Chapter 13 #2
I took a deep breath. This could be the moment that changed everything.
So far, I’d been a helper to the Order, but now, based on my family history, I might also be a hindrance.
And it was on me to come clean about it with my friends.
Hell, my family. My eyes skidded over to Lachlan, one of my oldest friends, and only found love there.
“I found something in the archives, and I don’t think it’s good.
Like, I think someone in my family did something really bad at some point down the line.
” I crossed to the table and pulled out my phone, showing them the photographs I’d taken.
“The Wrights weren’t just connected to the Order.
We were part of it. There was a position—a title—called the Bookkeeper.
It seems my ancestors held it for generations. ”
Hilda took the phone, scrolling through the images with growing excitement. “Bookkeeper. Aye, of course, Agnes. Of course! I’ve seen references to this, but I never understood what it meant. I thought it was just a term for whoever maintained the archives.”
“It was more than that. The Bookkeeper was responsible for witnessing oaths, keeping records, maintaining connections.” I hesitated. “And according to what I found, the position has been vacant since 1746. Since Isobel Wright.”
“Isobel,” Sophie said slowly. “Is she from your family then?”
“Aye.”
“Och, lass.” Archie shook his head and I knew what he was remembering. “She was the one, wasn’t she? The one who—”
“Aye. Supposedly betrayed the Order? Or so it seems.” My throat felt tight. “She did something terrible. Something so bad they wouldn’t even write it down. And after that, the Bookkeeper position was never filled again. The Wright line was ... cast out, I suppose. Cursed.”
The room went quiet. Archie moved to Hilda’s side, looking at the photographs over her shoulder.
“It makes sense,” Hilda murmured. “The Order was always meant to have nine members.”
“And we have eight,” Sophie said, turning to me with her eyes alight in her face. “Agnes. You’re the ninth. You’re the one we’ve been waiting for.”
“Apparently.”
“Obviously,” Quilliam corrected. “There’s nothing apparent about it.
The Stone has been waiting for a Wright to step into their role for three centuries.
Why do you think the Order kept having trouble staying complete?
Why do you think the Kelpies have been so restless for decades now?
Sure, they’ve risen up more recently, but they’ve never been fully buried, as Lachlan can well tell you.
As your own mum can tell you. The Order was never whole.
It couldn’t be, without its Bookkeeper.”
I relayed his words, and Sophie automatically turned, reaching out to grip Lachlan’s hand at the mention of his mother who had drowned in the loch.
“It’s you, then.” Hilda’s smile was encouraging, even as I fought the guilt that somehow my family was responsible for all these losses through the years. “You’re the key. You’re the final piece we’ve been missing.”
“A piece that my family broke.” The guilt sat heavy as a stone in my stomach. “Whatever happened didn’t just curse us. It seems like it almost ruined the Order itself.”
“But surely you can fix it, right?” Hilda asked, her eyes bright. “If you step into the role. Don’t you see? That’s what’s needed here. Without someone accepting the role and overseeing this, well, nothing changes. I’m certain you can change it.”
“Can she though?” Archie looked at Quilliam with scholarly fascination. “Is that how it works? The descendant of the one who broke faith can restore it?”
“Aye, in theory,” Quilliam said, crossing his arms over his wee chest. “Her blood carries both the sin and the potential for redemption. Agnes is the last daughter of the Bookkeeper line. Only she can restore what was lost.”
“He says that in theory, it should be possible that I can help,” I told them.
“This just makes so much sense,” Sophie said, tapping a finger against her lips. “Of course it’s you. Why wouldn’t it be? You’ve been with us all along, haven’t you, Agnes? We should do the ritual. Tonight. Now, even, if you’re willing.”
“But aren’t you upset? Or worried? About what happened with my ancestor?” I blinked at her. “Like, it seems like all of this bad stuff is because of us. I mean, my family.”
“Do we even know what really happened?” Lachlan asked, tilting his head at me.
“No, not really. Not yet, at least. But it doesn’t sound good.
I…” I stopped myself from blurting out how my bloodline was cursed.
It was the missing piece that Graham wanted to know, and I knew there was no way Lachlan would keep it from him.
He wouldn’t understand, not really, what I was trying to do to save Graham.
“Then don’t you think it is a little ridiculous to shoulder the entire blame for a massively intricate and deeply threaded magickal spell that’s held Loren Brae in its web for centuries?” Archie barked at me.
I mean, when he put it like that, I could see his point.
“We’ll figure it out,” Sophie said, clapping her hands together. “But we should do this, right? Like, is there anything stopping us from doing the ritual now?”
“Just the lass herself. If she wants to.” Archie nodded to me.
I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t anywhere close to ready. A few hours ago, I’d been eating scones with Graham and trying not to kiss him, and now I was meant to join the Order?
But what was the alternative? Keep running? Keep hiding from the curse, from my family’s legacy, from everything I’d been avoiding for years?
I thought of Graham and the way he looked at me like I carried the sun. The way he kept showing up, kept pushing, kept believing I was worth fighting for.
Someone had to fix this.
And it appeared that someone was me.
“I think it has to be me. Even if I die trying,” I murmured.
“Och, the dramatics of it all. I can’t help myself, I just love a baddie.” Quilliam gasped, and despite myself, I laughed.
“When did you learn what a baddie is?” My lips quirked as I stared at the wee book wyrm. Apparently, he was up on current vernacular.
“Hilda has been stocking the library with new books. A particular favorite is Fourth Wing.”
“Because dragons, right?” I smiled at Quilliam.
“Naturally.” Quilliam pirouetted, and I looked up at the others.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
“Excellent. I’ll get our coats!” Sophie raced from the room, Sir Buster barking at her heels.
“He’s a feisty one, isn’t he?” Quilliam asked, shaking his head after the dog.