Chapter 12
twelve
Secret Spell Book
It’s too dark to see the book well, so I step closer to the back door and hold it up to the old glass, letting the early sun illuminate it.
The word “Spells” seems to shimmer with opal light. I trace the word with my fingers and the glimmering intensifies. It’s drawing me in. Asking me to open it.
Or maybe I’m going crazy.
Is this some kind of trick, or did I just stumble onto the coolest find ever?
I glance over my shoulder to check the stairs, just to see if Bastian is lingering. There’s a shadow on the wall on the midway landing, but it doesn’t look like him—or a man for that matter—and it doesn’t move. Must be a trick of reflected light.
I turn the book and look at the edges, then run my finger down the worn, smooth pages.
Aged paper is a thing, but this book isn’t going for the Dark Ages kind of aged paper where it’s purposefully misshapen.
No, it’s obvious that someone took care in creating the book, but the papers were cut by hand.
They’re not all the same width, or color.
A leather cord wraps around the tome twice, then twists around a bronze knob on the front, holding the book closed. The string is soft and weathered like the rest of the book. There are worn spots from where it’s been touched and held in the same way many times.
A loud clatter from the shop makes me jump and I hear Aaron mutter a curse. I glance at the shadow on the stairs.
It hasn’t moved…
I shake off the adrenaline and focus on the book.
My hand moves as if by a summoning, unwinding the cord from the metal knob.
The opal sheen of the letter spreads across the cover of the book, and brightens at the edges.
My eyes are unfocused as I run my finger over the side of the cover, past the metal knob.
A sharp prick on my finger makes me blink, regaining some awareness.
There’s a little needle sticking out beside the metal knob, and it’s glistening with my blood.
“Shit,” I curse, sucking on my index finger.
Why would someone put a freaking needle right there?
I use my middle finger to open the cover…
But it doesn’t open.
It’s as if it’s glued shut, all the way down.
My hope falls.
“So, it is a trick.”
“No,” Bastian says behind me and I gasp.
I whirl and look to the stairs. The shadow is gone.
“It wants your blood,” he says, behind me again somehow.
I twist around to see the black shadow beside the door. It’s amorphous and blobby, but it has golden glowing eyes.
I squint at it. “Basty boy?”
The golden eyes squint back.
“Are you in the wall?” I whisper, touching the mark.
The black ripples and slides away to another part of the room, but some of it is left on my fingers. I rub it between my fingers and it smears like ink as it mixes with my blood.
“I’m on the wall,” his disembodied voice says from across the room.
“Did you say somethin’, ma’am?” Aaron yells from the other room.
“Just talking to myself out loud! Sorry!” I call back, my heart racing.
I can’t let them see Bastian, or this glowing book…
I walk closer to the ink splotch and whisper, “What do you mean it wants my blood?”
“It’s my book of spells and it only opens for witch blood,” he says, his wide eyes focused on the tome in my hands.
He’s never been this cooperative before. He’s also never wanted me to touch his books before. This feels like a trap.
“If it’s your book, why can only witch blood open it?” I ask.
His eyes narrow and the inky black pupils turn snakelike. “Let down your cynical guard for one moment so you may discover more about your nature.”
I clench my teeth. “That wasn’t an answer.”
“Fine. Remain willfully ignorant.”
The edges of the shadowy ink blob ripple and then it disappears, taking the eyes last.
I growl and stomp my foot indignantly.
I want to know what’s in this book…but I also don’t trust that stupid lizard. I take the cord and wrap it around the book twice, then secure it on the knob, careful to avoid pricking myself again.
The opal shimmer dies down, then fades away, leaving the book looking plain. I tuck it against my chest and reach into the top drawer one more time, feeling around for anything extra.
My fingers move from the metal texture to paper. I hop and pinch, getting the page between my bloody index finger and my thumb. It’s just a ripped piece of ruled notebook paper with a few words and a signature.
Knowledge is power!
~C. Monty
“Wasn’t he the auction owner?”
I look at the spell book in my other hand and scowl.
Did he know there was a dragon here? How did he get ahold of his spell book? Did he hide it from him? Did he enchant it to only accept witch blood?
So many questions and only one person with answers.
Stupid dragon.
I take the spell book upstairs and set it on the counter beside the wood burning stove. Bastian isn’t in his ring of books, so I assume he’s still inking around somewhere.
I take a few minutes to have a very sub-par breakfast of apple and protein bar—I need to figure this food thing out soon—and then get to work, moving the smaller pieces of damaged furniture down to the shop.
Aaron and Robbie are making quick work of everything, and within two hours, the shop floor is clear of most debris.
I’ll need to come in with a broom a few times, but otherwise, it’s looking good.
A few layers of polish and some nice, artsy rugs later, I’ll have the perfect base to build a bookstore on.
The guys grab the last few things and then head out. Aaron bids me a quick farewell, but Robbie lingers, leaning his muscled bicep against the doorframe. He smiles broadly, and even covered in dirt and sweat, he’s handsome.
