Chapter 5
Selene
“You look like crap.”
“Thanks,” I reply, following my sister inside the shop.
“Did you have the dream again?” Gwyn asks, hazel eyes dark with worry.
“Yep.” Just like every night for the past few weeks, my sleep was once again disrupted by the vision of the blonde guy I’d taken to calling ‘Golden Boy’—at least in my head.
“I don’t like it. Your visions have never behaved this way.” I follow Gwyn across the dark wooden floor of the shop towards the office in the back. “Maybe we should tell someone about them, there has to be something we can do so you can get a real night’s sleep.”
“I’m the only moon witch in town. There’s nobody to ask,” I reply, hanging my coat and bag on the back of the office door.
“I know.” Gwyn sighs and bends to get the cash drawer for the till out of the safe.
“I love this town, but sometimes I wish it was bigger—then there’d be more room for witches like you and Eve.
” I hear what she’s not saying. There would be someone to help her daughter once she fully comes into her card’s power.
As things stand, Eve will have no choice but to leave town and go to an academy to train—the rules are stricter for her than they were for me.
“I wish Esmeray were still here. She’d know what it meant.”
Joining my sister and her family in Crystal Lake the moment I finished secondary school was the best decision I ever made.
I lived with them for a few years while working at Threads of Magic to save for my academy tuition.
All supernaturals are expected to begin intensive formal training from the age of twenty, either at an academy or virtually with private practical lessons.
After finally finding a home I in a town I felt comfortable in, I’d dreaded having to leave Crystal Lake to complete my training.
But then Esmeray, an ancient moon witch, offered to help with the practical elements of my training.
I jumped at the chance not only to stay in town but to learn from someone so experienced.
Then she died just weeks before my final academy assessment.
At several hundred years-old it wasn’t exactly a surprise she passed away in her sleep one night, but it was still sad.
She was an amazing woman and a truly gifted witch, and I still had so much to learn from her beyond what I needed to learn for my academy qualifications.
If anyone would have been able to tell me what this reoccurring vision means, it would have been Esmeray.
“I’m sorry.” She squeezes my arm. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out. We can have a sister date at the library—one of those musty old books must have something we can use.”
“Maybe.” I take the cash drawer and head back out to the shop floor.
It’s not that I don’t want answers, of course I do, but if the community weren’t such dicks about having the ‘right’ kind of magic this kind of thing would have been included in my Academy level training.
Instead, I’m once again being punished for something beyond my control, left to fumble around in the dark searching for information that could, and should, have been part of my magical training.
I shut the till drawer a little harder than necessary, and Gwyn raises a dark brow at me from the door where she’s flipping the sign to ‘open’. “Sorry.”
She waves me off. “It’s OK, I get it.”
I bite my tongue before this tired and cranky version of myself says something I’ll regret.
Gwyn saw how I was treated growing up, and now she’s got Eve she once again has a front-row seat to the crap witches with too much free time and self-importance pull.
She does get it. But the closest she’s come to experiencing what it’s like first-hand was when she and Brooks realised they were mates and the same idiots disapproved of their mating.
It’s similar, but it’s not the same. I’m glad she’ll never truly know what it was like to be hated from birth—Gwyn got an ‘acceptable’ card at her Naming, meaning she also received comprehensive training.
Still, no matter how much I love her, it’s hard not to feel a little jealous of her at times like this.
Smoothing down the pleats of my tartan skirt, I put a lid on my simmering frustration.
It’s fine. I don’t need a bunch of stuck-up witches telling me what I do and don’t deserve to know about my own damn abilities.
If anyone can find a book with the information I need it’s Giles the town librarian. He’s intense but smart as hell.
“I’ll stop by the library later. Don’t worry, you don’t need to come with me.”
Gwyn looks up from the jumper she’s refolding. “You sure? I really don’t mind.”
“Yeah, thanks though. I’m not sure why, but this feels like something I need to do on my own.”
Battling with the heavy wooden door to the library as my handbag strap slides down my shoulder, I trip on the edge of the entrance mat, nearly spilling the coffee I picked up from Sweet Dreams across the foyer.
