Chapter 11
THE TRUTH IS TERRIFYING
MURIEL
The ride back from Armand's estate was quiet. Muriel was attempting to process everything Armand, Brandon, and Jason had revealed. To say it was overwhelming was an understatement.
Had she been back in Shenandoah, she might have inadvertently leveled an acre or two. Here, she leaned into the magic that flowed seamlessly with hers, keeping her grounded, centered, and relatively stable.
Beside her, Brandon drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console between them.
His profile was classic and sculpted in the light of the dash, his slightly too-long hair artfully messy and falling across his forehead in silky waves.
Her fingers twitched with the urge to push them back.
She looked away before he could catch her staring. Again.
A week. She'd been in Mythic and living above The Glas Tann for a full week now, and her attraction to him continued to grow. His generosity, his kindness, and his patience complemented his stunning good looks in ways she hadn’t expected.
Ways that were systematically eroding her pledge to keep things impersonal—something increasingly hard to maintain with his magic so intimately connected with hers.
The Codex sat in the satchel on her lap, humming softly and rhythmically against her thighs, almost as if it was napping. Armand's words echoed in her head. The foundational text of nature magic itself. Not just earth magic. Not just a powerful grimoire. The source material of elemental knowledge.
No pressure there, right? What had her mother been thinking, leaving something like this to her with no warning?
“You okay?” Brandon asked, shooting a sidelong glance her way.
“Peachy.”
His lips quirked. “So, not peachy then.”
A flicker of something warm ghosted through their connection and she sighed. “It's shorter than saying, 'I'm processing the fact that I'm apparently the keeper of the most dangerous book in existence and, oh yeah, there are mercenaries hunting me.'”
“Fair, but you’re not alone. You’ve got me,” he said with a crooked smile. “And the vamps. And Jessie. And—”
“Okay, okay,” she conceded. She didn’t tell him that while she truly appreciated their help, she worried about putting targets on their backs, too. The Magisterial Consilium and the Collectors were ruthless. They didn’t worry about things like collateral damage.
Which was why she had to learn everything she could about taking care of herself and not get sidetracked by distractions, no matter how enticing.
Silence settled again. Muriel watched the trees blur past, patches of moonlight streaming through and painting the ground in silver.
Her magic stretched and curled, nestled in the contentment of the Codex, Brandon's proximity, and the constant low-level thrum of his magic purring deep within her. It was such a comforting feeling, she wondered why magic users didn’t employ resonance more often.
Then again, maybe they did. She wouldn’t know.
“Armand seemed certain,” she said finally. “About what it is.”
“He is.”
“And you agree?”
“He's spent more than a thousand years studying magical texts, so yes, I’m inclined to agree.”
Muriel's brain still couldn’t wrap her mind around that. Around any of it. Thousand-year-old vampire monk scholars? Ancient, sentient grimoires holding the origins of magic? Mercenaries who drained witches of their power and stole objects for their greedy employers?
Her life had gone from quiet and predictable to full-on supernatural thriller in the span of two weeks. What was next? Fire breathing dragons?
She bit her lip to keep from asking if they were real, too. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
Instead, she said, “He also said that it chose me.”
“The alternative is to believe that a random sequence of unrelated events put it in your hands. Which is more believable?”
Muriel thought about the surge of power, the visions, the way the Codex had made itself known. Put together like that, it did seem like an unlikely string of coincidences.
“It's not coincidence, Muriel. The Codex was waiting for you, until you were ready.”
The words made her stomach clench. She let out a nervous laugh. “Then it screwed up big time, because I’m not ready to handle any of this.”
“We rarely believe we’re ready for the things that matter most. That’s why fate takes things into its own hands sometimes.”
Another wave of unexpected emotion washed over her, this time a tangle of regret and soul-deep longing.
What regrets did he have? What did he long for?
She looked over at Brandon. His jaw was tight, and his hands were gripping the wheel hard enough to turn the skin over his knuckles white. His voice had sounded pained, and for a heartbeat, she could have sworn she felt the echo of it in her own chest.
Then it was gone, and it dawned on her how selfish she was being. She’d been so wrapped up in her own problems, she hadn’t considered anyone else’s.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Peachy,” he said, echoing her earlier response with a slight smile. Unlike her, however, he didn’t elaborate.
