Chapter 16
They went up to the library. Without Blanche to drive them somewhere more secluded, it was their best option. The lights were on, but no one was there after hours— Miles walked through all the shelves to double-check. Even the librarian was gone, the checkout desk empty, the door behind it closed.
The only soul still hanging about was Thistle High’s ghost janitor.
Miles could hear him humming a Journey song in the fantasy section.
Some ghosts had a purpose keeping them here and weren’t ready to leave; as long as they hadn’t started to descend into madness, there was no problem giving them time.
This guy was harmless, mostly shelving books that’d been left scattered about and straightening chairs.
Miles was pretty sure the grimoire couldn’t influence a ghost. But he’d keep a lookout, just in case.
Claiming a table in the back corner, Miles tugged the containment box from his bag and popped it open. The grimoire’s dark aura washed over him, carrying a memory of pain that made him flinch. The taste of blood flooded his mouth.
He didn’t bother asking Gabriel if he was sure he was up for this—neither of them would touch the grimoire again if they didn’t have to.
“Be careful,” he murmured, passing it over.
Gabriel flipped through the pages, brushing the coarse paper. “Its magic feels… farther away. More reserved than usual.”
“It wore itself out last night trying to kill us, and needs a nap.” It was a joke, but Miles’s humor faded. “Or it’s… full.”
The possibility was chilling, but at least Gabriel was getting some relief. Miles was trying his best to trust his promise that he’d be cautious, put the grimoire away if needed, but he still worried. Especially after last night.
“We’re nearly halfway through already.” Gabriel laid the open book across the table. The leathery cover squeaked against the polished tabletop. Even a brief glance at the narrow, jagged writing made Miles’s vision swim, a headache instantly thumping behind the bridge of his nose.
“There’s still plenty left. Don’t worry, it’ll be in there.”
Gabriel shrugged, as if he didn’t care. The lie was so obvious, Miles wasn’t sure why he bothered.
Over by the shelves, Miles caught a flash of overalls and a bushy beard. He turned away swiftly—the last time the ghost janitor realized Miles could see him, he’d talked his ear off about kids vandalizing books and how good rock music died in the early 2000s.
He dug out his math textbook and tried to focus on equations while Gabriel read. The library was hushed aside from the pattering of rain against a window and Gabriel’s occasional mutter to himself as he turned the page.
It didn’t take long to realize homework was a lost cause.
The numbers were swimming across the page, jumbling into more nonsense than usual.
And there was a spot where a single silky lock of Gabriel’s dark hair was curling behind his ear, a stark contrast against his pale skin.
As Miles stared, mesmerized by the gentle swoop, goosebumps sprang up across the exposed skin of Gabriel’s neck where his crisp white collar had pulled away.
“Miles.”
He started, totally caught. “Sorry, I wasn’t—”
“No, Miles, look at this.” Gabriel angled the grimoire towards him.
The Gift of Power
To bind your bloodline and divine magic together to unlock gifts aplenty
For those who wish to know their true power
Offerings:
– A sacrifice of life
Only one offering is required, but it is the most meaningful. Only life can fuel such magic, only the greatest of sacrifices can bring such power. Sacrifice must be of magic-touched blood and unwilling. Tools needed to complete the ritual and binding are provided upon invocation of magic.
Preparation:
– To invoke the magic, write the intended sacrifice’s name on parchment and burn to ashes. Mix ashes with blood of summoner until wet. Use the mixture to sign family name below.
Best performed during the night of a new moon to embrace limitless possibilities and beginnings.
Sacrifice must be performed on the same night or preparation ritual must be repeated.
Once completed, the power will enter, binding together with blood and body and soul.
That was the end of the page. Written below in a smudged, dark ink was Hawthorne. Not ink—Florence’s blood.
Miles turned to the next page but found himself staring down at a hex to bring misfortune upon enemies.
That wasn’t right.
“Where’s the rest?” he demanded. The paragraph on how to undo it. How to unbind the bloodline. There had to be a part for take-backs.
“It was torn out,” Gabriel said grimly, running his fingertip down the center where a jagged edge of ripped paper was visible. “Someone didn’t want us to find it.”
“That’s impossible. When we found this thing, it hadn’t been touched in forever.”
That didn’t change the fact that the rest—if there was more to it—was gone.
“This was all a pointless waste of time.” Gabriel’s jaw was so tense, it was a miracle he could grind the words out. “The curse can’t be broken.”
