That thought hurt more than I expected it to.
“Dove?” Alec said, his expression shifting from that practiced charm to one of genuine concern. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head and looked away from his searching gaze. I started to pull back. I needed to think, and for that I needed distance. But he sensed what I was about to do, and his hands wrapped around the back of my neck, tangling loosely in my hair and gently tilting my face up to his.
“You’re scaring me,” he whispered. “Talk to me, Ainsley. What is it?”
I couldn’t help but look up into those deep, piercing blue eyes, ringed with gold and filled with worry. The emotion I suddenly found there was so different, so much more intense than the easy charm I’d found there a moment ago, than the spark of laughter and promise of trouble that usually filled them, that I sucked in a breath. His hands shifted deeper into my hair, and his gaze flicked to my mouth. My heart rate tripped over itself trying to keep pace with how quickly things had shifted between us.
Then I remembered where we were. And that Amadou and his grandmother were just on the other side of the room. Probably watching us right now.
I stepped back, and Alec’s hands fell away. Despite the sunshine spilling through the window, I suddenly felt colder.
Alec’s gaze didn’t leave mine.
He and I definitely needed to talk, but not here. Not now.
“Later,” I said quietly, struggling to remember why I had pulled him aside to begin with.
Alec handing over the Grimoire to a random witch, the voice prompted grumpily.
Right. “Why are we here?”
He watched me a moment more, the intensity and the gold color fading from his eyes until they were once more a cheerful blue.
But for once, he gave me a straight answer.
“Mauritania is experiencing one of the longest droughts in recent history. Going on five years. Farms have dried up. Food is scarce. Bilal figured if he sent the Grimoire to his grandmother, she’d find a spell to end the drought. He believed her greatest desire would be to help her people. You said a minute ago that things happen, and we might lose the book, and you’re right. So we need to make the most of the time we have with it. Don’t get me wrong, I still have every intention of destroying it. It’s too dangerous to let it out in the world again, but Bilal died for this, and we might as well try to do some good first. Besides,” he said, shrugging, “I owe him, and I always repay a debt.”
Oh.
There was a lot to unpack there, not the least of which was this debt he owed to an international thief, but I started with, “What if that isn’t the spell she most wants?”
“What if it is?”
Why was I still fighting him on this? He was trying to do something good. To help people, even if that meant putting off finding his own counter-curse for a little while. So what was my problem?
The Grimoire, that’s what. I’d seen the spells that came out of that book. The werewolf curse. Isadora’s addiction spell. And the spell we’d just barely stopped last week that called for the deaths of a full coven of witches. Even if Alec was right and the Grimoire held a spell that would end the drought, what if it required a similar sacrifice? What would Aduna do then?
All perfectly valid concerns. Let me take over again. Just this once. I’ll get the book and get us out of here.
Not going to happen, I thought back. To Alec, I said, “How did you even know where Bilal would send the book?”
“I ran into him in Austria, when he first tried to steal the Grimoire from the mage who eventually sold it to Merrick. He told me then.”
“He could have lied.”
“That’s always a possibility. But some risks are worth taking.” The way he looked at me as he said it made me think we weren’t just talking about Bilal anymore, and my heart did that fluttery thing again. Then he shrugged one shoulder. “Besides, he sent the book here, so it looks like he was telling the truth.”
“Technically he sent it to Amadou,” I pointed out.
“My Bilal knew his grandmother is an old woman who only ventures into the city for things like mail once a month,” Aduna said as she and Amadou joined us in the living room. “Less than that, if I can help it.”
Amadou carried a tray with a teapot and four thin teacups laced with an intricate gold pattern around the rims. Alec met them in two long strides and took the tray from Amadou so he could help his grandmother settle onto the mat. Amadou sat next to her, and I joined Alec on the mat opposite them. It was a tight fit, and I tried to ignore the heat seeping through my skin where Alec’s hip brushed mine.
Amadou poured the tea. It was hot and spicy with a hint of sweetness and even more delicious when I remembered it had been hours since I’d last eaten or drank anything.
“Now then,” Aduna said, setting her teacup on the table. “What has brought a witch and a werewolf to my door?”
Startled, I glanced at Alec. His face gave nothing away, but I felt the tension where his hip touched mine.
“How do you know what we are?” I asked. As soon as the question was out, I remembered that Amadou knew Alec was a werewolf. I was the one who’d told him, after all. And Aduna could have easily felt my magic, just like I’d tried to feel hers.
But her answer surprised me.
“I have met werewolves before. They wear their emotions—what is that strange American phrase—on their sleeves?” She nodded at Alec. “When he looks at you, gold rims his eyes. Werewolf.”
I opened my mouth, realized I didn’t know how to respond to that, and closed it again. But she wasn’t done.
“And you,” she said, turning to me, “leak magic like a sieve.”
Rude. “I don’t leak.”
She went on as if she hadn’t heard me. “What I cannot figure out is whether all that power is yours or whether it belongs to the witch that possesses you.”
21
Alec choked on his tea.
Spluttering, he whirled on me. “You’re possessed?”