“Want an after pic?” he asks, flexing and giving me a pouty look that screams “underwear model.”
I chuckle. “No, I don’t want the girls to get any strange ideas about what I’m doing up here.”
His smile turns sultry. “We could always make those ideas a reality.”
A twang of ick goes through me, but I don’t know why. He’s a good-looking guy and I haven’t had sex in a while…
Still, I don’t want him. Not even a little bit.
“Knowing what my followers are into, I don’t think that’s a safe idea,” I say, trying to let him down easy.
“Oh, come on, I saw you looking at me,” he murmurs as he leans in and a whisper of danger goes through my mind. “I bet I could make a mess of you.”
I ignore the sensation and put on a cordial expression. “I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to clean up messes, not make them, but thanks for the offer.”
He slides his foot against the door, pinning it open. The hairs on the back of my neck rise in warning as his sultry smile takes on an air of wickedness.
“I’m too pretty for a girl like you to say no.”
A girl like you.
My skin crawls with self-loathing, but I reject it in favor of anger. “I’m saying no.”
“Are you?” he asks, reaching for my face.
Another hand clamps down on Robbie’s wrist so hard he yelps. Its olive skin tone is broken by long, wild scars. I follow the line of his arm to torn sweatpants, up to a scarred bare chest, then to a face that’s both familiar and foreign.
Bastian.
“She said no.”
Robbie pulls on his arm as he yells, “Who the fuck are you?”
I know the strength of Bastian’s grip all too well. There’s no way Robbie can escape him.
“Apologize for your unwanted advances,” Bastian says.
I’m transfixed.
Breathless.
Wordless.
Bastian’s human features are pinched in fury, his black eyebrows drawn together so tightly there’s hardly skin between them.
“Apologize,” he snarls, his Scottish accent flaring.
Robbie cries out as something in his wrist pops. “I’m sorry!”
“What’s going on!” Aaron yells as he runs from their truck to the shop.
Bastian releases Robbie’s arm and steps partially in front of me.
“Your man ignored her wishes to be left alone,” he says.
Aaron’s gaze moves over Bastian, then me, before it lands on Robbie in a glower.
“You broke my wrist!” Robbie yells, his eyes watering as he cradles his arm to his chest. “That’s assault, man!”
“And you’re lucky you didn’t get a busted nose to go with it,” Aaron snaps. “Get in the truck.”
“But Dad—”
“Truck!”
Robbie glares at Bastian, and then his fiery stare turns ice cold as it lands on me. A chill runs down my spine at the hatred in his gaze.
“Now!” Aaron roars and I start from the power of his voice.
Bastian’s hand finds my hip, and he pushes me behind him a little farther.
Finally, Robbie turns away, muttering curses.
Aaron watches him go for a moment, then looks back at us with a sigh. “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s no excuse for this, but please know that his behavior isn’t something we promote at HHJ. Despite several warnings, he continues to be a pain in my ass.”
A dozen thoughts crash in the forefront of my mind, but Bastian speaks first.
“Perhaps he’ll learn this time.”
Aaron’s salt and pepper eyebrow ticks. “Maybe.”
There’s a loud curse and the truck door slams shut.
He sighs again, wiping a hand over his face. “I’m truly sorry. What a horrible welcome to the neighborhood. Is there something I can do to make up to you?”
Bastian looks over his shoulder at me, his cataract covered eyes hiding their snakelike quality.
“If you could just not have him come back for the additional removal, that would be great,” I say.
Aaron huffs a mirthless laugh. “That’s not a concern. My brother gave him one more chance, and that was it, so he’s out. And that wrist’ll keep him homebound for a bit.”
A bit of guilt tries to worm into my mind, but I shut it down.
Robbie was being inappropriate on the job, just the same as if I had harassed my publishing contacts at Waldorf. He deserves this, and it’s not my fault. I said no, and he ignored me.
I bob my head. “Thank you.”
“We’ll call you tomorrow to come back for that staircase and the furniture in the back,” Aaron says, then adds as he’s turning away, “You two try to have a nice day.”
“You too,” I call as my gaze drifts to the passenger side of the truck where Robbie seethes. I can’t help but feel like I’ve just made a lifelong enemy in this small town.
Bastian closes the door, breaking my stare into the void. I look up at him as the olive skin melts away into green with golden scales. His gaze bores into mine as the muscles of his jawline flex.
The adrenaline ebbs and my thoughts come back to me with some clarity.
Bastian protected me.
Not only that, he defended me, and demanded retribution.
I swallow to wet my throat, arid from short, fearful breaths, and mumble a thanks.
His shoulders drop a measure and his clenched jaw relaxes. “He became an unwelcome guest, not contributing to the expansion of my hoard. I was simply doing what dragons do.”
I purse my lips. “But you made him apologize.”
“Yes, well, I…” He scowls, licking his lips. “I had to assert dominance.”
My eyebrows rise skeptically.
His scowl turns into a grimace, and then he disappears in a splat of ink.
He protected me.