Miles put his head in his hands, trying to think. This couldn’t be it. There had to be something they could use. They didn’t have anything else.
“Maybe…” He stopped, drawing a blank. “That might not be it. What if there’s another—”
“Stop. It’s over.”
“But if the page was stolen so we wouldn’t find it, that must mean there’s a way to undo the curse.”
“You said it yourself. No one’s touched the grimoire in years or knew we’d be trying to undo the curse. It’s most likely another spell that’s been torn out.”
No, Miles refused to believe that. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
“We might not be the only ones who’ve tried to undo it. Someone else could’ve found the grimoire, ripped out the page—”
“Even if they did, they clearly failed and now the page is gone.” Gabriel stood with a squeal of his chair, snatching the grimoire. His nails dug into the cover. “This thing is useless. We can’t break the curse.”
He whirled around and stomped away, disappearing down an aisle.
Miles let out a long breath, shoulders slumping. He’d give Gabriel a minute to compose himself before chasing after him. He hadn’t stormed off towards the library exit and he wouldn’t leave while he still had the grimoire.
What a mess.
Fear mounted in Miles’s chest that Gabriel was right, but he pushed against it. He needed a clear head to think, to—
“Excuse me.” Gabriel’s tense voice shattered the silence of the library. “What are you—”
There was a loud thud, a strange choking noise, and what sounded like books hitting the ground. The hair on Miles’s neck prickled.
He sprinted after Gabriel, weaving through the tight aisles.
When he emerged at the end of the history section, he found the librarian—a middle-aged man in a tie-dye shirt and orange crocs who insisted students call him Joe instead of Mr. Boone—pinning Gabriel against a bookcase, fallen books littered at their feet.
His arm was pressed against Gabriel’s throat, free hand yanking the grimoire Gabriel was still holding.
“Hey!” Panic roared through Miles. He didn’t think before shoving Joe as hard as he could, focused only on getting him off Gabriel. The librarian hit the ground.
Gabriel was frozen flat against the shelf, eyes wide and lips parted.
“Are you okay?” Miles ran his hands over Gabriel’s shoulders, shaken by the sudden unexpected violence. “Did he hurt you?”
“I—” Gabriel swallowed, pale fingers lifting to his throat. “I didn’t say anything to him. I don’t know why he attacked me.”
Miles spun back to where Joe was hauling himself from the floor, one of his orange crocs left behind. “What the hell was that? What’s your problem?”
He didn’t look at Miles, didn’t acknowledge that he’d spoken. Gaze locked on the grimoire in Gabriel’s hands, his lips peeled back to bare his teeth.
He lunged. Miles managed to shoulder check him and send him crashing into the bookcase instead of Gabriel. Joe wasn’t as tall as Miles, but he was built surprisingly sturdy for a high school librarian. Getting hit by him, even a glancing blow to the shoulder, rattled Miles’s teeth.
Books cascading around him, Joe shoved himself back with an angry noise, his attention snapping back to the grimoire.
The look on his face was hauntingly familiar— Miles had seen the same razor-sharp desperation in Gabriel when they’d first found the book in the old Hawthorne place and it wormed its way into his mind.
Miles’s fear had come true: an innocent bystander had been enthralled by the grimoire’s evil magic. He lifted his mental shield, recoiling from the swirling maelstrom of darkness enveloping Joe.
That explained why it hadn’t been bothering Gabriel—it was too busy setting its sights on someone else.
Gabriel stumbled back from the force of Joe’s stare as Miles planted himself between them in the narrow aisle. “Listen to me,” Miles implored, lifting his hands to try and capture Joe’s attention. “Something’s messing with your head right now, okay? This isn’t—”
Joe collided into him with the force of a truck—missing a shoe didn’t slow him down at all.
They hit the ground in a heap, Miles getting jabbed in the spine by several books.
He didn’t even get a chance to suck in a breath before Joe was crawling towards Gabriel.
Having zero experience in a fight, Miles did the only thing he could think of and wrapped himself around Joe to hold him back.
He had to look absolutely ridiculous—both legs pretzeled around their librarian, his head shoved dangerously close to an armpit, his hands clenched around fistfuls of faded tie-dye like his life depended on it.
Well, Gabriel’s life.
“The grimoire,” he grunted, straining to maintain his hold. Either carrying books was more of a workout than anyone knew, or this guy was juiced up on grimoire magic.
Gabriel sprang forward and thumped Joe over the head with the heavy book. He didn’t hold back either, the force of the hit vibrating through to Miles.