Chapter 2
RUMORS AND RESEARCH
brANDON
Brandon ran his fingers along the spine of a newly acquired alleged first edition.
He guessed it to be late fourteenth century, penned and illustrated by a monk under orders from the Magisterial Consilium—the ancient organization that had been policing magical society since before Camelot.
No doubt they’d rewritten sections of the text to promote their own propaganda.
It was what they did, after all—alter historical documents, hoard powerful artifacts, and hunt certain magical bloodlines. They were a multifaceted organization.
Their wands would be in knots if they knew he had the original text, along with dozens of other priceless artifacts that had been smuggled out of Merlin’s secret lair in the sixth century CE.
Like the Liber Terrae, for instance.
A smile tugged at his lips as he wondered whether Muriel had received his package yet.
The book had been sitting in his private collection for decades, waiting—as all magical items were—for the right owner.
Brandan couldn’t think of a better steward than Muriel Brennan, the ethereally beautiful and extraordinarily powerful earth witch he crossed paths with recently.
A natural elemental like her deserved access to the best resources available.
And maybe, just maybe, the gift would put him in her good graces.
Unlike most females, she seemed immune to his good looks and innate charm.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her.
She, meanwhile, didn’t seem the least bit interested in him.
According to Jessie—Muriel’s best friend and the Mythic pack’s alpha’s mate—he shouldn’t take it personally.
Objectively, he understood. Practitioners were wary by nature and tended to separate themselves from others, himself included. There was a reason he had chosen to open his magical bookstore in Mythic. In the magically protected community of preternaturals, he could hide in plain sight.
So could Muriel—if she took Jessie’s advice and moved to Mythic. She’d be safer here than living as a lone witch on the outskirts of the Shenandoah pack. He’d make sure of it.
Assuming he could convince her to give him the time of day, that was.
Brandon closed his eyes, envisioning her here, sitting in one of the comfortable chairs by the fire, book in hand, flames reflecting in her silvery-blonde hair and enchanting hazel eyes flecked with brilliant green.
His magic intensified along with his desire, sparking and crackling along fingers that longed to stroke that perfect creamy skin.
Every now and then, she’d glance his way, a shy, enigmatic smile hovering on her perfect rosebud lips…
Yeah. There was nothing objective about his interest in Muriel Brennan.
The bell above the shop door chimed, interrupting his musings. Brandon didn’t have to look up to recognize Jason’s simmering dark energy. The fact that the vampire spymaster didn’t fully cloak his abilities was a testament to their tacit alliance.
Some might say they were coming dangerously close to friendship.
Brandon sucked his magic back and tossed the late Middle Ages forgery off to the side to give Jason his full attention. “Jason.”
“Brandon.” Jason lifted his head slightly, no doubt attempting to read the energy lingering in the air. “Bad time?”
“Not at all. Just sorting through new arrivals.”
“Yes, let’s go with that.” Jason's lips quirked as he picked up the fake volume and examined it with interest. “Is this genuine?”
“Magisterial Consilium propaganda,” Brandon told him.
“Pity. Well, you’d know, wouldn’t you?” Jason murmured.
Brandon cocked an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment? Are you finally acknowledging my encyclopedic knowledge of the arcane?”
“Something like that,” Jason said with a smirk, but his dark eyes were glittering.
“To what do I owe the honor of your presence?
“Can't I just stop in for a visit?”
“You're a vampire spymaster. You don't do 'just visits’”
“Fair point.” Jason's expression turned serious. “Actually, I came because there have been disturbing rumblings on the magical grapevine and I wanted to get your take on them.”
Brandon’s attention sharpened. Anything that Jason found disturbing was cause for concern. “What kind of rumblings?”
Jason hesitated, then said, “Acquisitional operatives.”
Brandon’s blood ran cold. Acquisitional operatives, commonly known as Collectors, were the equivalent of black ops forces in the magical world.
They were the bloodhounds of the Magisterial Consilium’s Venatori Division, operating under the guise of protecting the magical community.