Muriel let it go. She’d respect his privacy. Digging into things he didn’t wish to share seemed like a poor way to repay him for everything he’d done and was continuing to do for her.
They reached the town proper and cruised the main street in silence, the streetlights casting golden pools on the sidewalks.
If she looked closely, she could see shadows moving beyond their reach, nothing but patches of denser black in the darkness.
The quaint town had a more sinister vibe at night than it did in the daylight hours.
Brandon pulled his car into the garage, and she sighed in relief as the comforting wards settled around them.
“Thank you,” she said, impulsively placing her hand on his. “For everything you’re doing.”
His gaze softened, the look in his eyes warm as he gave her hand a brief squeeze. “You’re welcome.” Just that quickly, he released her hand, the warmth receding behind that frustratingly blank wall that he put up more often than not lately. “Are you hungry?”
She blinked at the sudden chill—not just his withdrawal, but something else. Another pulse of emotion that wasn’t her own. It had to be his, right? Was the resonance bond allowing her to pick up brief flashes of his moods beneath that calm, controlled mask?
“It’s late,” she said.
“Mack’s is still open. I could run over and grab us something.”
Muriel recognized the desire to flee and the need for distance. It was the why of it she didn’t understand. Maybe he, like her, was feeling overwhelmed by everything they’d learned tonight, and this was his way of dealing with it. “Okay. Sure.”
He saw her inside, then left, leaving a strange but familiar ache in her chest.
She stepped farther into the apartment, breathing in the scent of old books, earth, and Brandon. Plants now dominated the space, something she knew he’d done exclusively for her.
A week ago, this had been his space. Now it felt like... theirs.
Muriel set the Codex on the kitchen table and filled the kettle. Her nerves were frayed; her thoughts, scattered. It had been a hell of a night.
The door opened fifteen minutes later. Brandon entered carrying a bag from Mack's Diner, the scent of grilled meat and fresh bread making her stomach growl.
They unpacked the food in comfortable silence. Brandon had gotten her the club sandwich—her favorite, though she'd never specifically told him that. He just seemed to know things. He paid attention to what she liked, what made her smile, what made her magic hum.
It was like being seen—truly seen—for the first time in her life.
“How was your time with Ana and Ryssa?” Brandon asked once they'd sat at the table with their sandwiches, his mask firmly back in place. “While we were examining the Codex, I mean.”
Muriel paused mid-bite, considering. “It was nice. They're both very kind.”
“But?”
Of course he'd caught the hesitation. “No 'but.' It was nice.” She set down her sandwich and met his eyes. “They think very highly of you.”
Something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe, or discomfort. “Do they?”
She nodded and took a sip of her tea. “Ana said you know a lot about magic and magical artifacts. Maybe even more than Armand.”
“Helps when you run a magical bookstore,” he said with a quirk of his lips.
This was her chance to find out more about him. “What made you decide to open a magical bookstore?”
“My family has been collecting magical texts and artifacts for generations,” he said slowly, carefully. “So I suppose it’s in my blood.”
“But you do more than just acquire them,” she pressed.
“You preserve them, share them, use them to help people understand what they were dealing with.” The truth of it resonated with her even as she said the words.
That was the difference between mages like him and Silas Corvus.
Brandon didn’t pursue things simply to possess them or further his own agenda.
“You give me too much credit.”
A wave of fierce emotion washed through Muriel's chest. Pride? Shame? Guilt? It was so intense it stole her breath. Except it wasn't hers. The feeling was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving her slightly dizzy.
“Muriel? What’s wrong?” Brandon's attention snapped to her, concerned.
She pressed her hand to her sternum, frowning. “Sorry, I just felt a wave of dizziness there for a moment. I think the adrenaline's finally wearing off. I’m okay now.” She forced a smile and picked up her sandwich again.
Brandon didn’t look convinced. He regarded her with those beautiful blue eyes, eyes that held secrets far older than his fit body and unlined face.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
He hesitated. “Sure.”
“How old are you?”
His eyebrows rose, a hint of amusement flickering across his features. “That's a very personal question.”