Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
A few weeks later
Magdalene had been gifted a small home by the Caldwell’s over twenty years ago and Winter had been living in the spare bedroom for the past few weeks. Currently, she was shivering under the bedsheets.
This house was always freezing.
Magdalene was neither an elemental witch, nor rich. Foraging in this weather was criminal and neither of them were very good with a fireplace, so that was that.
With a few magical adjustments, Winter’s room was coming together.
She’d kept the walls white, per request, but had painted the ceiling black with stars to mirror the night sky.
They rotated too. Conjuring a massive bed frame, foam mattress and extra plush comforter had been her next project.
Getting them just right took a few tries.
Fluorescent ferns hung down in families over her writing desk, and red roses sat atop it, keeping her room smelling fresh.
Everything was glamoured, but it felt real.
However, Illusion Spells only lasted for a couple of hours.
She had to pair each one with an Amplifying Spell to hold the glamour in place for a few months.
Having her own space with the added consistency of working at the library made living in the past easier.
Three weeks had gone by and three divisions had been fully reorganized. The headway felt good. Magdalene had been studying like a scholar, and Caldwell Archives was really shaping up.
Creating a master rolodex and reshelving had overshadowed Winter’s concern about the bridge between realms. Unless it was made of rainbows and had unicorns jumping across it, delving into that topic would have to wait. She could only handle so many supernatural occurrences at one time.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Peanut butter or jam?” Magdalene asked through the door.
“Both!”
Magdalene had not only given Winter a room to call her own, but she’d been taking care of her as well.
Every morning Magdalene would make two pieces of toast—one for each of them.
For work, she’d pack them cheese slices, fruit, and various nuts, then when they’d return home each evening, she would ask, “Soup or salad?”
Winter whipped her flannel sheets off. If breakfast was being prepared, she had less than ten minutes to get ready.
She sprinted to their shared bathroom to wash up. Before she finished, she checked her lip tint. It was still beaming red. She topped it off with some gloss, smacked her lips together, then put on a heavy coat of mascara.
With the help of her fuzzy socks, she slid from the bathroom to her dresser and tore through the drawers. She chose a pair of wool leggings and an oversized button-down cardigan. Both were comfy and warm. After tucking her wand behind her ear, she trampled into the kitchen.
The table was tucked into a corner next to open cherrywood shelving. The dinnerware and cutlery were displayed there, as well as jars of flour, sugar, salt, and cooking herbs.
As Winter found her seat, she snubbed Magdalene’s outfit—a long black dress paired with a maroon shawl. “Of all color combinations.”
Magdalene set the toast down. “Excuse me?”
Winter lifted her nose. “You look like you’re gearing up to try out for the queen’s guard.”
“Very funny. Now, eat your breakfast. We need to leave.”
The back room of Caldwell Archives was an organized mess.
Books were stacked methodically and set in rows, each pile awaiting their new home.
Magdalene had collected the titles from Winter’s list in the order they’d been written.
It was a never-ending task, or at least, it seemed that way.
She’d write; Magdalene hunted. Each time they accumulated a section worth of books—one hundred and one, to be exact—they’d work together to reshelve.
Currently, Winter was in Division IV, reorganizing Aisle I, Section II. All the books that had previously lived on these shelves were arranged on the floor like dominos. Setting them in their original order ensured Magdalene could locate the titles from Winter’s lists.
Carrying stacks of preordered books from the back room and placing them in their predetermined shelves, only to repeat the whole process until each section was complete, aisle after aisle, had been a terribly tedious task. However, it would be worth it.
After sundown, vampire attacks were becoming unpredictable.
Night-crawling thieves.
At times, there’d be a group of five, splitting off like bats.
Other times, there’d be just one. Despite their power and strength, vampires were no match against giant armored wolves or a magical wand.
Winter had spelled all the books to remain inside the library a few weeks ago.
With the way her wand had pumped out small plumes of smoke, Magdalene had initially thought it was a sage stick.
The archives would require more than a cleansing ritual soon.
Other than the protection charm, her wand would be their best defense in the wolves’ absence.
She wasn’t sure how much longer they’d be guarding this place.
Whispers filled every corner of this massive library, spreading word about a fight for Westley’s title.
She didn’t want to think about what would happen if he lost. As of now, his orders were the only reason this place was secure overnight. Would that change?
A shifter, Everett, who was supposedly in charge, had a bad attitude and no information whenever she asked about Westley.
It’d been weeks, and Winter had neither seen nor smelled him.
Witchcraft helped, but using an ancient Contact Spell without a relic on a full-blooded werewolf was similar to having a one-sided conversation with a blurry background and no sound.
He’d been asleep a majority of the times she’d called.
That, or he’d been too sloshed to respond properly.
