Chapter Forty-Four
Lilith
Power shot through Lilith, a potent draw toward something she had to see despite the late hour. She led Dragon to Brackenmere
Manor, her path marked with purpose.
The manor lay in quiet slumber, lit by a gleaming slice of moonlight. The invisible thread tugged at her gut.
This was the ideal time to explore, to orient herself with the rooms. Her heart constricted in her chest, a recurring sense
of dread.
The reminder of how swiftly she was running out of time.
Silent as the black cat shadow at her side, she examined the first floor where the scullery maid slept on a pallet in the
kitchen. The remaining rooms on the ground floor were entirely devoid of people.
Creaking floorboards sounded overhead. Someone else was moving through the house.
Lilith rushed into the Great Hall in time to catch the sweep of a white nightdress and red-gold hair on the second floor, along the railing.
Jacinda.
Lilith rushed up the stairs. A glance at Jacinda’s bedchamber revealed she was not there. The groan of a door being opened
sounded down the hall.
The library.
Dragon was already darting in that direction and Lilith hastened to follow. The door stood ajar, allowing her to glimpse inside
as a white nightdress disappeared into the secret room. The door fell into place, shielding its existence from view.
Was this the moment that would echo through generations, impacting lives of all of Jacinda’s descendants, including Lilith’s?
A chill raked down Lilith’s skin, a premonition of an enchantment that scraped against their gifts.
She wasn’t just watching history, she was witnessing her own legacy, the thing that had shaped every second of her life.
The thought spurred Lilith forward, into the library, into the secret room.
She stopped, blinded by darkness.
“Jacinda?” Her voice was loud in the small, quiet space.
She crept forward, heart thudding. If she could just speak to Jacinda…to understand.
The candles flickered to life and Lilith’s stomach dropped.
The room was empty.
Jacinda was not there.
Lilith stepped toward the table, noting the handwriting on the open page of the grimoire was different than previous entries.
The fat loops bespoke of a girlish hand.
Jacinda’s?
Lilith began to read.
What I have done is forbidden.