Chapter 15 Elowen
ELOWEN
I gasp and jerk back from the Grimoire, my heart leaping into my throat.
For one wild, awful moment, I’m certain it’s Sister Agatha behind me—that I’ve been caught–that everything is over. The thought hits so hard it’s almost a physical blow. My concentration shatters and the silence spell collapses at once, the invisible bubble popping like a soap film in the air.
The alarm cuts off abruptly.
At the same time, the shimmering rainbow barrier reforms around the Forbidden Grimoire, sealing it once more in its protective sphere as though nothing had ever touched it.
Relief floods through me—sharp and fleeting. Because the moment I turn around, I realize I have far worse problems than being caught.
I have company…Grizalyn.
The witch stands only a few feet away from me and she looks even taller than when I first saw her—tall and terrible in her black lace gown.
Her dark hair is coiled like a nest of serpents around her shoulders and her purple eyes glitter with cruel intelligence.
The scent of her hits me a moment later—something acrid and bitter, like burned herbs and spoiled perfume.
Her perfectly shaped lips curve in a cruel smile.
“Clever little priestess,” she says softly, her voice like silk dragged over thorns. “And yet…not quite clever enough.”
My mouth goes dry. I try to speak, to say something—anything—but nothing comes out but a faint, broken sound.
Grizalyn takes a step closer, her gaze raking over me in open disdain.
“Tell me,” she says, her lips curling into an angry sneer. “How did you evade my curse?”
“I—I…” My voice trembles. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what she wants to hear. My thoughts are scattering like frightened birds, impossible to gather.
The witch’s expression hardens.
“Enough,” she snaps. “I will find out myself.”
She lifts one elegant hand and points one perfectly manicured finger directly at me. Magic gathers at her fingertips—dark and pulsing, like smoke given form—and then she speaks.
“Tongue unbound and truth laid bare,
No secret kept, no thought to spare.
Speak what was done, conceal no part,
Let truth be torn from mind and heart!”
The words wrap around me like chains, and I feel them dragging the truth from my lips. I try to resist but my paltry magic is no match for Grizalyn’s great strength and years of experience.
I gasp as something tightens in my chest, slides up my throat, and settles heavy on my tongue. I try to clamp my lips shut, but they part against my will.
“I—I went to the tavern,” I hear myself say, my voice shaking. “I found him—the Drake Shifter—the one you…you meant for me to choose.”
Heat floods my face, burning hot and humiliating but I can’t stop talking.
“I asked him to…to take me,” I go on, the words spilling out faster now, unstoppable.
“But he didn’t—he didn’t want to hurt me.
He helped me instead. He—he stopped before…
” My breath catches, my cheeks flaming even hotter.
“He didn’t give me his seed. He made sure he didn’t.
So my eyes didn’t change, and my belly didn’t grow. ”
I want to stop talking now–gods, I want to stop. Haven’t I told her enough?
Apparently not, because I am compelled to keep talking.
“He was kind to me,” I finish helplessly. “He didn’t treat me like—like I was nothing. He helped me come and that broke the curse. For a while, at least.”
At last I can stop talking. The moment the last word leaves my mouth, the magical pressure vanishes. I stagger slightly, sucking in a breath as though I’ve been held underwater.
Grizalyn is staring at me and the look on her face is one of pure fury. Her lips pull back from her teeth, her expression twisting into something ugly and sharp.
“How,” she hisses softly, almost to herself, “Can the spell ever become permanent if he refuses to pluck the innocent flower?”
“What?” The word slips out before I can stop it, but it doesn’t matter–she ignores me completely.
Then her gaze snaps back to me–colder now, and calculating.
“And what,” she says slowly, “were you doing with the Forbidden Grimoire?”
I shake my head instinctively, panic rising again.
“I wasn’t—I didn’t—”
She lifts her hand once more.
I don’t even hear the full words this time—I just feel the magic slam into me like a physical blow.
My body goes rigid as once again I am compelled to speak.
“I was looking for a spell,” I hear myself say, the truth dragged out of me once more. “A time weaving spell. To go back. To stop myself from ever going to your house. To stop the curse before it began.”
Silence falls…then the witch smiles.
It is not a pleasant sight.
“So you want to work a Time Weaving,” she murmurs, almost appreciatively.
“That’s very ambitious, little priestess.”
Her eyes glitter as she studies me, and I have the horrible feeling she’s seeing far more than I want her to.
“That is the most advanced spell in the Grimoire,” she goes on. “The only one more difficult is the spell to undo Death’s Kiss itself. And you think you can work it?”
“I…I don’t know,” I whisper. “It was all I could think of to try.”
She laughs–the sound is sharp and cruel as breaking glass and echoes faintly off the high marble walls of the library.
“Oh, I think you should try, little priestess,” she says. “In fact…I think it could work out very well for me.”
My stomach drops. What does she mean by that?
But before I can say a word, she points at me again.
This time, the magic that gathers in the air around her feels heavier–thicker. It coils through the air like something alive, brushing against my skin with a sickening, feverish heat.
Then she speaks and I know at once I’m being cursed.
“Let hunger bloom and burn anew,
No rest, no peace shall come to you.
Let longing rise, unquenched, unstill,
Till heart shall bend to body’s will.
Crave his seed with aching need,
Let want grow sharp as any greed.
And when he fills you with his seed
Your belly swells to show you breed
“There,” she says lightly, lowering her hand. “That ought to ensure your eyes change–and your belly swells–long before your little quest is over.”
I stared at her in horror, but her words barely register. Because the moment her spell hits me, I gasp.
The sensation is immediate–almost violent. The need that has been simmering inside me—already difficult, already distracting—surges like a breaking wave. It floods through me all at once, doubling, tripling, until it feels like it’s going to tear me apart from the inside.
My breath catches in my throat and my knees go weak. I press a hand to my stomach, then lower, instinctively, as heat pools between my thighs—thick and insistent and impossible to ignore. My nipples tighten painfully beneath my robes–a sharp, aching throb that makes me whimper under my breath.
“Oh—oh, Goddess…” I whisper.
It’s too much. Too, too much. And it’s so much worse than before.
The need is so bad I can barely think. All I know is that I feel empty inside and I have a burning thirst in my throat.
Name of the Goddess, what am I going to do?
Grizalyn watches me with open satisfaction, her purple eyes gleaming.
“Yes,” she says softly. “That should do nicely. How can he resist you when you’re so deep in need?”
Then, before I can even gather myself—before I can speak or beg or demand that she lift the curse—she turns sharply and reaches for the Forbidden Grimoire.
The moment her fingers close around it, the rainbow barrier shatters and the alarm explodes into sound again.
The woman’s voice rises loud and furious, echoing through the vast library.
“Unclean hands profane this page!
Wake, oh temple—mark outrage!
Guard the word and seal the lore!
Bar the thief at wisdom’s door!”
Grizalyn only laughs.
“I’ll see you later, little priestess–when you’ve fulfilled your purpose!”
A cloud of black and violet smoke erupts around her–thick and choking–smelling of ash and rot and something far worse. It fills the air, stinging my eyes and burning in my throat.
And then she is gone, taking the Forbidden Grimoire with her.
The alarm continues to scream and gets even louder, demanding that the whole temple come quickly to protect what has already been stolen.
And I am left standing there alone in the middle of the library, trembling, breathless, and burning alive with a need I can barely contain.