Their true purpose was eliminating potential threats to the Magisterial Consilium’s power structure—primarily through illegally acquiring priceless objects and siphoning magical ability from natural-born witches.
Brandon leaned back against the table of unopened boxes and unshelved books. “Are you sure?”
“They’re keeping a low profile,” Jason agreed, “but they’re still lurking around. The last known report was close to three decades ago. Now it seems they’re crawling out from beneath their rocks.”
Brandon's jaw tightened. He didn’t ask for proof. If Jason said the Collectors were resurfacing, then he’d already verified. “What are they after?”
“That's what I’m trying to figure out.” Jason mimicked Brandon’s stance, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “The chatter suggests they believe an important item has resurfaced.”
“How important?”
“As important as it gets. The Codex Animarum.”
Brandon whistled. “The Book of Souls?”
“I take it you've heard of it.”
“Every magical scholar has heard of it, including you.” Brandon was already moving, pulling reference books from various shelves with the ease of familiarity.
“Refresh my memory.”
There was nothing wrong with Jason’s memory, which meant he was looking for confirmation and inside information.
“It's one of the most powerful texts on natural magic ever written.” Brandon pulled a leather-bound volume, its pages yellowed with age. “Some references suggest it might actually predate Merlin's era.”
Jason's eyebrows rose. “How much older are we talking?”
“Ancient. Like, pre-Iron Age ancient.” Brandon opened the book carefully, finding a passage he'd studied countless times.
“The Druids were the original natural witches—practitioners whose magic came from their connection to the land itself, bolstered by the cycles of nature. According to legend, their abilities emerged organically over generations, with the earth itself choosing certain bloodlines to act as conduits for its power, although some say the original Druids were half-Fae, half-human.”
He traced a finger over faded text. “The Codex was supposedly created by a Druidic circle as a way to preserve their knowledge. If that's true, we're talking about magic that's been practiced for thousands of years.”
“Is Brandon Emrys, descended from Merlin himself, telling me that the magic contained in the Codex predates written history?”
Whether he knew Brandon was a blood descendant of Merlin or just suspected was unclear.
It was quite possible he did know. In addition to having apprenticed under one of the greatest mages of Eastern Europe, Jason collected secrets like Brandon collected priceless magical artifacts.
Still, he wasn’t about to confirm or deny.
“Didn’t know you were such an avid fisherman.”
Jason laughed, pointed to himself, and said, “Spymaster.”
“Right,” Brandon muttered. “But essentially, yes. Merlin’s surviving journals credit much of his knowledge to the Druids, claiming he learned from natural witches who'd been practicing for centuries before he was born.” He looked up from the book.
“Learned magic is powerful. But natural magic?
That's primal. Pure. Direct from the source.”
“Which explains why the Collectors are so anxious to possess the Codex. But wasn’t the original destroyed during the witch trials?”
“That’s what the Magisterial Consilium wants us to believe. There have always been rumors it survived. That it was hidden, passed down secretly through the bloodlines of the most powerful elemental witches.”
Brandon put the book down and picked up another, flipping it open and scanning the text. “The Codex isn’t just a book of spells—it’s the guide on how to access and wield natural magic. It holds the kind of information that could make a witch incredibly powerful.”
“Or incredibly dangerous?”
“Yes.” Brandon looked up, his expression grave. “It could be catastrophic in the wrong hands.”
“Which means the Collectors would absolutely want to possess it. They won’t tolerate anyone with that kind of power outside their control. Just how catastrophic are we talking?”
Brandon’s blue eyes glowed. “Think earthquakes. Volcanoes. Tsunamis. And that’s just the beginning. Natural magic is tied to emotion, to instinct. To life itself. The Codex can amplify that connection exponentially because the wielder is tapping directly into the source. But there would be signs.”
“Like unexplained, off the charts magical surges?” Jason asked.
Something in Jason’s voice made Brandon put the book down and give Jason his full attention. “Yes, exactly like that.”
