep the tunnels and the second floor.”
The broom tipped slightly, expressing its shame.
Lucy tutted. “Don’t sulk! If you do a good job tonight, I’ll enchant the mop tomorrow and you can work together.”
Broomhilda wiggled gratefully before moving to sweep between the shelves far more eagerly than usual.
Lucy removed the brass key from its hook and locked up the library behind her. She’d only made it halfway down the steps before she noticed the old defender parked obnoxiously across three spaces and groaned. What the hell was Benedict doing here?