Chapter 15
Fifteen
Rose
The library is dead at this time of the evening, so I have it all to myself.
I dump my armload of grimoires onto the nearest table with a thud that startles Hank, who hops awkwardly out of my pocket, just barely managing to make it to the table.
“Okay, buddy,” I say, “let’s find something to keep our ghost boy from disappearing forever. ”
I’m still riding the sugar high from two slices of triple-layer chocolate cake.
The dining hall was mostly empty, with just a few students talking about the trials, and the new headmistress.
Nobody wants to be Jasmine’s next exhibition match.
I snagged an extra piece of cake when no one was looking because, honestly, if I’m going out, I’m going out with chocolate on my face.
Hank gives a questioning “Ribbit?”
“Yes, we’re probably breaking the ‘no frogs in the library’ rule. Add it to my rap sheet.” I set him on the table. “Go catch some spiderweb flies, but stay where I can see you.”
He blinks his giant eyes once, which I take as frog for “you got it,” and hops off toward the nearest dusty corner.
I turn back to the pile of ancient books I’ve pulled from the shelves.
Drake is fading more every day, and I haven’t seen him since our night together.
Each time he comes back, he seems less..
. there. Less himself. When he holds me now, there are moments when his touch feels like nothing at all.
But after Ash turned my magic on full steam, he was more present than he’d been able to be.
So, there has to be a way to stop him from fading.
The first grimoire I open is bound in something I don’t want to identify, with pages so thin they’re almost transparent, covered in thin, crooked handwriting that’s barely legible. I try and read the table of contents.
Binding Rituals
Necromantic Practices of the Salem Covens
Spectral Anchoring
That last one catches my eye, and I flip to the chapter.
Spectral entities are bound to our plane by unfinished business or powerful emotional connections. When these connections weaken, the spirit begins to fade, eventually passing beyond the veil permanently.
Yeah, thanks. I already knew that part. The question is how to stop it.
I look up to check on Hank, who’s now perched on top of a bookshelf, his tongue darting out to snag a fly. At least one of us is having a productive evening.
Three books later, I’ve learned that ghosts can be bound to objects, that most spirits pass on within a year of death (Drake’s been here a century, so that’s useless), and that necromancy is really, really frowned upon—shocker.
I rub my eyes, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “This is pointless,” I mutter aloud.
The next book is heavier than the others, bound in dark leather with silver clasps.
The pages are filled with intricate diagrams and annotations in multiple languages.
Some of the drawings make my stomach turn, as apparently, spirit binding often involves blood sacrifices and things I definitely do not want to do to Drake or anyone else.
I’m deep in a paragraph about soul anchors when a shadow falls across my book.
Harry looms over the table with a smirk. “Harry thinks that’s adorable. Like cramming will save your ass you have to face real witches.”
“Go away, Harry. I’m busy.” I turn the page, pretending to be engrossed in a diagram of what looks suspiciously like a heart being removed from a man hanging upside down by his ankles.
He leans on the table, peering at my book. “Ghosts? Harry thinks Rose has a ghost problem. You scared?” He grins, revealing teeth that are straight and white, the product of expensive orthodontia, like most of the students here have.
“Harry thinks lots of things. Most of them wrong.” I flip another page. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Like, literally anywhere that’s not here?”
He picks up one of the grimoires, turning it upside down like he’s never seen a book before. “Harry didn’t know Charity Case could read.”
I bite back a sigh. Same insult, different day. “Wow, Harry. Did you remember that all by yourself, or did Thorne write it on your hand for you?”
He drops the book, his smile faltering.
“Where is Thorne, anyway?” I ask, finally looking up at him.
Harry’s face darkens. “She’s with that crazy bitch.”
That gets my full attention. I close my book slowly. “Jasmine?”
He nods, looking suddenly nervous, like he’s said too much. “She’s always with her now.”
Something cold slides down my spine. Thorne has always been awful, but the thought of her being mentored by Jasmine is genuinely terrifying.
“Careful, Harry,” I say, leaning forward. “You shouldn’t call the new headmistress a crazy bitch. She might have spies listening everywhere.”
“Ribbit,” Hank agrees from under the table.
“What?” Harry jumps and his eyes widen.
I nod solemnly. “That snake of hers? It’s not just a pet. It’s how she hears everything. Haven’t you noticed how it’s never in the same place twice? It’s always slithering around, listening, reporting back to her.” Not a lie.
Harry’s face goes pale, and he looks like he might throw up. He glances frantically around the library, as if expecting to see snakes sliding out from between books.
“Harry didn’t say anything. We like the new headmistress. Very good leadership. Very fair trials.” He backs away from the table, knocking into a chair.
I try not to smile. He nearly trips over his own feet as he turns, practically running for the exit. As he disappears, I laugh. Hank hops back to the table, looking at me questioningly.
But the smile fades from my face as I look back at my pile of books.
I’ve been here for hours, and I’ve found exactly nothing that could help Drake.
Every solution is worse than the problem—binding him to an object so he can never leave, performing rituals that would hurt him, making deals with entities I definitely shouldn’t be dealing with.
I slam the last book closed. Drake deserves better than this. Better than me failing him.
Hank croaks quietly.
“I know. I’m not giving up.” I gather my things, shoving the books back onto the shelf haphazardly.
I pick up Hank. “Let’s go back to the room. Maybe Drake will show up.”
But even as I say it, I feel the doubt creeping in. Each time he appears, it takes more out of him. Each time he fades, he’s gone longer. What if he doesn’t come back at all?
I push the thought away as I leave the library, and walk through the empty hallway. The academy is quieter than usual tonight. Maybe everyone is in hiding, planning, or plotting how to survive Jasmine’s next round of trials.
As I walk, I think about what Harry said. Thorne with Jasmine. That’s a combination that can’t lead to anything good. Thorne was already dangerous. Add Jasmine’s particular brand of psychotic to the mix, and we’re all in trouble.
“Tomorrow,” I promise Hank as I push my door open. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”