“Maybe.”
His jaw dropped open. “What the hell? Are you okay? How do we get it out?”
It? said the voice in my head, offended.
I shrugged. “No idea.”
“Seriously?”
“I’ve never been possessed before,” I said defensively.
“Okay.” Alec pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s going to be fine. We’re going to fix this.”
I wasn’t sure which of us he was trying to reassure, but I nodded anyway.
“Perhaps I can help,” Aduna said.
I raised an eyebrow. “You know how to evict a ghost?”
“Perhaps,” she repeated.
Relief and unease curled through me. I was pretty sure the unease wasn’t mine. It was unsettling to feel the emotions of my ghost squatter. “Can you also show me how you blocked me from sensing your magic earlier?”
She smiled. “If there is time.”
“Get rid of it now,” Alec said.
“One thing at a time, wolf,” she said, not at all intimidated by the growl in his voice. “First we see about this spell book my Bilal sent me. Then I will try to help your witch.”
Alec’s eyes flashed, and he looked ready to argue. I laid a hand on his arm. “This is important, remember?”
“So are you,” he said, but he grudgingly grabbed the box from the floor next to him. The blade of a knife flashed near his ankle, and then he slit the packing tape and slid the box across the table. Carefully, Aduna lifted the book out of the box. Alec slid the box to the floor to make room as she laid the Grimoire on the table.
The Grimoire was clearly old, its leather cover weathered and cracked, its pages thick and yellowed. But the eeriest thing about the book was the magic that emanated from it. It hummed with magic, like the whole book was soaked in it. Despite its age, it smelled of roses and something thicker. Darker. Tendrils of that strangely scented magic snaked around me, urging me closer. My fi
ngers itched to reach out and stroke its magic-soaked pages. To pull it closer. To—
I glanced up, suddenly aware I was leaning over the table and sniffing the book.
All three of them eyed me warily.
Aduna raised an eyebrow.
I sat back, the magic pull evaporating like mist.
Why does it do that? I asked the voice.
The Grimoire recognizes you as a descendant of the Coven of the First Flame. Its magic calls to you.
Awesome.
Aduna and Alec were still watching me, waiting for an explanation. “It smells weird,” I muttered, deciding not to mention the strange urge to touch the book.
“Roses and bone dust,” Aduna confirmed.
My eyes snapped to hers, and my nose crinkled. “Gross.”
If you think that’s gross, the voice said, I’m surprised you wanted to touch it. The cover is made of human skin, after all.
I stared at the book, appalled.
Aduna met my eyes across the table. “So I open the book, and it shows me the spell I most desire?”
“That’s what I hear.”
She nodded, looking nervous for the first time. “Very well.” She lifted the thick cover, and a breeze that had nothing to do with the harsh desert wind swept through the room. Unease gripped my spine.
Nice trick, I said to the voice in my head.
It’s no trick, the voice responded indignantly. The Coven of the First Flame did not waste magic on parlor tricks. The Grimoire is infused with the coven’s magic. It is feeling out a new witch and discerning her deepest desires.
I shivered as the pages flipped themselves, finally landing on a page near the back of the book. We all leaned forward to read the word scrawled in thick black script across the top of the page:
Stormbringer
Well that sounded ominous.
“Interesting,” Aduna breathed then glanced across the table at me. “Tell me, what language do you see?”
“English.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I see Arabic. What a remarkable book.”
Of course it is, said the voice grumpily.
Below the title, the rest of the page was broken into three parts: a list of ingredients, instructions for combining those ingredients into a potion, and the words of the spell itself. Aduna read through the list of ingredients, nodding to herself.
“Most of these ingredients I already have,” she said, and then frowned. “Except yarrow root.”
Pity, the voice said, not sounding sorry at all. Better pass along the book then. Chop chop.
“Hang on,” I said to Aduna then turned the conversation inward.
Where can we find yarrow root?
Do I look like an herb encyclopedia to you?
I rolled my eyes. You’re so old.
The voice harrumphed. Doesn’t change the fact that there is not a single reason I should help this witch.
You’d be helping to potentially save thousands of people from starvation.
The voice remained stubbornly quiet. Fine. I switched tactics.
The sooner she completes this spell, the sooner she will be done with the book.
I could feel the voice considering that. Fine, it finally said. You know, since it appears no one can save these people except me.
Sigh.
“Ains?” Alec said slowly.
“Just a sec.”
So where do we find the root?
You don’t.
What? But you said—
Yarrow root is not indigenous to this region. Tell her to substitute red clover.
Really? Will that affect the strength of the spell?
Actually, it may make it even stronger. This spell is one of Edith’s. Edith was a powerful witch but a weird old bat. Very secretive about her spells too. Caught her lying about ingredients a few times. Substituting weaker herbs so that her spells would still work when other witches tried them. They just wouldn’t be as strong. That way, when she performed them everyone thought she was more powerful and fearsome than she really was. I was on to her, though. The old hag.
I shook my head and passed along the message.
Aduna nodded and with Amadou’s help, pushed to her feet. “I believe I do have that. Come. You and I will prepare the spell.”
