Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Your husband loves you. Be grateful. Do what you do best, chin up, get the kids to school. Work hard. Come home. Eat over a silent table. Go to sleep. Repeat.
—Lorinne Leroux’s private journal.
“It cracked,” Winter admitted, preparing to be scolded.
Magdalene hurried over. “You must be gentle with these, Winter. This orb was centuries old. How could you be so careless?”
“I know, I know. I should’ve waited for you.”
Magdalene shook her head, fury lining her brows. “A piece of history … ruined.”
“This is my fault. I am so sorry.”
Another letter illuminated on the bobbing cloud of orb magic. Winter’s focus drifted to Everett, who was tracing each glowing shape. His skill with a quill really was captivating. The way he tucked up his sleeves to work had Winter tucking in her bottom lip.
Westley cleared his throat. “Do either of you recognize this language?”
“No,” Winter and Magdalene replied in unison.
Winter spoke to Magdalene. “Before, you said this orb showed you images in flashes. What is this?”
Magdalene picked up the broken artifact, inspecting it. “An orb’s magic is highly concentrated and meant to be contained.” She traced the crack that made its way around the sphere. “And you’ve just unleashed it.”
“Unleashed, what exactly?” asked Westley.
“Pure celestial magic.”
“And what is it doing?” Winter asked. Some celestial mages, like the one who’d tattooed the never-ending ouroboros symbol on her spine, had the power of foresight. It explained an orb’s ability to prophesize, but it didn’t explain this ouija board effect.
“It’s free now, so whatever it wants. It’s magic. These are runes of some sort. I think it’s communicating, or trying to.”
Winter crossed her arms, wishing it were alphabet soup; the wind had given her a clear and concise message. Not this. There was no search engine to run these letters through—there was barely any electricity in this time period.
Hmm.
It was a good thing she worked in a 300,000 square foot library. “Mags, it’s time for an impromptu quiz. Are you ready?”
Magdalene tried not to grin, but it was useless. “Yes.” Her smile went wicked. So much for being angry, Winter supposed.
“Please locate The Long-Buried Linguistics for me. You have—” Winter eyed the ticking clock on the wall. “Three minutes.”
Magdalene’s eyes flared wide.
Winter lifted her chin. “Starting … now.”
A small scoff later, Magdalene speed-walked out the door rambling in French.
Winter had studied for years to memorize the books and their respective locations; Magdalene only had weeks.
However, being involved in the organization process was as unique of an experience as it was enriching.
Needless to say, this would be interesting.
The runes illuminated for another minute before disappearing entirely.
The cloud of celestial magic looked exhausted, heaving like it was taking deep breaths.
It was meant to be bright white. Now it was dull and dark.
There was no glass edge for it to rest upon, nothing to hold it.
This was her fault. But if she could find a way to contain the magic, perhaps it could rest properly.
Winter turned to face Westley, who seemed to be taking all of this witchery better than she was. “We can’t let anyone back here. Is there someone that can guard this room when we’re gone?”
Westley nodded. “Consider it done.”
He answered surely, like there wasn’t a chance the archives would lose their protection after tonight. “Thank you,” she said, though it came out with defeat.
Winter glanced at the clock. Barely a second later, Magdalene burst through the door holding a brown leather tome. She hurried to the table and slid it across. “Two minutes and forty-five seconds,” she panted, glancing back at the clock.
Winter half-smiled and slapped a hand over the cover. “Let’s see how you did, shall we?” She slowly exposed the painted title.
Correct.
This meant two things: Magdalene had memorized the title by its assigned number and the division had been organized properly in order to find it quickly. Winter eyed her pupil with approval. “It appears as though the grasshopper is not so young anymore.”
“Did you just refer to me as an insect?”
“Metaphorically, Mags. Don’t think about it too hard. Excellent work.” Winter sat beside Everett, opening up the book. “Alright. Help me look.”
Five pop quizzes later, Magdalene finally fetched Winter a tome with matching runes.
This orb’s language was ancient. Instead of a symbol correlating to a letter, like she had thought, each one translated to an entire word.
She was left with some type of riddle. Strung together, it made very little sense.
She read the transcription once more:
Broken hearts are mended with a stitch.
A window opens when two souls meet.
The answer lies in the seventh witch.
There is a monster she will soon greet.
Winter swore at the celestial magic. It sagged mournfully. “Sorry.” She didn’t mean to yell at it, she was frustrated. “This is a prophecy, isn’t it?”
Everett, seated to her left, leaned in closer. “I think so. Let’s take it line by line.”
West, on her right side, said, “Good idea.”
If she wasn’t sandwiched between them, maybe she could think properly. “Let’s skip the first one. Please.” She wasn’t ready to admit that her heart was feeling better. Her true mate’s death might be around the proverbial corner.
He read the second line. “A window opens when two souls meet.”
Everett hummed. “The two souls are probably you two.”
Winter scratched her head. “That’s what I thought, but we’ve already met. So … where’s the window?”
“You time traveled. Maybe it means a window through time?” Westley suggested.
She dropped her head back, gazing out the skylight. “But if the window is symbolic, then it could mean so many things. And I time traveled before I met West. The prophecy says the window will open when two souls meet. We’ve already met, so where’s the window?”
