Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Sydney
A fter the worst Tuesday ever, I’m more than happy to escape to my flat. I shed my clothes as I head to my bedroom. I shed tears just as easily.
My careless words got Caden dismissed. Granted, he was eavesdropping when we’re all suspicious that he’s trying to steal my story. I did my best to persuade Holly to take him back. No luck. Now Caden likely assumes that I tattled to my editor because he hurt my feelings by leaving my bed this morning. He must think I’m a spiteful shrew and never wants to see me again.
I’m crushed. I’ve got to find Caden and set matters straight. Already, I miss him with a yearning I don’t understand. Surely it’s impossible to fall in love in a handful of days with a man who’s only shared himself begrudgingly. Blast, he’s never even kissed me.
If he wants nothing more to do with me, I’ll have to accept that. But I hate him believing that I had him binned in a scorned woman’s act of vengeance. Normally, I would ring him, apologize, and explain. But I have no means of getting in touch with Caden—no idea where he lives, no mobile number…nothing.
I bite my lip. Except…I have the magical diary.
Did my previous scrawling really bring Caden to me? Can I know the answer if I don’t experiment?
Determined, I grab my mobile and ring Aquarius. The moment my friend and assistant picks up, I blurt, “Do you swear the book worked for you?”
“Mellow, boss lady. Like I said at lunch, it works. From what you told me, you discovered that yourself.”
“Maybe it was coincidence.”
“I was skeptical at first, but after I wrote about Alex a few times, and all my fantasies came true…I believed.”
Yes, but did I force a man who doesn’t actually want me to come to my flat and shag me? Even the possibility makes me feel unintentionally manipulative and wretched.
“It’s such a pathetic thing to do, write such a fantasy, regardless of what he wants.”
“You’re worried about bad karma. I get it.”
Not precisely, but… “Something like that.”
“Alex never minded, and we’re still friendly. But if you’re going to report on the book, you should test it again. Be certain and all.”
She’s not wrong. But Caden is the only man I fantasize about.
On the other hand, Holly will want a new twist on this magic story, and until I shore up a few facts, I can’t move forward with a piece about the identities of the bodies in the tunnel. That really only leaves the book. Unless…
“I didn’t have the heart to ask your cousin any more questions after she broke down at lunch. She looked so pale and tired. Is she all right?”
“As well as can be expected, but she won’t talk anymore, Sydney. When she asked me if you were a journalist, I couldn’t lie. She knows she’s said too much, and when I admitted you’ve been writing stories based on her experiences, she was terrified Mathias will find her.”
Damn it all! There goes my only other angle. “I’ve never given details about her identity. I never would.”
“But some things only she would know. She says it’s too risky for her, for magickind, and for you. Mathias is ruthless.”
I grip the phone. I need that source…yet the witch’s physical and mental state is so fragile, I don’t dare push. Aquarius’s cousin is one shock away from a total breakdown.
The timing is shit, but I’ll have to press ahead with what I’ve got: the supposed magical book.
After I test it again, of course.
Aquarius and I ring off. I sink onto the edge of my bed, unstack the nearby books, and lift the little red volume at the bottom. I turn to the page where I wrote my previous fantasy.
The page is blank.
What the hell? I flip a few pages back and forth. Nothing.
When I arrived home from work yesterday, my words were still visible, mocking me for believing magic would deliver Caden to my bed. Now, my fantasy is gone. Disappeared. I peer closer, but I see no signs of a ripped page. No erasure marks. Just one perfect, pristine page after another.
Because my fantasy came true, is that the reason my words vanished?
No. There must be some logical explanation. Perhaps the pages are stuck together, or I’m not seeing the ink properly in this light or, heaven forbid, Caden found my scrawling while he was here last night and removed it without a trace.
Whatever’s going on, I must talk to Caden—and hope that he wants me regardless of what I previously wrote.
Before I lose my nerve, I grab a pen, then carefully craft a “sexual fantasy.” That is, if a fantasy of Caden darkening my door to have an honest conversation with me counts as sexual. I can’t resist adding a wish that he make love to me only if he genuinely desires and cares about me.
When I’m finished, I lower my pen with a sigh. Moments later, fresh ink appears on the next page:
Sleep, dream, anticipate…
The fantasy you imagine will soon be your fate.
My breath catches. That’s twice now the book has responded. That’s not typical; that’s paranormal. Which makes me wonder… Can my fantasy really come true again?
As I close the book, I have more questions… Is the diary capable of fulfilling emotional desires, not merely sexual ones? After all, I’ve asked for honesty, not pillow talk.
And since I’ve written in pen, I can’t erase the words. But honestly, I don’t want to. If this “fantasy” brings Caden ‘round so we can talk—and I can apologize—I’ll put the brakes on anything else until I’m certain our desires are mutual.
And if it doesn’t, then I’ll know.
The question is, how long will I have to wait?