Aduna and I gathered the ingredients and then began the process of mixing them together in a pot over the stove, with some grudging direction from the voice, who couldn’t seem to help herself.
No, add the licorice root after you soak the rosewood for three minutes. Do you want it to burn? And no, no, no, it says a sprinkle of dried burdock leaf, not the whole damn bush! Honestly, it’s like you’ve never mixed a potion before.
I gritted my teeth and thought, I think I liked it better when you didn’t care about this spell.
Well, now that we’re doing it, may as well do it right. NO! Stir it counter-clockwise. Amateur.
And so on.
Finally, all the ingredients were mixed, the potion was brewed, and a headache had developed behind my eyes that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the nasally voice in my head.
We brought the potion to the living area table, where Alec and Amadou were playing cards. They packed away the cards and gave us some room. Amadou hovered by the wall, and Alec went to stand near the door.
“I may need to borrow some of your power,” Aduna said as we seated ourselves once more. “Is that all right?”
I blinked at her. “I didn’t know I could share it.”
Her answering smile reminded me of my own grandmother’s. “There’s a lot you can do with your power. Maybe one day I could teach you.”
“I’d like that.”
“Is your ward still in place?” Alec asked, a frown firmly in place as he looked out over the yard.
“I had to take it down,” Aduna said. “I need all of my power for this spell, and the ward’s magic may interfere with the spell.”
He nodded and moved to the window, brushing the curtain aside.
“Is everything all right?” Aduna asked.
“Just thought I heard something. Stay here. Work on the spell. I’ll be right back.”
And with that, he walked out the door.
Aduna reached across the table and took my hands in hers, forming a loose circle around the book. But my attention was stuck on the door. I wanted to go after him. As if she knew what I was thinking, Aduna’s grip tightened.
“You’re more useful here, dear.”
That was probably true, so I forced my attention back to the book. Alec was a werewolf and a spy. He could take care of himself.
At least, that’s what I told myself right before he flew backward through the door and crashed into the wall.
Aduna startled, and Amadou screamed as Alec leapt to his feet, snarling. I jumped up, yanking my magic around me, ready to take on anyone who stepped through that door.
Anyone but Ryerson and Tiago.
22
Ryerson’s dark glare swept the room, taking in his runaway chef, the Grimoire, and a witch obviously preparing to cast a spell, before it settled on me.
“Were you in on this?” A thread of betrayal wove through the steel in his voice.
“Not exactly.”
His glare deepened.
“You told me not to let him out of my sight!”
“How did you find us?” Alec said, his voice barely more than a growl. Apparently, he was still mad.
“Magic.”
Alec and I frowned. What was he—oh. Right. With everything that had happened, I almost forgot about the tracking spell that Aunt Belinda’s coven had taught me, the one I had cast before I chased Alec and Amadou out of the post office. If Ryerson had found that rune—and he clearly had—he needed only to touch it, and a filmy, silent image of what I’d done next would have flickered to life. And then another image, two or three minutes later. All he had to do was follow them for as long as the magic held.
My delight that it
had actually worked was dampened by the look Alec gave me now.
“Ainsley?”
Um. “I might have left magical breadcrumbs for him to follow.”
“Why?” Now it was Alec’s turn to sound betrayed.
I threw my hands up. “I don’t know. Maybe because you kidnapped the chef I was supposed to be watching and stole the Grimoire to give to a witch instead of—”
Instead of destroying it.
I clamped my mouth shut before I gave Alec away, but Ryerson’s gaze snapped to mine. “Instead of what?”
“Erm, instead of using it to find the werewolf curse and then giving it to the CIA. Obviously.”
His mouth tightened, like he didn’t believe me. That was fair. I smiled reassuringly. His frown deepened.
“Um, guys?” Tiago said, his attention stuck on something behind me. I spun around, expecting to find a new threat. An assassin who had snuck in the window while we were distracted, perhaps, or maybe another dragon. But it was only Aduna, huddled over the Grimoire, ignoring us while she crumbled dried watercress leaves and let them drift into the pot on the low table.
“Stop, witch,” Ryerson said, the warning clear in his voice. She ignored him. Maybe she thought he wouldn’t hurt an old lady. Alec’s expression said she clearly didn’t know Ryerson all that well.
Aduna began to mutter an incantation, and Ryerson started toward her.
“Aduna, stop,” I said.
She looked up, her concentration broken. The spell that had been building into soft tendrils of wispy yellow magic dissipated into the air.
Instead of looking guilty, though, her eyes blazed with anger. She pushed unsteadily to her feet and then marched right up to Ryerson and poked a finger in his chest. Too worked up to stick to English, she yelled at him in Arabic. That was probably for the best. I doubted I wanted to know what she was saying right now, anyway.
For once, Ryerson looked unsure about what to do. The idea that Ryerson had met his match in a wizened old witch who did nothing more threatening than stand up to him made me smile. I turned away to hide my grin and then sucked in a soft, startled breath when I noticed the small boy standing in the darkened bedroom doorway.
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