The thick door slams shut behind me, the sound echoing in the cavernous space, earning me several dirty looks. Whoops.
I wipe my boots on the mat and then do my best to keep my footsteps quiet as I walk to the help desk. Of course luck is not on my side, and my rain-damp soles squeak on the hardwood floor despite my best efforts. Someone tuts while Giles scowls at me from behind the ornately carved wooden desk.
“Hi Giles, I brought you this.” He adjusts his round, wire-framed glasses, looking at the cup of coffee I’m offering him like it’s a trap.
It’s actually a bribe that Dove assured me would get the cranky wolf shifter to help me but now I’m having second thoughts.
“Um, it’s a latte. Dove said that’s your favourite,” I explain, setting the paper cup on the desk and nudging it towards him.
At my mention of Dove’s name, his stern expression lightens a fraction.
He picks up the cup and takes a cautious sniff. “Thank you.”
“Thank Dove, she said you’re one of her best customers.”
“She makes the best coffee in town.” A hint of colour rushes up his neck to flush his cheeks, and he straightens his burgundy bow tie. Interesting. Giles tugs at the cuffs of his blazer and clears his throat. “I assume this is an attempt at bribery?” he asks, gesturing to the latte.
“No, you take too much pride in your work to need extra incentive to do your job.”
He gives me a flat look.
“OK, fine. I need something.”
“I’m shocked.” His deadpan delivery would suggest otherwise. For someone dressed head to toe in tweed, he sure is sassy. Guess it’s true what they say about not judging a book by its cover or, you know, a man by his three-piece suit.
“I need specific information on moon witches, and I’m hoping you might be able to point me towards the books most likely to have what I’m looking for.”
“As you said, I don’t require additional incentive to do my job, so why the coffee?”
I drum my fingers against the desk nervously. “The information I need might not be available to the general public. The coffee is my way of asking nicely if you’ll let me look at the texts reserved for academic use only.”
“Sounds like a bribe.”
“You say bribe, I say a friendly gesture.”
Giles rolls his moss-green eyes so hard I’m afraid he might strain something. “What is it you’re looking for?”
I look over my shoulder before replying furtively, “Anything about moon witches having recurring visions and what that might mean.”
Angular chestnut brows wing toward his hairline. “I see.” He unfolds himself from the office chair and comes out from behind the desk. “Follow me.”
Giles’s tan oxfords tap against the dark floor as he leads me through the maze of bookshelves and up to a dusty corner on the second floor.
He methodically pulls several thick, leather-bound volumes from the closest shelf, stacking them neatly on a nearby desk.
“Wait here. There are a few titles from the academic section that may be of use.”
Curious, I move to the desk, eyeing up the titles of the books he’s picked out. Moon Witches Through The Ages, The Art Of Divination, Understanding and Interpreting Visions. My heart sinks. These were all required reading for my Academy courses, they don’t cover recurring visions.
“Here.” Giles’s baritone makes me jump, and I narrowly avoid stumbling into him.
His moss-green eyes silently judge me while he carefully places a stack of dusty tomes next to the first batch of titles he pulled.
It’s then I notice he’s wearing a set of white cotton gloves.
“Please use these while reading the academic titles.” He sets a second pair of gloves and long tweezer type things on the desk.
“No photos. Take handwritten notes if you wish to keep a record of something.”
“Got it.” I nod. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but why are you helping me?”
“I’ve always disagreed with the way witches like yourself are treated. Knowledge is power. Those gifted with certain cards shouldn’t receive more comprehensive training than witches who specialise in other types of magic—it gives them an unfair, unearned advantage.”
My throat grows thick with emotion. How is it that this grumpy wolf shifter has more compassion for me than a great percentage of my own species? “So not the coffee then?” I ask with a lightness I don’t feel.
The corners of his lips twitch. “No. Although it has brightened my Saturday afternoon.” I must have imagined his sense of humour because he instantly switches back to strict librarian mode.
“Leave the books here, but stop by the desk before you leave so I know when you’re finished.
That way I can put everything back before anyone notices you’ve been reading something you don’t have permission to access. ”
“I will. Thank you.”
He inclines his head before walking away without another word.