“She’s right,” said Everett. “It doesn’t add up.”
Winter sat up and smiled at Everett.
“Let’s skip this line.” West read the next one. “The answer lies in the seventh witch.”
“But why the seventh?” she asked. “What does that mean?” The cloud of celestial magic puffed up like it wished to answer, but no more runes appeared. Winter rolled her eyes at it. “Just rest. You’ve said plenty.”
“Do you have six sisters?” Everett asked.
“No? None.” Winter dropped her head on the table, surrendering. “This is impossible.”
A warm hand grazed her low back as a soft voice whispered in her ear. “It’s going to take a little time.”
Chills ran down her spine at the sound of West’s wise rumble. She turned to face him, resting her ear on the table. After blowing a strand of hair away from her eye, she asked, “Can we skip this line?”
He smirked, then glanced at the paper. “Last one—there’s a monster you will soon greet.”
Winter closed her eyes. “For fuck’s sake.”
“What if it’s talking about the queen?”
“Or Fang?” Everett added.
Winter straightened back up and shook her head. “No. Don’t you both get it? It says a monster I will soon meet. I’ve already met the queen and Fang. So … who else is there?”
Westley slouched.
Everett folded the papers. “I think that’s enough mage stuff for one day. We have a fight to prepare for.”
“Ugh.” Winter waved them off before plopping her head back down. “See you on the other side—whichever one that might be.”
West banged his fist into the table, scaring her and the celestial magic. “Enough. I want to talk about us, about now. Not what may be.” He eyed her earnestly. “I don’t want to be your friend, Winter. Not even a little.”
No, no, no.
Fear swam up her throat and her mouth panicked. “Everett’s right, you should be preparing for tonight.”
“Everett was just leaving.”
“I was,” his second agreed, abandoning the backroom with their prophecy tucked into his pocket.
When the door clicked shut, she pursed her lips. Shisoba was hiding, Magdalene was somewhere restocking, and the orb magic had nothing left to say. It was only her and him. No distractions. She eyed a stack of books, reviewing the titles to see if they were properly ordered.
“Say something!” he shouted.
No.
That would require the truth—reconciling with her fate. Every time she met his eyes there was no escaping it. No hiding. No running. This was real. He was … hers. It was nonsensical.
“No.” She’d rather converse with the table. Furniture: stable. Westley: not stable.
He pushed his chair back and stood. “Then get up. We’re leaving.”
“Excuse me?”
“Up.”
Point proven. “Fuck you.”
He grinned. “There she is. How’s my little witch doing?”
Winter reached for the nearest weapon—a quill—and stabbed his thigh. “Better now. How’s that feel?”
West grunted and snatched it out. He took the feathered side and stroked it against her neck, slowly sweeping it along her collarbones. “You tell me.”
That would require breathing.
Apparently, if she wouldn’t talk about their … whatever they were, he’d make her stumble around it. And fuck was she stumbling. Winter closed her fingers around the quill, halting his dreamy ministrations.
She couldn’t keep this in anymore. The air crashed back into her lungs in waves, forcing the truth out.
“I’ve only just found you. I can’t lose you.
” Her life had amounted to losses—her lack of magic, her mother’s abandonment, her father’s death, her pathetic engagement, her dignity on the queen’s wheel. How much more could she possibly take?
West maneuvered her out of the chair and onto the table in a blink. He gripped her waist, pressing his thumbs into her hip points. “I’m not losing you either.” The space between them dissolved as he laid his forehead on hers. “Ever again.”
Her hands betrayed her, finding the back of his neck and holding him close. “Good.”
His ragged breaths enveloped her. That sweet spice was hers to bathe in, but was it hers to taste? She flicked her tongue along her lower lip. Fighting this was useless. She knew it. He knew it. They both fucking knew it. “When are you going to kiss me?”
“Now,” he rumbled.
Formidable hands released her waist then cupped her jaw, dragging her mouth to his. Gentle wasn’t the word; West was exceptionally tender.
How was the softest touch strong enough to stop her heart? Winter sighed, certain death shouldn’t feel this good. They’d waited so long—why? She parted her lips, inviting him in. The brush of his tongue along hers had her back arching in a silent plea for more.
“You taste so good,” he breathed.
His kiss was like the ending of a fairytale. All that was missing was the white horse, red sunset, and endless field of flowers. Surely she’d been asleep for a hundred years and just woken up. West was right—who cared about later?
This was what mattered.
Him.
Now.
“I’ve wanted you for so long. Us for so long,” he whispered.
Her heart spun around in her chest. “Then kiss me harder.” She crashed into his pillowy lips, desperate for more, but he pulled back.
“Why’d you stop?”
He swept his thumb across her mouth. “I don’t want to, but we do need to retrieve your wand from the cabin. When the full moon rises, you’ll have to protect yourself. Nothing can happen to you, Winter. That I won’t survive.”
“But—”
“No buts. It’s time to go.”
She swallowed the jagged lump in her throat, feeling robbed of her seven minutes in heaven. She didn’t want to think about the battle. She wanted five more minutes in the back room of the library with her mate.
He backed up, adjusted the crotch of his pants, and cursed.
She glared at him. “Something wrong?”
“Indefinitely.”