Chapter 16 #2
Jasper’s head swiveled from Agatha to me as he awaited my answer. I told Agatha the same thing I’d told him about studying my notes and then deciding to meditate on a page in the grimoire. Halfway through the telling, a weird feeling, like a chill in my bones, overcame me.
“Hold on,” I said. I put my teacup down on the hearth, as there was no place else to put it, and I hurried to the base of the stairs, where I’d left my duffel bag.
I rifled through my meager possessions, looking for the one thing I didn’t remember packing.
It wasn’t there. My heart started to beat double time.
I dumped the contents of my bag onto the floor, searching for my notebook. It definitely wasn’t there.
“Zoe? What’s wrong?”
I turned to find Agatha and Jasper watching me with matching expressions of concern.
“I didn’t pack my notebook. It’s where I wrote all the grimoire’s symbols along with their frequency of use and groupings.”
“Do you want to go back and get it?” Jasper offered.
“It’s not there.” I began stuffing my bag with my things. “I would have grabbed it if it was still on the floor in front of the fire when I picked up the rest of the room.”
“Maybe it got kicked under the furniture in the ruckus.”
“No, I looked everywhere when I was cleaning up.” I met Agatha’s fretful gaze. “That means while we were being chased by an undead Viking, someone went into my house and took my notes.”
“This is concerning for a variety of reasons.” Jasper took out his phone and stepped back into the living room. “Excuse me, I need to make a call.”
I pressed a hand to my forehead, trying to remember the details of the notes I’d made about the grimoire. There was nothing in the notes that would help anyone without access to the source material. It was more that someone had entered my home and taken my work. I was pissed.
Agatha frowned. “One question.”
“Yes?”
“Where is your undead Viking? How did you manage to lose him?”
“About that…” I rose to my feet and gestured to the kitchen, where I knew she kept the hard stuff. “You might want something stronger to drink than chamomile while I tell you.”
· · ·
All in all, Agatha took the news of an undead Viking trapped in her family’s mausoleum fairly well. She agreed to stay away from the tomb, and I handed her the key that was usually kept in the marble box for safekeeping.
When Jasper joined us and explained the magic he’d used to trap the Viking, Agatha released a sigh and reached out to hug me. My second hug of the day when I usually got one hug per year from Agatha on my birthday. I wasn’t sure what to do with this overabundance of affection.
When Agatha released me, she cupped my face in her hands and said, “I don’t care about the Lively tomb. I’m just glad you’re all right.”
That made my throat tight and my eyes sting.
I nodded, incapable of speaking, and disappeared into my room with my bag of stuff.
I unpacked the grimoire and put it in the top drawer of the dresser on the far side of the room from my bed.
When I closed the drawer, I got the feeling it was relieved to be safe. Maybe that was just me.
Shockingly, I slept like the dead—for lack of a better description.
I had no dreams that I remembered, and when I awoke, the sun was already shining and the day was that clear, crisp cold that was particular to early November in New England.
Most of the leaves had fallen and the bare limbs of the trees looked stark against the vibrant blue of the sky.
I dressed in jeans, lace-up brown boots, and a pale pink cashmere turtleneck sweater.
I fastened my thick honey-brown hair in a ponytail at the crown of my head, letting the shorter wisps fall around my face, softening the severity of the hairstyle.
With a need to feel a semblance of control, I swiped on some mascara and lip gloss.
I wasn’t a big one for makeup, but even I knew it gave a woman a smidge of confidence when she wasn’t feeling her strongest, and that was certainly me today.
I hurried downstairs, stepping around the Lively family odds and ends that filled the house, and strode for the coffeepot in the kitchen, which was by far my favorite room in Agatha’s house.
It was the only clutter-free space, because it was Agatha’s primary area for practicing her kitchen witch skills.
The quartz counters were a soft white with deep veins of gray. The cupboards were also white and the appliances steel. The flooring was a waterproof, scratchproof, luxury type of vinyl made to look like planks of gray-and-cream wood that would likely outlast us all.
I pushed the swinging door open and abruptly came to a stop. Seated at the large dining table were Olive and Miles. Jasper was leaning against the deep steel sink and Agatha was at the stove, whipping up fluffy blueberry pancakes and crispy bacon.
“Good morning, Zoe.” Miles popped up from his seat and came at me with his hands outstretched. He clasped my fingers in his and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “We were just discussing the events of last night.”
I glanced past him at Olive, who was sipping her coffee, looking bored. Really? An undead Viking was boring? I shuddered to think what she might consider exciting.
“I’m sorry about bringing forth an undead Viking,” I said.
Olive frowned. The eyebrow with the scar lifted ever so slightly. “How exactly do you believe you managed that?”
“Eat first.” Agatha’s voice did not invite argument, and I thought she might be the only person alive who was not intimidated by Olive.
She placed a plate of pancakes in front of me.
“I know it’s not up to your usual nutritional standards, but today you need something more substantial than Rice Krispies Treats. ”
“I’ll choke them down just for you.” I winked at her and Agatha nodded in satisfaction.
I poured a hearty amount of maple syrup over my pancakes and took a seat at the table.
Jasper delivered a hot cup of coffee to me and my eyes met his for the briefest moment.
I could have sworn I saw sympathy in his gaze.
How mad was Olive going to be about having to deal with my undead Erik the Red?
I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”
I got through half of my short stack before Olive ran out of patience. “All right, you’ve had enough to take a break. Explain about raising the dead.”
I put down my fork and took a sip of the hot coffee.
It washed the sticky syrup residue from my mouth and I dabbed my lips with my paper napkin.
“Fine.” And then I explained everything from placing my hand on a random page of an old section of the grimoire to feeling a bond form between me and the book.
Olive and Miles stared at me while I spoke as if trying to find any subtext that might exist. There wasn’t any. I was merely doling out the facts.
“That sounds very hypothetical,” Miles said.
“That’s all I have right now, a working hypothesis.” I shoved another bite of pancake into my mouth.
“But it’s predicated on the belief that you conjured the Viking,” he added.
“And?” I prodded.
“I don’t think you did,” Miles concluded.