“That's what I was afraid of.” Jason's expression was grim. “Around the same time we started hearing about Collector activity, my contacts began reporting unusual pulses of wild, raw power.”
The pieces clicked together in Brandon's mind with horrifying clarity. His heart rate kicked up even as he kept his expression carefully blank. “Where?”
Jason’s expression was grave. “The Shenandoah Valley.”
“Muriel.” The name left Brandon's lips rougher than intended. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus. “You think they're tracking Muriel.”
“I think if there was a significant magical surge in the Shenandoah area—the kind that would result from an untrained elemental accessing something like the Codex—the Collectors would absolutely be investigating,” Jason said carefully. “And if that is the case, they won't stop until they find her.”
Brandon was already thinking, running through options, spells, protections. Magic stirred under his skin, responding to the threat to someone it recognized as important. Someone it wanted to protect.
“I sent her a book on earth magic recently. Maybe she’s been experimenting with some of the spells and that’s what’s showing up on the radar.” But even as he thought that, his gut rejected the idea.
“Perhaps,” Jason said skeptically. “What do you know of her family?”
“Not much,” Brandon admitted. “Jessie said Muriel’s mother died a few years ago.”
“How?”
Brandon frowned. “I don’t know.”
“What of her father?”
“Disappeared before she was even born.” Which explained—at least in part—why Muriel was so wary of him. Her own life experience had taught her that mages couldn’t be trusted.
“Hm,” Jason hummed, his expression turning thoughtful.
“What are you thinking?”
“Historically speaking, there is precedent for secret societies to closely guard knowledge until a successor is ready to assume the mantle. If there is an ancient bloodline tasked with keeping the Codex, and if Muriel is a direct descendent of that bloodline, and if her mother died before she could pass on that knowledge—”
“That’s a lot of ifs,” Brandon interrupted.
But what was fate if not a series of interconnected ifs coming together for some preordained outcome?
Historically, magical items had a way of resurfacing into the hands of the unprepared, often with disastrous consequences.
If that was the case, Muriel could be in grave danger and not even know it.
“If there’s even a chance that the Codex has resurfaced, we have to be proactive,” Jason said, echoing Brandon’s thoughts. “We can’t let the Magisterial Consilium get their hands on it.”
Or on Muriel, Brandon added silently, picturing her willowy frame and big, luminous eyes. He shuddered to think what they might do to her. “Agreed. How long do we have?”
“Hard to say. If the Collectors are still pinpointing the source of the surges, we might have a week. But once they're certain...” Jason didn't need to finish the sentence.
The next question was, how did they keep Muriel safe and keep the Codex out of the wrong hands?
“A cloaking spell,” Brandon said, thinking aloud. “One strong enough to mask her signature.”
“Can you do it?”
Brandon met his friend's eyes. “I can, yes. But it would require her cooperation. Given her history, she's going to be suspicious of any mage offering to cast spells on her.”
“Especially one she barely knows, no matter how much chemistry there is between you.”
Before Brandon could respond, the bell above the door chimed again. This time it was Jessie who bounded in, her long hair pulled back in a ponytail and concern beneath her normally friendly smile.
Brandon’s gut clenched. “Hey, Jessie. Everything okay?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just got off the phone with Muriel. I’m worried.”
Brandon and Jason exchanged a look. “Why?”
“She finally agreed to come to Mythic and stay for a while.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Brandon said carefully.
“Yes, but also sudden and unexpected,” Jessie said. “She sounded… off. Like she was scared or something.”
“Did something happen?”
“I don’t know. She said she’d fill me in when she got here. I think it has something to do with her magic though. That’s why I’m here. Will you help? You know more about magic than I do.”
“Of course,” Brandon said.
Relief washed over Jessie’s face. “Thank you. Whatever it is, it’s got her freaked out, and that’s freaking me out.”
If it was what he thought it was, they should all be freaked out. “When is she coming?”
“She’s already on her way.”