She’d found him drowning both figuratively and literally—in bottles of liquor and once in his own bathtub.
His behavior was sickening, and she recognized it. He was very lonely. There was no peace to his quiet, only pain. It blared so loudly, he seemed desperate for a mute button. A button she’d thought about clicking before.
It worried her.
Recently, she’d gone back to The Sea Shanty to ask Jerrick if he’d seen him. He’d sounded concerned too. Apparently, the big guy hadn’t been back for weeks.
Hierarchy battles weren’t unusual, but this one involved a wolf they knew. And one that she needed help from. To win this type of fight the other wolf had to—
She shook her head, ridding the grim thought and refocusing on the books. Well, she tried to. But Westley had been drinking himself into the ground. He didn’t seem to care about his title or his life, and his pack was restless.
She was restless.
Winter swallowed, trying to reshelve the books in the order they belonged. Spines facing inward. The progress comforted the tension in her mind. If she had any time to spare, she would wander into Elmwood Forest and look for some clues. Perhaps sniff out a Sterling or two.
But no, there were books to tend to.
Books, books, books.
Shisoba was curled atop Winter’s feet while she ate lunch with Magdalene. They’d been sitting at opposite ends of the giant table, leaving a considerable amount of length between them.
As Winter bit into her bread, a whistling sound—sort of like the wind—caught her attention. She whipped her head around but found no swirling elements or mysterious creatures in sight. The bookshelf looked the same: filled with old newspapers, photograph albums, maps, and mage orbs.
“What is it?” Magdalene asked.
“Did you hear that? Something like a whisper.”
“It could be Prudence up on the roof. She sings.” Magdalene smiled as if recalling a song, but Winter had heard it coming from behind her, not above. She shrugged it off and went back to her bread. It was stuffed with soft cheese and dried figs.
“Or the orbs,” Magdalene mused, biting into her portion.
This witch.
Winter set her food down, swallowing hard. She’d been so consumed by reorganization, she’d backburnered the bridge between realms conversation. But whispering orbs? What kind of secrets did Cardwell Archives hold?
“Can we talk?”
Magdalene slid the wedge of bread in front of her face, peering at her with a single stone-gray eye.
Winter glared at her. This moment called for an impromptu game of Truth Only. “Why did you tell me about the bridge to the Immortal Realm?”
Magdalene slowly set her food down, pursing her lips. After a pregnant pause, she said, “That little orb back there is why.”
“These orbs are … active?” Orbs were supposed to be latent. Museum-bound. Hibernating. Broken. Fake. None of this existed in the future that Winter was familiar with.
“That little one, it talks from time to time.” Magdalene pointed towards the far end of the shelf behind Winter.
Winter twisted in her seat, staring at the smallest orb. It held a viscous white liquid and was supported by a golden platform. Silently, she asked the universe for a sign that this was real.
Nothing happened.
She slowly turned back. “So that orb told you to tell me the archives exist in two places?”
“No. Orbs are truth-tellers, and the small one is hyperactive … lately. So before you found your way back here, I asked a simple question: could Winter Leroux be trusted? It’s my duty to watch over these books and I wasn’t sure what a wand was, or what your intentions were.
Vampires were swarming in; wolves were leaving organs everywhere. ”
“And what did it say?”
“Well, it wasn’t a simple answer. Images were shown in flashes.
You reshelving books. You teaching me how to use that wand of yours.
You catching a vampire with a glittering rope before it managed to teleport away.
You carefully dissecting that same vampire and showing me all the body parts.
You waltzing down an aisle of books, beaming.
I not only learned the truth about who you were, but that I could trust you. ”
“Really?” Winter was up, walking over to the orbs.
They were arranged by size, and the contents of the smallest one whirled.
There was a shimmer to it. “I did think it was strange you offered me your spare bedroom so quickly.” She glanced back at Magdalene.
“After all, this is the face of a killer.”
Magdalene twisted her brows. “Well, I didn’t say you weren’t odd. But you’re interesting, nonetheless. This has all been very … interesting.”
Winter tapped the orb. It was made of thin glass and the shimmer inside concentrated where her fingertip landed.
“Change can be difficult, I get that.” She was still adjusting to living in the past, to understanding the depths of these archives.
Without Magdalene’s trust, returning to flip the books and save the night would’ve been a lot more challenging.
“It’s unending. But it’s also why I’m here.”
Right.
After the death of Sir Caldwell, Magdalene had been transferred here from the Immortal Realm.
This was becoming extremely complicated.
Winter took a steadying breath, returned to her seat, and ate her lunch. She didn’t have the energy to ask Magdalene more questions. She needed to focus on phase four of her plan: killing the witch queen. That would keep her vampires away—for now.
“Mags, may I use Prudence to send a message?”
“Oui, pourquoi?”