Chapter 22 #3
Victoria’s face kept cutting through his focus—cool, controlled, unflappable. Except now he knew what was coming for her. Loss. And the worst part? He couldn’t fix it. Yet.
His jaw tightened as he yanked another book free. “Not good enough,” he muttered. Because by now, it wasn’t just about restoring balance to the coven. It was about her. Somewhere between strategy meetings and near-death experiences, he’d crossed a line he hadn’t meant to cross.
He was in love with her. Not her body. Not the version of her the world recognized. Her.
Which made this whole situation especially cruel, because while her body didn’t matter to him, it mattered to her. And that was a stumbling block he couldn’t control.
He exhaled sharply and shoved that thought aside before it could slow him down.
The League would get involved. Of that, he had no doubt. If the sorceress didn’t cooperate, they’d make her. The witches weren’t exactly known for gentle persuasion on a good day—and now that Rayna’s pets had returned their weapons? ‘Subtle’ was off the table.
Still, he hesitated. There was a difference between extracting answers and crossing a line you couldn’t uncross. He didn’t know which side of that line they were standing on anymore.
A prickle ran up the back of his neck. Duke stilled. The library had gone quiet. Listening quiet.
He turned slowly. Nothing. No movement. No shadow out of place. Just rows of books pretending they weren’t full of dangerous ideas.
“Fantastic,” he muttered. “Now I’m imagining an audience.”
The feeling lingered. As if something had leaned in and then thought better of it. He didn’t like it.
He turned back to the shelves, searching faster now. Time was not on his side.
Victoria’s condition didn’t just affect her—it threw off the entire coven. They fought as a unit, moved like one mind split across multiple bodies. Every spell, every battle, every chaotic, barely-controlled magical disaster—they relied on that connection.
He knew what happened when that balance tipped.
India last winter had nearly taken them out. And the sea witch this summer? That had required everyone—and backup from the U.S. Coast Guard. Take one witch out of sync, and the whole system weakened.
“No pressure,” he muttered.
If the sorceress refused to help, there was only one option left—find the original spell and reverse-engineer it.
Which meant diving headfirst into the kind of magic his father had hidden for a reason.
Manipulative magic. The kind that didn’t care who it hurt as long as it worked. The opposite of the witch’s rede.
Duke hesitated at the edge of the deeper stacks, then stepped in anyway. “Congratulations,” he said under his breath. “We’ve officially reached the terrible idea phase.”
He set up a small working altar at the back—nothing elaborate, just enough to focus the magic. He laid out his tools with practiced precision. A salt circle would protect him and his intentions. Hopefully.
He would demand to see the spell that was used to create this mess.
Then he began. The incantation wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. The words carried weight, threading through the air like something alive. The temperature dropped. The lights flickered.
His hands steadied as the magic built—slowly at first, then faster, tightening the circle. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then light. It burst from his hands in a sharp, blinding flare, swallowing the room in white. The shelves groaned in response, as if the library itself were being forced to pay attention.
“Come on…” he breathed.
The light shifted. Narrowed. Focused. And then it locked onto the section of shelves in the far corner.
Duke didn’t waste a second. He opened the circle and crossed the room, following the light. When he arrived at the forbidden shelves, a glow bled through the wood, like there was something trapped behind it.
“Of course,” he muttered. “Another secret compartment. Because one wasn’t enough.”
He pressed against the panel. It resisted. He pushed harder. Then, with a reluctant click, it gave. Inside were scrolls. Dozens of them. Duke reached in carefully, pulling one free.
“Latin. Dense, precise, and absolutely not designed for casual reading. Perfect,” he said. “Light bedtime material.”
He scanned it quickly, his mind racing. Then he stilled. “This isn’t the whole thing.”
He flipped to another scroll, then another. “This reveals the curse,” he murmured. “It doesn’t undo it.”
“Argh. I still need the original spell-caster to tell me how to undo it. Damnit.” He let out a humorless breath. “Great. So, we’re back to her.”
He leaned against the shelf, staring at the scroll. “And that means I might have to interrogate a very powerful sorceress.”
He considered that. “Okay. Not ideal. But workable.”
Did he try to handle it himself? Or did he bring the witches in?
Because one option meant sharing control, the other meant better results.
“What does Victoria need?” He murmured, knowing the answer before he finished asking the question. “Results it is!”